“Too late.”
For a while, there was silence and then he rifled through the bag and handed her the paper. “I found it on one of the tables. I thought about not showing you, but you have a right to know.”
She took it from him and saw she was splashed across the news. “Shit. My parents . . .”
She could picture them now. They’d never approved of her job. After her sister’s murder, they thought she’d come to her senses. Come back into the socialite fold. But law enforcement, not socialite, had been her calling.
And now her scandal was on the front page. A common criminal. The worst part—she had no way of knowing if her parents actually believed any of it.
When she’d first met Reid, they’d talked about her sister’s murder, how Grier didn’t really live up to certain expectations her family had in regards to career and social life.
“If only you’d married,” they’d say about this, “you wouldn’t be working.”
She didn’t know how to answer that—because they were right. And now she’d be forced to leave them behind. “This is probably killing them.”
“I’m sorry. I wish it was safe to get in touch with them,” Reid told her.
“Can’t Dylan? Or Teddie? Can’t someone just get word to them that I’m safe?”
“You know as well as I do that puts them at risk.”
“Like they’re not already.”
“The good thing is that they’ll have law enforcement swarming their house, looking for traces of you. None of the guys from the league will come anywhere near you.”
“How am I ever going to clear my name?”
“We’re working on it. Right now, you concentrate on healing and staying out of sight.”
She finally relented to a happy pill and slept the rest of the way. When Reid woke her, they were in a dark parking garage.
“It’s private. We’re cool here.”
Still, she ducked her head as she went by the cameras. Reid helped her along, because she was unsteady, and she forced herself not to shake off his arm. Then he knocked on a back door with four short raps. Seconds later, there was a buzz and he turned the doorknob and ushered her inside.
“Can you tell me where we are now?”
“New Orleans.”
She followed him through a short hallway, stopping in the back room of what was unmistakably a tattoo parlor. Through the opened curtains, she could see two women and a tall man.
“That’s Gunner—he owns the place,” Reid said.
At that, Gunner turned and looked over at them. He looked like some kind of Nordic god. Taller than Reid, with chiseled features, no wonder the young models were hanging on him, despite his sharp tones to them.
He didn’t seem to be enjoying their company much. That actually made her like him better. And when he caught sight of Reid, he dismissed them out the side door quickly, not listening to their slight whining that they wanted to stay and hang out.
“This is Grier. Sorry to ruin their evening,” Reid drawled.
“They don’t want real tattoos and I don’t do that tiny heart on your bikini line shit,” he explained. “I mean, nothing against the bikini line, but there’s just so many more interesting things to do there.”
Reid put up a hand. “Got it, Gunner. Neither of us is in the market for tattoos.”
“I might be,” Grier said, in part to annoy Reid, but as the words came out of her mouth, she realized she might be serious.
Gunner raised a brow and Reid told him, “No bikini line for you.”
“So what, it’s spoken for by you?” Gunner asked.
“Gunner, we just need a goddamned place to stay.” Reid started to pull out money but Gunner shook his head.
“Your money’s no good here,” Gunner said firmly, and Grier thought he was kicking them out. But no, he was motioning for them to go up the stairs. When they did, a door closed and locked behind them.
“For our protection,” Reid explained.
“Why can’t you pay him?”
“Long story. It’s a Gunner thing.”
“How do you know him? Or is that another long story?”
“Long story,” he said.
“Is he ever going to let us out?”
“He will. He’s got to shut the place down and make sure we weren’t followed. Then we’ll be free to walk around the shop.”
Reid put his bag down and texted while she looked around the expansive floor. There was a balcony that overlooked an alleyway that led to a bar. It was quiet but she supposed that come nightfall, it would get rowdy.
Twenty minutes later, the door unlocked, Gunner stuck his head in and said, “We’re clear. I’ve got food.”
She and Reid followed him back downstairs, past the back room into a large kitchen with a big table pushed to one side. It was all industrial stoves and fridges, and she saw that Gunner was actually cooking for them.
Whatever happened to make Gunner owe Reid had to be some story.
“Hope you like jambalaya,” Gunner said as he placed a steaming bowl in the middle of the table. There were red beans and rice and Andouille sausage and fresh bread. And beer.
“Love,” she offered, and he heaped her a big plateful. As she ate, Reid and Gunner brushed over a few subjects quickly, talking about things she didn’t know or really understand. She didn’t know if that was done purposely or if they knew each other so well they were able to talk in that special kind of shorthand only friends had.
When Reid’s phone rang, he excused himself and she was left alone with Gunner. The tall man had a leg thrown over the chair next to him, sitting easily as though he had fugitives in his place all the time.
Maybe he did. “How long have you been here?”
“A while.” Gunner had a way of evading without seeming like he was doing so. “I like it here.”
“Me too. It seems like it would be easy to get lost here.”
“Planning on it?”
“Maybe.” She could disappear into the masses here. It was transient since Katrina and she wondered if Gunner was also a runaway of some kind. Then
