Secret surrender, p.23
Secret Surrender, page 23
She pressed her back to the brick wall and slid down to the step. She pressed a hand over her eyes and tried to escape from the fact that she, Sarah Overton, had devolved into a cowering and emotional mess.
Where once she took pride in her inability to shed tears, now, she simply couldn’t stop. Sleep evaded her. A perpetually crushed feeling surrounded her heart. All this over a man—a man she’d met just weeks earlier. A man who’d left her, alone, humiliated, her world forever changed and not for the better.
And despite all the evidence, what she hated most was that she still cared. Still wanted to know he was okay.
She rummaged through her tight jeans pocket for a tissue only to come out empty-handed, so she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. It didn’t matter what her heart wanted. The fact was Dean had lied to her. He was in prison. There was no reclaiming what she’d lost.
Best to get that in my stubborn head. Stop sniveling. Get up and get on with life.
If only getting on was that simple.
“Frank told me I’d find you here.”
She jolted and peered up at Blaine standing over her, his lips pressed in a tight and lopsided smile, his hand outstretched in an offer to help her up. She swiped at her eyes again and reached for his hand. “I can’t believe I fell for it.”
“You didn’t fall for anything.” Blaine squeezed her shoulder and made a shooshing sound, his attempt at helping her find some calm. “You took a risk, and it didn’t pay off. It happens to the best of us.”
“No, no. I’m sure this stuff only happens to me.” Tension pulled the muscles on her face, probably making it obvious she included him in the stuff that only happened to her. “I was sure he cared for me too. The fact I even care—”
Blaine pulled her in, allowing her to bury her face in the soft fibers of his gray flannel shirt. “Shoosh now. From the looks of things, he did care about you.”
She shook her head and mumbled into his shoulder. “So now you’re on his side? How can someone who did all those things really care about anyone else?”
“I don’t know.” He drew a slow, tense breath and patted her between the shoulder blades. “You spent a heck of a lot more time with the man than I did and have a better sense of his nature. Don’t get me wrong, I’d kick his ass all over again if I could, but you know, I guess it’s possible for a person to be two things at once?”
She stepped out of his hold and nodded to the ground, just as Blaine gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Sheriff Marlin stopped by my house earlier.”
She peered up now, at his mouth pulled into a tense smile, his spare hand jammed into his jeans pocket. “He wanted to check if Emilia was holding up okay. And she is. After all that’s happened, she’s developed a pretty thick skin, but the sheriff dropped by for another reason too… He wanted to tell us Dean’s been released.”
“What? How?” Her pitch slipped from her control, and she stumbled back a little. “It’s not even been a week and all those things he did…”
Both hands now shoved into his pockets, Blaine scrubbed the toe of his boot into the dry dirt. “Turns out he had quite a story and a whole bunch of information to turn in about some criminal kingpin. That information checked out, and he cut a deal. As long as he continues being helpful throughout the investigations and trials to come, he gets to keep his freedom.”
Sarah frowned, struggling to believe what she heard. “And what’s to stop him from simply disappearing?”
“No idea. Seems you’re not the only one he made a good impression on.” Blaine’s lips curled in a sign of jest, and for the first time in days, she mirrored the humor. “Sarah, if he comes back to town, do you plan on reconnecting with him? I’m only asking for safety’s sake.”
“No.” She shook her head at the ground again. “No. There’s just too many lies to sift through. Too much I’d have to overlook.”
“Okay.” He gripped her shoulder again. Another undeserved show of support. “In case you start having doubts, just remember Emilia and I are here for you. Believe it or not, we might find it in us to be objective. From what the sheriff had to say about Dean, I kind of feel sorry for the guy.”
Sarah snapped her attention back to Blaine’s face, his expression unexpectedly open and relaxed. “He attacked you and played a part in taking Emilia away ten years ago, then came back to Harlow to finish the job.” A manic sort of laugh tore through her. “Meanwhile, I’m drowning in guilt over being the reason he stayed in Harlow.”
“Hey.” Blaine held both hands up as if to profess innocence. “All I’m saying is I know what it’s like to be a victim of circumstance. Dean might have played a part in me being forced out of LA, but he wasn’t the reason. If it hadn’t been for him that night, Anthony would have found someone else. And don’t get me wrong, I’ll probably always be suspicious of the man, but if you think about it, his lot in life has been horrendous. I can’t begrudge him that.”
She held a long silence while she stared Blaine down. How was it that he could dredge up forgiveness so much easier than her? Was it that he’d had ten years to process the worst of what Dean had done, while she’d had mere days? She couldn’t say her gripe with Dean was more personal than Blaine’s. The man had literally pulled him away from the love of his life.
“You’re being awfully forgiving here.”
One corner of his lip rose. “All for selfish reasons. Emilia and I have wasted enough years holding on to anger and what-ifs. At some point, it’s impossible to hold on without turning that hurt onto yourself. Sarah, you should try letting go a little too sometime. Even if you do decide to justifiably keep your distance from Dean.”
She held his gaze for a moment more, a man she’d loved, but perhaps in the wrong way—a love that still existed, even though it had changed to an extreme degree. She gave another small nod, still confused but a little lighter. Who’d have guessed that a man who’d broken her heart could also help soothe it?
He stepped into her now. She wrapped her arms around him, comforted that at least someone else in this town saw the man behind the crime, even if she had no intention of forgiving Dean. Not for what he’d done to her, anyway.
Blaine had the biggest reason, other than her, to hold a grudge. The fact he didn’t, meant maybe she hadn’t been completely irrational for falling for someone so critically flawed. Maybe she too would get to a point where her heart didn’t hurt so much—where she could trust her judgment once more.
They pulled apart, and Blaine followed her inside where she bought him a drink and finally settled into the rest of her shift. Though he didn’t stay long, her next few hours passed quickly, and she even stayed back to close up.
With the venue cleared, she wandered about the dining area lifting chairs onto the tables, making room for the morning cleaners to access the floors. A dull click cut through the space. The sound emanated from a far-off point toward the back door, as though someone had entered, even though Gordon had left over half an hour ago, and she should have been alone.
Thirty-Nine
In less than an hour, Dean had gathered his few belongings into a pile beside his front door. What little furniture he owned would be delivered to a local charity within the week since the time had come for him to truly disappear. Properly this time. He couldn’t leave any clues to connect this life with his next, and only the detectives investigating the syndicate knew how to contact him and where his next stop would be.
The message he’d received from Ramos to get the hell out of Harlow only solidified the decision to leave. The fact that the message had been sent two days ago, before he’d gotten access to his phone, meant he needed to hurry his exit along. Hell, he’d been damn lucky to survive his short but protected stint in prison as it was.
He stood before his couch now and zipped his last bag of belongings closed, ferrying it over to join the others, where he paused at his door to take one final look around. This house and Harlow had given him so many memories in a short amount of time—good and bad memories—the bad stuff all his fault. And Harlow could have been any other middle-of-nowhere town, except Sarah had made it so much more.
He wouldn’t have cared about leaving if not for her. That’s what hurt most about all of this. More than getting caught. More than having a target on his back. He’d hurt her. Was leaving her. She no longer wanted him and was safer and better off without him.
And then there were her parting words…
“I hope you stay in a cell forever, and I hope my face haunts you for just as long.”
No doubt his face would damn her for all the wrong reasons. Not because she loved him but because she rightfully hated him.
He squeezed his eyes shut at the assault of emotions bringing an ache to every breath. Best to get this over with. Best just to leave. He picked up two bags and made his way out the front door. His car waited just ahead on the drive when the thud of footfalls brought Ramos’s message screaming back to life.
Get the hell out…
A heavy weight slammed into his back. Too late. He crashed forward, his chin striking the hard ground covered in spiky grass. He groaned at the air forced from his lungs. At the sharp pain of his teeth smashing together. At the heaviness still pressing on him.
Get the hell out…
Yes, he had to fight. Had to escape.
So, he released the two bags still in his hands and kicked and rolled, slamming an elbow up as he did.
Another grunt. Not his this time. He flipped fully to his back, his gaze slamming into Andre Ivanov. One of Luciano’s guys.
Fire burst in the pit of Dean’s stomach. Revenge had come to his doorstep. The angry glow to Andre’s eyes said as much.
Dean struck out, his fist connecting with Andre’s ear. “You’ve come a long way to fight a rich fucker’s war.”
The man reeled but remained on top of Dean. Andre recovered quickly and flung his weight forward, using his forearm to crush Dean’s neck. Dean coughed and spluttered. Andre’s sneering face drew nearer. “And of us two poor fuckers, one must die, yes?”
Andre’s thick Russian accent filled Dean’s ears, and he wanted to shake his head, but he managed nothing more than to gasp for air. Air that didn’t come. His face turned inordinately hot. His skin and lungs burned in the effort for breath. He would die right here on his lawn.
He bucked, sending Andre off-kilter, bringing the man’s face even closer. Dean threw all his effort into thrusting his head upward, sending his forehead into Andre’s already crooked nose.
The man flailed backward, his arm disconnecting from Dean’s neck. Loud gasps of air filled Dean’s lungs. He coughed against the discomfort in his throat, all the while fighting to stay focused on Andre, who still remained seated on his belly, the fucker’s nose now pissing out blood.
They’d worked together a handful of times. Dean had nothing against Andre, except that Andre stood in the way of Dean’s refusal to let Luciano snuff him out like every other sucker in the past.
As if the others didn’t fight back too?
Sure they had. But he was done being a stepping stone in other people’s rivers, collateral damage on the way to getting what they wanted. Usually inane things like more booze, money, a shitty relationship… There’d been his parents. The sergeant. Then Luciano. Dean wouldn’t take anymore, so screw them all, including Andre here.
He swung a right hook at Andre’s head, flinging the asshole sideways long enough for Dean to shuffle out. He scrambled onto his elbows on his way to standing, only for Andre’s heavily booted foot to sweep the ground from under him.
He hit the lawn again, though at least he had his hands free to catch him this time, and he kicked a leg out, hoping that blind kick would land somewhere in Andre’s vicinity. A low scream validated his hope. He rolled onto his back and sat, grimacing at the sight of Andre clutching his nose again. Hit twice in the same spot, likely on a bone that was already broken…
Andre’s warning about one of them having to die had Dean scrambling to his feet. He couldn’t waste time. So, he ran for his car. Like a man on fire. Like his life depended on this escape. Which it did.
Not just his life.
A whole host of lives.
Even Andre’s.
All the people Luciano and the syndicate would hurt if Dean failed to survive. If he could just get to his car and away from Harlow. If he could just live long enough to attest to all the evil he’d recorded and witnessed over the years…
He lunged for his car and pried the door open, throwing himself into the front seat and then gunning the engine. He jammed the gearstick into reverse, his front door still open and now forgotten.
Even as he roared out of his driveway and his house faded around a corner, even as he escaped Andre alive, one glance through his rearview mirror revealed a white sedan trailing a block behind.
This ordeal was far from over.
“Gordon?”
Sarah turned toward the kitchen and glanced through the pass to see who had entered the back door. Gordon had clocked-off ages ago, but maybe he’d come back. Maybe he or one of her other staff had returned to grab something they’d left behind. Maybe the cold nerves rippling under her skin and bringing a weakness to her muscles was all for nothing.
And still, I have a bad feeling about this…
She paused in her tracks and listened. Nothing. Even though she’d definitely heard the door click shut, followed by footsteps, not all that long ago. She took a deep breath and shook her head. Time to stop overthinking this.
A set of swinging doors separated the patron area from the kitchen, and she strode through, determined to get on with closing the bar. While the back door sat slightly ajar, no one else was there. Maybe her panicked mind had imagined the footsteps. Recent events meant she wasn’t thinking straight, so maybe someone simply hadn’t shut the back door properly, and the wind had blown it open.
She crossed the kitchen, grumbling to herself to get a grip, only to pause at the night air blowing through the door. An eerie chill crept over her skin, followed by an inexplicable warmth, like someone stood beside her, so close their body heat touched her skin.
Wait. Didn’t I check the door not ten minutes ago?
She froze. She could turn—confirm that this feeling was once again her mind playing tricks on her—but what if she was wrong? She trekked her gaze up the wall to her left, to the change in light and a diffused shadow looming over her shoulder. Holy shit. Run!
She gasped and stumbled forward, pushing the door wide. Not fast enough.
An arm latched around her shoulders and lifted her off the floor, but she swung at the space behind her head, her knuckles connecting with the edge of someone’s jaw.
“Fuck!”
For a moment, she thought maybe Dean had come for her, but the male voice didn’t belong to him, and this guy smelled of cigarettes. Dean didn’t smoke. An instant pain cut into her knuckles, but she didn’t have time to ponder the ache.
Another hard arm hooked around her waist. She was dragged backwards and wild screams tore from her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks as she caved to her panic.
The crushing grip around her body established an intent to hurt her, so she swatted out toward the stocked shelves, trying to gain purchase on something—anything. Her hands connected with cans and glass bottles, many of which crashed and shattered on the brown tile floor until she ran out of shelves altogether.
An almighty shove came at her back, and she found herself tumbling through the open freezer room doors, her hands and knees hitting the cold, hard floor before she scuttled forward, but not in time to stop the heavy metal doors from slamming shut, locking her in.
Forty
Dean peered at his rearview mirror again, the white sedan, an Alfa Romeo, roaring behind him and incrementally gaining. He clutched his steering wheel with one hand and used his other to pat the pockets of his cargo pants, thanking fuck he hadn’t lost his phone in the scuffle with Andre.
He switched his gaze between the Alfa and the road, making sure the Alfa stayed behind him while he used the voice command to make a call.
“Hello?” Peter Marlin’s voice held a confused note.
“Luciano’s in town.”
“Dean?” The confused note deepened, maybe because Dean was the last person the sheriff expected to receive a call from. “Wait? What?” A shuffling sound took over, denoting movement, like the sheriff already sprang into action. Good. “Where are you? Where is he?”
Dean glanced at his mirror again. “He’s here. As in, trailing me at speed down Sherwood Road. I’m leading him to Mirabelle Falls, but he’s not working alone. So if you’ve got anyone else on duty tonight, call in all the help you can.”
“Got it. Where exactly at Mirabelle can I find you?”
“The bend, just after the picnic grounds. We’re on the move, but I have an idea on how to stop him, so you need to get here fast.”
“Right.” The slam of a car door cut over the sheriff’s voice, followed by a siren. “On my way.”
Dean hung up and tossed his phone to the console. From his glimpses through the mirror, he’d gleaned Luciano had a driver, some guy with a mean-as-fuck glare. Meanwhile, Luciano’s expression remained generally unaffected. Maybe because he’d been in the crime business forever and had seen and done everything there was to do. Maybe because, unlike his driver, this night didn’t necessarily have a live-or-die price tag attached. Maybe Luciano was just an arrogant, ignorant fuck, who could only envision an end where Dean died with a bullet between his eyes.
Maybe the man’s not wrong.
Two against one. And Luciano’s car was built for speed, unlike Dean’s.
The road straightened and now ran parallel to Mirabelle Falls. He planted his foot hard on the accelerator, trees flickering past his driver’s side window, the glow of bugs catching his headlights in the dark while he waited for the river to come into view.
Luciano’s car grew louder, the sedan eating up the distance on his right. His heart raced, the breakneck speed stoking a knowledge of just how this could all go wrong.
