Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)(49)

I sit back down and wait for the coffee shop to fully open up, then get a muffin and a bottle of water and wonder what my next move should be. Maybe I should head back to the house. I know I won't make it past the security at the front gate – I'm sure they have specific instructions not to let me in – but they can't stop me from waiting outside the gates until Bree or Carter comes out.

Once I'm in contact with Carter again, I'll be safe, and then it's just a matter of securing some housing. Maybe I could even stay at Jack's for a while. Then I'll get a job, and start a new life for myself. Screw my father. I can manage on my own.

"Miss, do you have a ticket to fly today?" one of the security guards asks with a frown. "You're not allowed to just sleep here."

"I've had a change of plans, actually, but thanks for your hospitality," I reply with a tired smile.

"This isn't a hotel!" he calls after me as I lug my duffels toward the exit. There's a town car waiting just in front of the doors, but I glance around for a marked taxi. Carter's voice is in my head telling me to be cautious. Plus, these town cars are so expensive, and I don't have very much money. There aren't any other cars around, though, probably because of the early hour. I glance at the car, and see it has a limo license displayed in the window and a meter on the dashboard. The driver pops his head out and gives me an innocuous smile.

"You need a ride, ma'am?" he asks, with a yawn and bleary-looking eyes.

"Yeah, thanks," I reply. He takes my bags and I hop in the back seat as he puts them in the trunk. He slides behind the steering wheel and looks in the rearview.

"Where to?"

I look at his eyes in the rearview mirror. "I just got the funniest feeling of deja-vu. Have we met?"

"Don't think so!" he replies cheerily as he turns onto the highway. "But I get that a lot. I just have one of those faces!"

"Did you try to pick me up at the airport before?"

"Hmm, don't think so!"

I smile and nod, then turn my attention out the window. I have seen him before, though, I'm almost sure of it. When I came in on my Air France flight, there was a man with a limo who offered me a ride and called me by name. Without the context of the airport and the car, I wouldn't have recognized him, but now I'm positive. If he knew my name then, why is he pretending he doesn't know now?

But there was another time, too...at the club, on the dance floor. I remember because he was coming over to me just before Carter started insisting that we leave.

Something tickles at the back of my brain. Just one of those faces...when did I use that phrase recently myself? A cold feeling settles over me as I realize: it was when Carter and I were watching the tape. I said it about the man in the video. Without changing my expression, I go over the man's face in my mind: bland, balding, a little pudgy.

A face that's easy to forget...which is why I've forgotten it so many times.





Chapter Thirty-Two



Fuck. Here I was acting so tough, and I haven't even managed to stay safe for twenty-four hours. I glance up at the man's eyes in the rearview. His feigned tiredness is gone, and his countenance has taken on a watchful, hawk-like expression of focus. His eyes flick up to mine, and his face breaks into a sweet smile, completely obliterating what was there before. I smile back, and then turn back to the window.

My mind is racing, and my heartbeat pounds loudly in my eardrums. He probably wants to keep me calm until we get to some private location, where he'll do whatever he has planned. Torture? Ransom? Or immediate death? I force myself to stay in the moment, otherwise I'll freeze up.

I spot some other cars on the road, but there's no way to signal them without alerting him that I know what's going on, and then what if he just shoots me immediately? I have to play the game and pretend I don't know.

I glance down at my purse, and casually pull out my lip gloss as I rummage around in it. Wallet, bobby pins, makeup compact, some old receipts and papers, and a lighter. A lighter. That's some kind of weapon, right? I stare down at it. There must be something I can do with it. I glance back at the papers. Sticking out is my original Air France ticket. As quietly as possible, I pull it out, along with the old receipts and a flyer about the University of South Florida's extracurricular activities. I roll them up slowly, keeping my expression bored.

Now for the hard part. I wrinkle my nose, and then lean my head back and let out a giant sneeze. Just at the end of it, I flick on the lighter.

"Ugh, my allergies are terrible!" I exclaim.

"Mm," the man mutters. I glance out the opposite windows at the passing landscape. We're still on the highway. I'd like to wait until we're closer to buildings and people, but what if that's not the plan? What if he's going to pull over in the next minute and kill me in the middle of the woods? Better to take a chance when I still have one, and maybe get the attention of a passing motorist.