“I’ll be fine. I’m worried about you. Be careful. I love you,” Miriam said.
“Love you, too.”
After she hung up, they were on the move. Cruz separated the phone parts and dumped them into different trash bins as they walked along the sidewalk.
“What did the article say?” Shanice asked.
He handed her the paper and she scoured the contents.
“They don’t have much information,” Cruz summarized. “Lucky for you, you stayed under the radar at your friend’s house.”
“This article says that we’re armed and dangerous. It makes it sound as if you murdered those men in cold blood, but you had to kill them because they were trying to kill me.”
Cruz kept up a brisk walk. “You know that, and I know that, but the police don’t. All they know is that we fled the scene and left bodies behind, which looks bad.”
“So we’re fugitives?”
“For now. But they don’t know who I am or have a clear image of who I am. They will figure out who you are. They’re either going to think you were kidnapped, or that you were an accomplice, but we’re going to clear your name, Shanice. I promise you that.” The firm set of his jaw convinced her of his resolve.
Shanice folded the paper and tucked it under her arm. Outside of a speeding ticket, she’d never broken the law. Could this situation get any worse?
“I not only have to hide from the people trying to kill me, now I have to hide from the police, too.”
“Another reason we need to get out of here, and fast.”
They stopped at an intersection to let traffic go by. Cruz took that opportunity to dial a number on his personal phone. She listened to him make arrangements with someone—the friends he’d said owed him a favor. They would help her mother go into hiding and protect her until she and Cruz figured out what was going on with Logan Investors.
He spoke in succinct sentences, using code words like “ship the package.” If she didn’t know him, she wouldn’t have any idea he was talking about taking her mother to safety.
They crossed the street, and after walking a few more blocks caught a taxi to a small airport thirty minutes outside of Miami. The pilot was an older Afro-Cuban, with pecan-brown skin and curious eyes when he looked at Shanice.
After the introduction, Cruz and the man stepped aside to talk and Shanice sat in the quiet terminal, watching the few passengers seated reading or talking on their phones. The airport was much quieter than Miami International Airport. Several of the passengers wore business suits. Two women looked like her and Cruz—dressed casually, flipping through magazines.
Finally, Cruz called her over, and they went onto the airfield. Shanice’s steps slowed when she saw the small plane. It looked shiny and new, painted dark red along the tail and upper half and silver below.
She stopped. “That’s what we’re taking to Houston? You said we were going in a jet.” She’d never flown in anything so small.
Cruz turned to look at her. “A personal jet. There’s plenty of room and it’s perfectly safe. Come on.” He extended his hand.
Against her better judgment, Shanice placed her hand in his, and the comfort of his warm clasp lessened her anxiety.
They climbed into the surprisingly roomy interior, able to accommodate seven people comfortably in tan leather seats. Everything looked state-of-the-art, from the impressive controls on the instrument panel to the USB ports and power plugs throughout the cabin. Cruz sat next to her, smiling reassuringly and looking quite comfortable, with plenty of headroom to accommodate his height.
The pilot conducted the pre-flight check and Shanice held her breath as they taxied down the runway and lifted into the air.
Gripping the armrest to her left as she gazed out the window, her breathing slowly flattened to a normal rate, but the knots in her stomach tightened at the thought of going back to the origin of the crime. This was either a good idea or a bad idea.
She desperately hoped it was a good idea.
17
“This is home.”
Cruz had checked them into a nondescript motel, someplace where they wouldn’t stick out and there wasn’t nosy staff providing customer service they didn’t need. Almost four hours and one bag of vomit later, Shanice felt a bit tired but was in good spirits.
When they had landed, Cruz “borrowed” a gray sedan and switched the plates with a red car a mile away. Then he drove to this location on the outskirts of Houston.
He had parked far away from the front door while she hid in the back seat, out of sight. He returned with the room key and drove around to the back side where their room was located on the second floor. There wasn’t much to see, but it was clean and furnished with a queen bed, a desk and chair, and a sofa beside them.
He’d tried to get a room with two beds, but the clerk told him they wouldn’t have one available for two nights. Wonderful. She looked forward to two more nights of pink balls.
Shanice took a seat on the bed. “What now?” she asked.
Cruz checked his watch. “We wait.”
They didn’t have to wait long. A knock sounded on the door less than ten minutes later. Although he’d assured her they were safe and hadn’t been followed, Cruz lifted his forefinger to his lips and signaled for her to go into the bathroom.
Heart thudding, Shanice scurried inside, turned the lock, and pressed her ear against the door. She’d be so glad when she could go back to her old comfortable life and didn’t have to keep watching over her shoulder or worry every time someone came to the door.
When she heard male laughter, she knew it was safe. Raheem had arrived.
Cruz knocked on the door. “You can come out.”
She exited and got her first look at Raheem, a man Cruz had spoken very little about, but each time he mentioned his name, his voice filled with admiration and affection. They were obviously very close.
Raheem was almost as tall as Cruz, with a muscular build and kind brown eyes. He had a fresh fade and a sexy grin as he extended his hand to her. She imagined he was quite a heartbreaker.
“Raheem. Nice to meet you,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
He looked at Cruz. “All right. Let’s get down to business.”
Raheem placed a silver, hard-shell suitcase on top of the desk and entered a combination. The locks flew open and revealed a laptop nestled in a black foam cushion. There were other gadgets in there, too, but he lifted out the computer and took a seat.
Cruz went to stand behind him, arms folded, brows furrowed in concentration. Shanice took a seat on the bed, where she had a good view of Raheem’s screen.
“I searched for storage facilities with your friend’s name,” Raheem began, “but there weren’t any rented in the city under Dennis Ray. I expanded my search to fifty miles outside the area, but the few I found didn’t match based on the information Cruz gave me about him. I did a little more digging and found the name of his daughter and tried again. Turns out, Emily Ray is renting a unit in the Houston area, but I don’t have the unit number. Give me a little time, and I can access their computer records and get everything we need.”
“I would have never thought to check under his daughter’s name,” Shanice said, impressed.