“Well, you’re gonna love it.” I grin.
13
Riona
I could not feel more out of place if Raylan were taking me to Morocco.
I’ve never had a pair of cowboy boots on my feet in my life. I’ve never eaten at a diner. And I’ve sure as hell never ridden a horse, let alone visited a ranch.
I almost think he’s taking me here just to torture me. There’s a lot of other places we could go that are less . . . foreign.
On the other hand, I definitely feel a million miles away from Chicago. And that does make me feel safe, in a strange way.
Before we leave the motel, Raylan calls Dante and lets him know where we’re going. My phone and laptop burned up with everything else in my apartment, so I don’t have any way of contacting anybody.
“It’s better that way,” Raylan tells me seriously. “Dante will tell Cal. But I don’t think anybody else should know. The whole point of taking you here is to keep you completely off-grid. Hopefully your brother and Dante can figure out what the fuck is going on, sooner than later. But in the meantime, I don’t want to risk this guy being able to track you.”
I don’t really like the idea of running and hiding, disconnected from my family and especially my work. But that fire scared me. More than the near-drowning. It felt like an escalation—like a mark of this guy’s desperation to get at me, no matter how safe and protected I might think I’ve made myself.
“I do need to call Dean,” I tell Raylan. “If I just disappear, and I’m not answering any calls or texts, he might call the cops. Bare minimum, he’ll come to my apartment. And probably notice the hole in the side of the building.”
Raylan considers this.
“Fine,” he says, at last. “Call him too, from the motel phone. You have the number memorized?”
I nod. “Yeah, I know it.”
I always remember numbers—addresses, phone numbers, birthdays. And the numbers in legal files. I don’t know why they stick in my brain. I could tell you case file numbers from years back. It’s useless information most of the time—I’d rather keep the brain space for something else. But that’s the way my mind works.
Raylan frowns, like he’s annoyed that I know Dean’s number. Like he thinks it means something.
“Can I get a little privacy?” I say.
“Fine,” he says. “But don’t tell Dean where you are. Don’t tell him where you’re going.”
“I know. I won’t,” I promise.
Raylan goes out to wait for me in the car. He doesn’t have to carry any bags out, because of course we don’t have any bags. We threw the remains of our old smoke-stained clothing in the trash.
I pick up the phone sitting on the nightstand and hit the button for an outside line. I can’t remember the last time I made a phone call on a landline. It feels weird holding a receiver instead of a cellphone. Weird to stay connected to the base of the phone by a long, spiraling cord, instead of being free to wander around during the call.
It’s so funny how things change so fast. One minute a piece of technology is a novelty, and before you’ve even noticed, it’s the most normal and natural thing in the world. And the old way seems like a distant dream.
I can hear the phone ringing. I’m planning to leave a message if Dean doesn’t pick up.
Instead, I hear his grumpy and sleepy, “Yeah?” on the other end of the line.
“Dean, it’s me,” I say.
“Riona?” His voice is husky and confused. “What number are you calling from?”
“I’m at a hotel,” I say. I remember Raylan’s injunction against specifying our location.
“Why are you at a hotel?” Dean says. His voice contains equal parts bewilderment and annoyance.
“My apartment, uh, burned down last night.”
“WHAT!?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna be staying somewhere else for . . . a while,” I say.
“Where are you?” And then, after a second’s hesitation, “You can stay at my place, you know.”
“Thanks, but I’m still with . . . I still have Raylan watching me,” I say.
“He’s with you now?” Dean says. There’s an edge to his tone.
“Not right next to me. But yes, he’s at the hotel.” I say “hotel” instead of “motel” to try to make it sound less sordid.
“Are you staying in the same room?”
“We’re not . . . we didn’t sleep here last night. We just used the shower. Not at the same time,” I hasten to clarify.
“So you’re sharing showers and hotel rooms with him now,” Dean says. His jealousy is obvious. And it’s obvious he’s trying to pick a fight.
“He’s a bodyguard,” I say, not even trying to hide my annoyance. “Quit trying to make it sound like something it’s not.”
But even as I’m saying the words, I’m remembering that kiss in the gym. I tried to shove it down to the very bottom of my brain. Tried not to think about it again. It was just a moment of insanity on Raylan’s part—we were both hopped up from the race. Annoyed at each other for our own stupid reasons. It was impulsive and irrational. It didn’t mean anything.
Still, the memory steals the ring of truth from my statement. It makes me sound petulant instead of certain. It leaves a hint of doubt for Dean to hear.
“I’m not okay with this,” he says. “I’m not okay with any of this. Somebody’s stalking you and trying to kill you and I’m just supposed to act like that’s normal? You’ve got some bodyguard with you twenty-four-seven, like you’re the president? This is fucking weird, Riona.”
“I’m so sorry that someone trying to KILL ME is an inconvenience for you,” I say acidly.
“This is fucking crazy! You’re with this guy and—”
All of a sudden, I feel very tired. It’s been a long night, and a strange morning, after one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Dean’s not going to understand that. He was never going to understand any of this.
I cut him off mid-rant. “You’re right, Dean.”
“I . . . what?” That’s the last thing he expected me to say in the middle of an argument.
“You’re right,” I repeat. “You shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. Let’s take a break, and maybe when I’m not in the middle of running for my life, we can pick things back up again.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. Then Dean says, “You’re breaking up with me?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “I think so.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Dean says.
I hear a click and then dead air.
He hung up the phone.
I set down the receiver, my heart thudding.
I kind of said it on impulse. But I don’t think I regret it. When I examine what I feel, it’s a lot closer to relief, actually. I’ve got too much to deal with without having to baby Dean’s feelings, too. This is for the best.
I leave the motel room, joining Raylan in the car.