I can practically hear his breath huffing down the back of my neck as I unlock the room, mentally calculating whether or not I can get back to the front and that hidden emergency call button in time.
There’s another one in my office, but I don’t have any reason to go there that won’t make Gavin and Paisley way too suspicious.
Right now, though, I’m worried about him figuring things out as I push the door open and flick on the light. The cord running across the ceiling and dangling down against the wall just inside the door isn’t super obvious, but someone astute—someone like Alaska, with a trained eye—might notice.
Lucky for me, Gavin’s no Alaska.
Because Gavin’s so hungry for gold that he doesn’t see anything else.
Eyes wide, his face shines like a little boy who’s just found his literal golden ticket to good fortune, the splendor before him, the possibilities.
I can practically see cartoon dollar signs lighting up his eyes—along with that cunning duplicity.
Yep, he’s plotting something.
Whether to double-cross me, double-cross Paisley, or both of us...who knows.
I just have to hope I can turn them against each other before they both turn on me.
“It’s all there,” I say, lingering in the doorway. “Careful, it’s crazy heavy. I think my father took the Lockwoods’ money and converted it into gold before hiding it. Smart man. With inflation, it’s worth a lot more today than it was when he took it and laundered it into gold bullion. So Paisley’s getting her daddy’s money back with a ton of interest. You’re welcome.”
I’m not sure Gavin even hears me. But his gun arm lowers, the weapon hanging slack in his fingers like it suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.
I have a split-second idea—kicking it out of his hands, knocking him down, and running.
Not yet.
I have to remind myself to be patient.
To play the long game.
There’s a bolt of panic running through me as he finally snaps out of his trance, shaking himself and then glancing back at me with greed glittering in his eyes.
He seems to think better of it and stops a second later, pulling a phone from the breast pocket of his shirt.
He lifts it to his ear and waits a moment, then says, “...yeah. Yeah, it’s here. It’s the gold, all right. Don’t see anything fishy. Coast is clear. She’s playing straight. Yeah, she’s alone.”
A shudder tiptoes up my spine.
I don’t need that reminder of what a precarious position I’m in.
How trapped I am.
I know all too well about thirty seconds later when the bell over the front door jingles again.
This time, I know who’s coming.
I know those sharp, clicking footsteps anywhere, dainty heels pattering across the floor.
She’s here.
And I don’t want to be stuck with Gavin in front of me, Paisley behind me, and nowhere to run.
But the weight in my back pocket feels ten times heavier as I head out to be a good hostess and meet the demon in the front of my café.
I try not to be obvious about scurrying out there, slipping behind the bar, leaning my elbows on the counter.
Paisley comes strutting up flanked by no less than six of her paid slabs of muscle. She looks like a poodle today with the giant pink bow in her hair—and her ridiculous purple leather jacket with a giant floral P emblazoned on it, childish and bright.
Believe it or not, sometimes I almost pity her.
I get it.
I got stuck in emotional quicksand when my dad died, too.
Some dark, hurt part of me will always be that little girl waiting for her father to wake up before the crack of dawn, hoping that one perfect cup of coffee will make him smile like everything can still be all right.
But I never let missing him make me a monster.
I never let it make me cruel.
That’s where any pity, any sympathy, any similarity between us dies.
Especially when her nasty smile reveals everything as she reaches back and clicks the lock on the door with a decisive turn.
I’ll never get any pity or mercy from this woman.
“Well now, sweet Fe-lic-i-tee,” she purrs, her grin widening into this horrible Cheshire cat gash. “Look who finally came to play at the big girls’ table.”
“Big talk from someone who looks like a doll.” At this point I’ve got nothing to lose by being honest. “Nice of you to send your new shithead as the advance guard.”
“Mmm, Coakley’s disposable. Just in case you had any nasty tricks up your sleeve.” She mock-pouts at me with a sick gloss of girlish giggling. “But you’re going to play real nice with me, aren’t you?”
“Just take your crap and go.”
“Ooh, feisty.” She wrinkles her pert little nose at me. “Not until you tell me what you were talking about with the kid. What child had you so scared?”
“Misunderstanding,” I say slowly. Carefully. I can’t breathe a word about Eli to her. I won’t put him in more danger, even if she knows he exists and he’s close to me. “Some tourist’s kid got lost in the woods. Thought you stole him to make a point.”
With an exasperated sigh, she props her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes. “So paranoid. As if I’d bother with children. They’re loud, annoying, and smelly.”
“Such a delightful sentiment.”
“You’re cranky today.” Paisley smirks. “I think I like sassy Felicity better.”
“You done?” I stare at her flatly.
“And cut this bonding moment short?” She gives a little twirl, then sighs. “Fiiine.”
My fingers creeps toward the panic button, but Gavin emerges from the back, and I freeze.
From where he’s standing, he’ll see.
“Hey,” he says, grinning like he actually did something. “There’s really a metric fuck-ton of gold in here. It’ll be a workout just to carry it all.”
Paisley’s smile vanishes, and she gives Gavin a look of such loathing I almost laugh.
At least we agree on something.
“Is that your problem?” she asks icily—then flicks her fingers at me. “You. Go. Show me where it is.”
Gavin’s face falls. “I just said it’s—”
“And I said shut up, Mr. Man!” Paisley hisses.
Jesus. I’m sure they’re all armed. If they start fighting right on top of me and it escalates into a shoot-out...
Keep it calm. Breathe.
I straighten, let out a nervous yawn, and use the motion to disguise hitting that small silent panic button. Langley should be here in fifteen minutes or less, the Missoula police maybe another hour or two.
Let’s hope I’ll still be alive.
I step into the hall, staring Gavin down coldly until he backs up to the storage room door. I get one step forward.
And then feel something cold jabbed in the small of my back.
A gun.
My stomach turns over.
Paisley leans in close, hissing in my ear, her breath scalding hot on my neck.
“In case you get any funny ideas. I know what a comedian you are,” she whispers. “Even if you live, you’d enjoy your retirement as a paraplegic. So behave, Fe-li-ci-tee.”
“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” I croak dryly, and let myself be frog-marched forward into the storage room.