Tommy stood, put his empty plate and mug in the dishwasher, and strode past her without a glance or a word. A second later, the bathroom door shut, and the shower turned on.
“Sit.” Cole pointed a spatula at the table and turned back to the stove.
If she didn’t sit, she would collapse. So she obeyed.
He joined her, holding a heaping plate of food.
Her eyes watered, overflowing with despair. “Would you kill me if I fought you for a bite?”
“No need.” He slid the plate toward her and wrapped her trembling hand around a fork. “Hurry up. You only have about five minutes.”
Shocked elation jolted through her, but she didn’t hesitate. Eggs, bacon, pineapple, glazed donuts—she shoveled it all in, groaning, whimpering, and casting off her manners in lieu of stuffing her face. “He doesn’t know you’re feeding me?”
“No, and if you tell him, this will be the last time I interfere on your behalf.”
Focused on devouring every bite, she didn’t come up for air until she’d licked the plate clean.
Cole held out a glass of water, regarding her too closely.
She drank deeply, washing down barely chewed food. “I’m not complaining, but what are you playing at? Good cop, bad cop?”
“If you think I’m the good one, you’re terrible at your job.”
The bathroom door opened.
Cole reached out and swiped a thumb across her lips, clearing away crumbs. Then he moved the empty plate, setting it in front of him.
Her blood-sugar levels were already rising, surging energy through her system and chasing away the trembling effects of hunger. She was far from feeling like her normal self, but the meal had quickly taken the edge off.
She met Cole’s eyes, and maybe he saw the gratitude in hers. But she wouldn’t thank him. He was an accomplice in her suffering, and she owed him nothing.
With a smirk, he reclined in the chair and ran a finger along his beard.
He wanted her to think he wasn’t a good guy. He could mostly pull it off with that unnerving smirk on his rugged face and the sheer number of tattoos that competed for space on his strapping arms. And maybe his heart was a little jaded and a lot broken. But those bloody, beating scraps still had the capacity for compassion.
As Tommy walked from the bathroom to the bedroom and back to the hall, she pinched the neckline of her tank-top and scrubbed the inside of the material over the surface of her teeth, trying to remove any evidence of that satisfying meal.
Cole arched an eyebrow.
She tipped up hers in return. She’d meant what she told Tommy that first night in the desert. Keeping secrets was a weakness of hers. She did it too well and often lied to protect someone’s feelings.
Tommy emerged, wearing a cowboy hat, black t-shirt, faded denim, and dusty boots. His gaze went to her, the empty plate in front of Cole, and made a pass through the kitchen, taking in every detail.
“We’re going for a ride.” He prowled toward her, reaching into his back pocket.
She stood. “Where—?”
He slapped a handcuff on her wrist and looked at Cole. “I’ll be out of signal range for a few hours.”
“Where are you taking me?” She kept her movements slow and her stance weak, feigning starvation, even as every muscle in her body burned to fight the restraints.
“I’m heading out, too.” Cole pushed from the table, ignoring her as efficiently as Tommy. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“Don’t go after Evan or Mason.” Panic shook her voice. “I swear to you, Cole, they’re not involved.”
“Come on.” Tommy pulled her along by the handcuffs, hauling her out the door and into the morning heat.
She shaded her eyes with her free hand, faltering at the sight of a 1980’s doorless, topless Jeep Wrangler.
“Where’s my truck?” She turned, searching the property, and spotted a black Harley-Davidson motorcycle. “Please, tell me you didn’t get rid of my truck. It took me years to pay that off!”
He lifted her, dropped her in the Jeep’s passenger seat, and made quick work of shackling both of her hands to the handle on the dash.
As he walked around the front, she took an inventory of the cargo. A shovel, pickax, large plastic containers filled with water, other containers with unknown contents. Her attention returned to the shovel.
“You’re going to bury Paul Kissinger?” Her heart shivered.
He climbed in, buckled her seat belt, did his own, and started the engine. Then he shoved the Jeep into gear and took off.
Speeding over ruts and prickly shrubs, he worked the clutch and the gear shift and… Fucking fuck fuck fuck!
Even if she managed to escape the cuffs and knock him out, she wouldn’t be able to drive out of the desert. Because she didn’t know how to drive a goddamn manual transmission.
She dropped her head back on the seat and groaned.
Endless miles stretched in every direction—an expanse of searing, white-hot hopelessness. Gusts of dusty air blasted in through the open top, whipping her hair around her face and stinging her eyes. If she died and went to Hell, it would probably just be more of this.
“I have a newfound aversion to the desert,” she said aloud.
“Tell me about it.”
The fact that he responded at all surprised her, but it was his words that drew her gaze.
“What?” He glanced at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “I hate this fucking place and never planned on returning.”
That was her fault. She’d given him no choice.
“I’m sorry.” And she was. “I demanded you to come here because you were in over your head in that undercover job. What happened with Luke? Did he make it out?”
His hand clenched on the steering wheel, his mouth a slash of grim silence. The silence continued for the remainder of the drive through the desert.
He didn’t use a map or GPS to find his way. He knew this land better than anyone.
An hour later, he slowed the Jeep, approaching a butte on the horizon. It looked like all the others in this region, but the flock of vultures circling overhead told her that this butte had a narrow cave at the base. And a dead body.
When the corpse of Paul Kissinger came into view, she wanted to close her eyes and hold her breath. She wanted to turn back.
Tommy parked the Jeep far enough away not to smell the rot. Large black birds of prey darted and swarmed in her periphery. She couldn’t look. If she did, she would lose her breakfast.
He shut off the engine and unlocked her handcuffs.
She rubbed her wrists, her senses on high-alert. If she ran, he would catch her. If she stole the Jeep keys, she wouldn’t know how to operate the clutch. She was free of the restraints, but not free at all.
“Luke is safe.” He turned his neck, blinding her with the golden depths of his eyes. “I talked to him last night.” The corner of his mouth bounced. “He fell in love with her.”
“With the target? Vera?”
“Yeah.” He unbuckled his seat belt and stared out at the desert through the windshield. “If I hadn’t left the cartel compound when I did, things would’ve gone differently. Probably worse. Maybe my departure saved lives. Maybe Luke, Vera, and I would’ve survived either way.” He turned his harsh glare on her. “But you had no business interfering. I don’t give a fuck if you’re telling the truth about your motivation or lying through your teeth. You’re a stranger to me. You had no right reading my emails and making demands.”