Sounded pretty good. Aiden wanted to get married, settle down, have kids, build a home like his parents had. Only problem was he couldn’t envision it with anyone other than Charlie.
“What’s wrong with wanting that?” Aiden reached for her hand and took it in his.
She flinched and he closed his fingers more firmly around hers, expecting her initial reaction.
“For every nine out of ten people who want it, are drawn to it, one isn’t. Or can’t have it. For every nine out of ten who run toward the dream, one is stuck with reality. I guess I’m that one.” She pulled her hand away from his, shifting in her seat, and cleared her throat. “Do you think the men who attacked us are going to take Edgar to New Orleans?”
Aiden’s head spun as he tried to keep up with Charlie’s dodge-and-evade maneuvers.
There were times such as now, when she’d give an inch and he wanted to press for a mile through that thicket of thorn bushes surrounding her, needing to delve deeper so badly regardless of the injuries he suffered. But he’d get better results beating his head against a wall than taking a battering ram to her heart.
In the wake of his silence, she said, “504. That’s the area code of the number that texted the hit men. New Orleans, right?”
Her emotions were compartmentalized and controlled to the point of strangling. She radiated a distance that was part of her core. She wore that cold bravado like armor.
One of the things Nick had grumbled to Aiden about Charlie was the lack of closeness. Nothing physical that wasn’t foreplay, culminating in cool, no-nonsense sex. No hugs. No kisses beyond flirting. No postcoital cuddling. No sharing of anything of substance.
Nick’s complaints had left Aiden mystified.
In those quiet moments between Aiden and Charlie, when an intimacy was tangible and a physical kind seemed possible, she shared bits of her childhood, glimpses of her soul. There was no doubt in Aiden’s mind that hidden behind her cold reserve, she had an inner fire that raged, burned so hot that it would scald.
Sadness leaked through him at the absence of tenderness and affection in her life. He ached to give her the emotional warmth and security she deserved, to feed her heart and soul.
He gripped the steering wheel harder with both hands and took a deep breath. “Yeah, that’s the area code for New Orleans. The hit on Albatross feels personal, with the offer of extra money to bring him in alive so he could be tortured. With the involvement of the mobster’s sister and the fact that Edgar had worked closely with that guy, I’d say it’s our best lead.” The only thing they had to go on.
“It would be impossible for them to fly there with a hostage. They’ll have to drive. How long do you think it’d take them to get there?”
Aiden had mapped out the drive from San Diego to Camp Beauregard in Pineville, Louisiana. Twenty-four-hour trip that he could make in two days, if he took the job. Tack on an extra four hours to get to New Orleans.
“I’d estimate twenty-eight hours,” he said. “They’d drive straight through in shifts, only stopping when absolutely necessary for gas, food. Maybe twenty-nine hours if we’re lucky.”
“We need to beat them there, be ready once they arrive and find Albatross before they kill him. But with the head start they have on us, the only way to do that is to fly.”
“Have you forgotten we’re wanted? They’ll be on the lookout for us at airports.”
“I agree that trying to fly from any airport in California would be suicide.” Charlie stretched, rolling her shoulders, and Aiden could hear the wheels spinning in her head. “Didn’t you mention that on the reservation there are independent Navajo-controlled airports?”
“Yeah, so?” he asked, not liking where this was headed.
“So, your father is an important man.”
Aiden’s dad was the chief of a tribal council. He was essentially a governor with executive power, and the council had legislative power.
The position was one of great respect and influence.
“If you called him,” Charlie said, “and explained the situation, don’t you think he’d get someone to do him a favor? Get us on a flight to New Orleans. With our weapons. No IDs needed. No questions asked. He would gladly help.”
Without a doubt, his father would help any of his children in need, but Aiden would never ask such a thing of him. Charlie should’ve known better than to suggest it, but her upbringing was so different. Aiden’s family was large and tight-knit. Honor and respect and principles were as important as love.
Charlie didn’t speak to her mother anymore for some reason and only exchanged a few hollow pleasantries with her sister around the holidays. She’d never been taught the value of family, the sanctity of such a bond. All she knew was the anger, the fear and loneliness from not having it. He understood that was the reason she held herself at such a distance, but he was no longer sure she’d ever let him in on the other side of her wall.
“No,” Aiden said, shaking his head to emphasize his point.
“Why not? It’d be easy.”
“The easy way isn’t always the right one. I won’t ask my father. You don’t use family like that. Not if you care about them. This is our problem. I won’t drag him into this.”
“Your family is off-limits, but it’s fine for us to get Nick involved? He might only be getting us information, but we’re also making him complicit. He’s aiding and abetting us. I guess that double standard sits fine with you.”
The hypocrisy of it twisted through Aiden’s chest. Charlie’s point was valid.
Growing up, he’d worshipped his father. He’d been taught to protect his family at all costs.
Nick understood the stakes, the risks, and knew that if the shoe was on the other foot, he could rely on them to stick their necks out the same way for him. Nick could’ve said no, whereas Aiden’s father wouldn’t have a choice. His dad would be compelled to help.
There was a fundamental difference that he couldn’t put into words.
Folding her arms, Charlie looked out the window and dropped the issue.
A heavy silence filled the confines of the cab, almost consuming them in its enormity.
Aiden flipped on the radio and tuned in low background noise. He upped the speed a bit, keeping it under the limit. They didn’t come this far to get stopped for a traffic ticket.
For a hundred miles they drove east toward the mountains and the Arizona border without talking. There’d never been the need to force chitchat between them. It always flowed. The quiet moments were natural, not awkward and uncomfortable as it was now.
Her stomach growled, but she said nothing.