Page 15 of My Secret to Protect

‘I can’t, Grandma.’

She pulls back, looking directly into my eyes since we’re practically the same height.

‘Breanne, if you think I’m just going to let you sit out here in this state and not get to the root of it, you’re dead wrong.’

‘I can’t talk about this here,’ I whisper, wondering if he can hear me, if he’s here somewhere, somehow.

‘Then where?’

‘Grandma, I can’t talk about this.’ I look around at the trees and bushes, all the places he could be hiding.

‘Bree, why do you look like you’re afraid the boogeyman is about to jump out on you?’

I sob again and growl up at the sky, frustrated with this whole situation.

‘Because I am,’ I admit, throwing my arms out to the side and letting them slap down against my thighs. ‘Someone is watching me.’ My voice is so little, quieter, and weaker than I’ve ever heard it. ‘He’s watching me and messaging me, and I don’t know where he is, Grandma. I don’t know if there’s anywhere that he can’t see me.’

I watch her absorb my truth. I wait for the shock and horror of the situation to dawn on her, but I should have known better. Doris Campbell is a badass.

‘Bree, don’t take this as me doubting you, but I have to ask. You’re a cop. If you know who this guy is, why can’t you do something?’

‘I tried, and they laughed me out of there. He’s a cop, too. A much more well-connected one, a detective. I don’t have any proof it’s him yet, and nothing will stop him until I have something solid.’

‘Come and stay with me. We’ll figure this out,’ she says without hesitation.

‘Grandma, I can’t lead him to your place. I don’t know what he’s capable of.’

‘Breanne, you remember that my house is safe, right?’

I inhale deeply. I remember. The van always parked right outside with the men, always inside it, waiting. The man I… I hang my head and close my eyes, pushing away memories that I don’t have the head space for right now. Then I nod.

‘I remember.’

‘Then you know, you can lead him right to my front door, but he’ll never get close to either of us there.’

She’s right. My dad’s deal from before I was born to make sure his parents were protected still stands almost forty years later. They don’t interfere with her or her life. They just stay in the background and watch. Wherever she goes, she’s protected, and she keeps them on their toes with all her traveling, but they figure it out. Her house is safe. I’ll be safe there.

‘I’ll come home with you.’

She nods, then pats my cheek and smiles. ‘Okay, honey. That works for me.’

Somebody Hurt Her?

Arlo

‘Hey,Mrs.C.’Ismile at the familiar face approaching, grabbing a rag to wipe the oil from my hands as she opens her arms to me, undeterred by my dirty coveralls as she wraps me up tight, just like she always does.

‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Arlo Harper.’ She releases me from her hug and reaches up to pat my cheek with her hand. ‘You’re getting more handsome. It’s not fair on the rest of them.’

Laughing, I step back. ‘What can I do for you today?’ I look behind her, seeing her car parked out on the lot, wondering if it’s an oil change or new tires.

‘Well, I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time?’ She nods towards the office. ‘To talk.’

The look in her eyes tells me what I need to know about this conversation. She doesn’t need my skills as a mechanic. She needs me for something she can’t talk about out in the open.

Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, I consider where I’m at. I have tried to stay on the right side of the law since I got out of prison twelve years ago, but if Mrs. C needs something, anything, I can’t say no.

I grew up in a world without affection. My dad loved me. I never doubted that for a second, but he loved from a distance, without soft words or hugs. He encouraged me, sure, and he was proud of me for growing up to be good with my fists, for being able to ride a motorcycle before I hit puberty, for being able to take apart and put back together an engine, hold my liquor better than men twice my age, and being able to talk any woman I wanted into my bed and have them begging to stay there. My grades didn’t matter to him because I wouldn’t need them to succeed in the club. I had a legacy to uphold, after all. My dad would have taken a bullet and sent them flying for me, but Mrs. C was the one to pat my cheek and hug me the way I always imagined a mom or a grandma would. She was the one to lift me up when I couldn’t get any lower and tell me I could make something more of myself than what was expected of me. I love her, so I turn, holding out my arm for her to lead the way.

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