Page 27 of Texas
Kristin’s quiet for a moment, then she says, “I want to keep going to the clinic. I don’t want to hide.”
“Then we won’t.”
“You don’t think that’s stupid?” she says, her voice smaller now.
“I think it’s dangerous,” I say. “But so is letting him win.”
She turns her head to look at me. “And you? What are you going to do?”
I kiss her cheek. “Business as usual.” She studies me for a moment like she knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t call me on it. She simply leans back again, her body softening against mine. I reach for the soap, lather it in my hands, and slide my palms across her shoulders, massaging them slowly. She sighs. I wash her back, her arms, and the curve of her waist. She lets me. Her head tilts forward and I kiss the back of her neck. We don’t speak for a long time.
When the water starts to cool, we climb out and towel off, still quiet. She slips on a nightgown. I put on my T-shirt and briefs, and we climb into bed, limbs tangled, her head on my chest. Kristin’s asleep within minutes. I lie there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. My mind won’t shut off. I keep seeing the trucks and the cameras. I keep hearing her voice. “You don’t have to stay for this.” But I do.
Carefully, I slide from under her, grab my phone off the nightstand, and pad barefoot into the kitchen. The screen lights up my face in the dark. I find Matt’s name and type a quickmessage. “Tell Rach I’m sorry if this wakes you. I know it’s late, but I need your help.”
A message comes back less than a minute later. “You didn’t wake me. I don’t sleep much either. What do you need?”
“Intel on a guy named Will Cleveland. Real estate, old money, small-town Texas. He’s got surveillance on a woman I’m with. Cameras. GPS trackers. Tried to run me off the road. Can you dig?”
Three dots to pop up immediately. “Jesus. You okay?”
I think about what all to tell him, then keep it simple. “Took a hit. Still standing.”
Matt texts right back. “You always are. I’ll see what I can find. You want a paper trail or dirt?”
“Both.”
This time there’s a pause before he writes again. “Anything I should know about the woman?”
Again, I don’t know how honest to be. “She’s the reason I’m not already gone.”
“That serious?” he shoots back.
I pause. My thumb hovers over the screen and then I type the truth. “She’s worth protecting.”
“Then I’m in. Give me a day. Maybe two. Be careful, Holliday.”
“Always.” I set the phone down and stare out the window for a moment. The lake’s still and the sky’s dark. Somewhere out there, Will thinks he’s still in control. Let him. For now.
I crawl back into bed. Kristin shifts in her sleep, curling into me and I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close, and shut my eyes. Tomorrow, I’ll go into town. Ask Hank who around here drives black trucks with bad intentions. Ask Donna what it takes to burn a man like Will from the inside out. But tonight? Tonight, I hold Kristin while she sleeps and hope that’s enough.
Seventeen
The sun’s high in the sky by the time I roll into town, with heat coming off the pavement in waves. My shirt is stuck to my back, and the road dust clings to my jeans. I keep the throttle low as I cruise down Main, the Harley’s rumble low and steady beneath me. Kristin’s at the clinic already, and I told her I’d spend the day “riding to get my mind off things.” Which is technically true. Just not the kind of riding she thinks. I’m not here for tacos and window-shopping. I’m here to ask questions and not the friendly kind. I’m here to ask the kind that piss people off and shines light into places folks around here work hard to keep dark.
Parking in front of Dog-Eared & Dusty, I kill the engine and swing off the bike. The shop’s the same as before with the sun-faded awning, little bell on the door, and the smell of old paper and cedar that hits me the second I step inside. It’s cooler in here, thank fuck. The AC’s struggling, but it’s trying. The cat’s asleep in the same spot, curled on a sun-warmed cushion like it owns the place.
Hank’s behind the counter with a book cracked open in one hand and a glass of iced tea sweating onto a coaster beside him. He glances up, sees me, and gives me a knowing nod. “Reggie,”he says, closing his book with one hand. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”
I shrug. “Didn’t think I’d still be here.”
He gestures to the stool across from him. “But here you are.”
Sitting, I stretch my legs out and let the silence hang for a beat. Then I say, “You recognize two trucks? One black, new. One white, older. Both full-size. No plates showing because they were mud-caked. They boxed me in yesterday on the back road to Austin.”
Picking up his tea, Hank doesn’t flinch at my question and takes a slow sip. “You all right?”
“Bruised,” I say. “Bike’s a little worse but I can still ride it.”
