Page 75 of Mercenary
“I love you, Madelyn. Do you honestly believe I’d forget about you? Hell, I’ve been tracking you for months. San Diego. Cabo. Corpus Christi. I warned you about how easy it is to breach bank security systems.”
“What?”
“You transferred to San Diego State and accepted your scholarship money. You hung around with a pretty, dark-haired girl. A spunky gal—the perfect friend to snap you out of Mother Teresa mode. You seemed content, Maddie. In the process of moving on with your life like we planned, Okla-fuck-me-over-homa be damned.”
I’m frozen in place, speechless, the T-shirt and shorts I just removed from my duffel bag clutched tightly within my fist. There’s just far too much wrong in what she’s revealed.
“Listen. I’m sorry for dragging you into my crazy.”
“You checked up on me?”
She nods. “You’re the only reason I’m back in Oklahoma. I accessed your banking statements online and easily tracked your movements. But Christ, you didn’t leave me much choice when I realized you were headed home. I had to make sure you were okay. Lord, how I wish you didn’t come back to Shelby.”
“Because of DiCapitano?”
“Among other reasons.”
“Let me get this straight. You hacked into my bank account?”
“Not hacked. Accessed. Password: Biology Rocks.”
I shake my head. “Why didn’t you contact me?”
“It wasn’t safe. Hell, it’s not safe now. We’ve got to get out of here. Before they track me to you.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows arch. “No?”
I’ve always been the more amiable, easygoing one. But right now, I’m ten seconds to Sunday from tossing her on her ass. God, she could piss off the Pope.
“Someone died, Kylie. It should have been me.”
She stares at me, her cheeks growing paler by the second.
“In Cabo. Four men cut my dark-haired friend up with knives. Not enough to kill her but a few deeper cuts will leave scars. Her companion was killed. They kept saying my name. They were after me. So much for protecting me. In case you haven’t figured it out already, you aren’t the only Smith in danger. Kylie, someone was sending a message to you.”
Kylie crouches over, places her hands on her knees, grits her teeth, and shuts her eyes. “He thinks he’s so goddamn untouchable. The manipulative bastard. I won’t let him get away with this.”
“Who, Kylie?”
Declan? Does she mean Declan? A broken promise is worse than a lie.
“Hurry and get dressed. We need to go.”
I hastily tug on my clothing and secure my hair into a ponytail. Then I fold my pajamas and stuff them inside the duffel, right beneath the gun. I make sure it stays on top, secured away but within reach in case I need it. “Who’s Declan to you?” I ask.
I hear her gasp.
I frown and turn back her way.
She looks so pale she could easily audition for a role in Arctic Circus Goth, if such a show exists. “No one.”
I roll my eyes at her denial. “Well, you’re someone to him.” I pause, considering how much to tell her. Most people believe that of the two of us, Kylie’s the strongest. Physically, she is. Just ask the two Shelbians with twisted noses, a reminder of the time she smashed in their faces for teasing me back on the Shelby Elementary School playground. A fighter, my sister. As opposed to me, the pacifist. Only Kylie and I understand the truth of the matter. That it’s my faith in life, my faith in people and in the goodness around us that keeps us both anchored. It’s my strength that’s seen us through our father’s murder and our mother’s death. She’d be the first to admit it.
Might as well start at the beginning . . . “He drove me to college in his pickup truck.”
Kylie is staring at me, wide-eyed. For a second, she looks just like she did when I came home from that school playground with a black eye. I refused to fight the boy. Matter of fact, I told him to hit me as hard as he could if it’d make him feel better. He almost backed down, except the other boy was egging him on.
