Page 49 of Moonlit Hideaway
He could see it in the way her eyes sparkled with recognition, her hands steady on the wheel as the city lights illuminated the night, casting a glow on her face that was both familiar and heartbreakingly beautiful. She was used to the fast and furious pace, and her energy level increased as the turnpike added lanes in its approach to Newark.
But Hank was an islander through and through. His world was the sound of the ocean, the quiet peace of Hattokwa, the simple life of running an inn and being a father. The idea of Sierra, with her vibrant energy and big-city ways, finding lasting happiness in his small-town existence seemed like a far-off dream. Yet, here she was, beside him, sharing this journey. What would happen once they trapped her enemies and she was free to go?
As dawn broke, the sprawl of the big city with its tangles of electrical transmission lines, traffic signals and railroadcrossings, and sea of concrete underscored just how different Sierra’s world was from his. But then, he remembered the way she’d laughed about their ‘honeyweek,’ the way she looked at him with such genuine affection, and the softness in her voice when she spoke of Emma and Mabel. They still had things in common.
Sierra glanced over as if sensing his pensive mood. She slipped her small hand into his, interlacing their fingers. “I appreciate you more than you know. I wouldn’t be taking this step if you weren’t here. Law enforcement scares me, and I don’t know if we can trust them, but whatever happens, I will always treasure the sand castles we’ve built together.”
In other words, she’d never forget him, but she was moving on. It was okay, maybe, because loving her had shocked his heart back to life—sending him to the peaks of joy and screaming down to the depths of uncertainty.
“Whatever happens, it’s better than going back to your old life under the thumb of the organization.”
“Yeah, it was disheartening to know my dad had me tracked and monitored.”
“Hopefully, with the new identity and the agent taking your place, they’ll have no clue where you are after today,” Hank said, looking at his phone. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“My guitar has a tracker on it. I don’t want to lead Marco’s guys to the field office,” Sierra said. “Let’s ditch the truck and my stuff somewhere safe, take our two carry-ons, and walk or take a bus. That’s why I borrowed an old bag from your mom.”
“Oh, right. I didn’t think of that. I should turn off my phone.” Hank powered off his phone.
“Besides, we should get to a gas station and change our clothes in case anyone followed us.” She steered the truck around the orange cones, marking off piles of debris. “Ditch the truck where the agent can pick it up later.”
Hank tensed at the rundown area they were driving through—broken windows, graffiti-tagged walls, and potholes deep enough to swallow a tire. “You think of everything. I could use a big cup of Joe.”
“And I need to freshen up. Can’t look like something the cat dragged in, especially to my replacement.” She smirked, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Looks like we’re good. It’s so early; people are just getting up.”
“This place looks sketchy. All these broken buildings.” He craned his neck at their surroundings. “Ouch, potholes everywhere. Is this normal?”
“Yep, but it’s worse in California.” She laughed. “Even the wealthiest zip codes have roads worse than Afghanistan. It’s what happens when the mob controls the purse strings, and public works never get done.”
“I guess.” He hated when she mentioned her connections, knowing that the very thing she was escaping was the family who’d nurtured her—to a point. How had someone who’d grown up the way she had still been able to retain a kind heart and moral purity? Good thing she was edgy and street smart because he was lost in this concrete jungle.
“There.” She pointed to a patch of cracked asphalt with an off-brand gas station and convenience store. “Bathroom in the back—out of sight of the clerk.”
She pulled into the rundown parking lot, maneuvering around rubble and potholes. As she shifted into park, a sudden screech of tires whipped their heads around. A dark sedan roared up, blocking their rear exit. Before Sierra could throw the truck into reverse, another vehicle jumped the curb in front of them—hemming them in near the air and water.
“What the hell…” Hank’s voice cut off as two men in black suits and masks leaped from the lead car, Glocks aimed directly at them.
“Get down!” Sierra shoved Hank’s shoulder an instant before the mobsters opened fire, shattering the windshield and showering them with glass. She grabbed her weapon, rolling down her window to return fire at their attackers.
The deafening barrage was interrupted by a new sound—shouts and running footsteps rapidly approaching and the popping of gunfire. Risking a look, Hank spotted two figures coming from behind them. They were trapped. Hank tensed, ready to throw himself into harm’s way to protect Sierra. But she grabbed his arm. “Stay low. There’s an alley on the right. If we can get to it.”
“Let’s do it.” He plunged out the passenger door as bullets ricocheted around them. In the distance, sirens screamed, but his focus was entirely on Sierra as they darted between parked cars toward the dubious protection of a dumpster.
Chapter Eighteen
Adrenaline crashed through Sierra as she and Hank scrambled from the truck toward the alley, using the battered truck’s body as a cover. Behind them, gunshots splattered, and tires squealed. Hank’s fingers tightened around her hand as he dragged her behind the dumpster, and the sound of footsteps chasing them echoed in the narrow alley.
Sierra’s breath sawed in her lungs. Her hand trembled as she reloaded a clip and peered around the dumpster at their pursuers. A cold chill ran down her spine, knowing they were caught—trapped like rats.
“FBI, drop your gun,” a man yelled, flashing a badge.
“I’m Emily Patterson, and he’s Thomas Reed,” a woman’s voice, steady and confident, joined in.
“Boy, am I glad you guys are here,” Hank said while Sierra held her gun, unsure whether to trust them.
“It’s okay,” the woman said. “We saw the tail from miles away. You can come out.”
“Why don’t I throw you the keys, and you can take the truck?” Sierra said. “Everything’s in there.”
