Infinite Possibilities (3 page)

Somehow, I force a small smile before cutting my gaze and grabbing an apron to tie around the waist of my pink uniform dress that all the waitresses here pair with laced white tennis shoes. It’s not that I don’t appreciate Katy’s concern. I do, and I like her quite a lot considering I’ve only been here such a short time, but I have no idea if we have anything but this place in common. Nor will I find out. I’m here another week, tops, and then I’ll find a trucker who feels safe, and who stops off the highway, and I’m out of here. It’s my only option until I have enough money and a good enough, well-researched plan that allows me to return to Texas without ending up dead like my family. 

George flips a burger on the massive grill in the middle of the kitchen. “If you two are ready to work, then go give the dinner crowd some holiday fucking cheer. We have turkey and dressing on the menu until Thanksgiving.”

“It’s Halloween,” I say before I can stop myself, not ready for the holiday. Not this year. Not for the past six years. 

“Close enough to a holiday for turkey,” George grumbles. “I got it at a bargain, so go push it to customers. Now get to work. This ain’t no Halloween party time for you.”

“Who needs costumes and parties?” Katy quips. “We have a monster in the kitchen every night.”

“I’ll show you a monster if I have turkey left over.” George adds a glower to what seems to be his typical grumble. 

Katy waves him off and rushes toward me. “The drunks in the dining room are nicer than him,” she assures me as we exit the kitchen behind the long counter where customers can choose to sit rather than at one of the red booths or simple diner-style tables. 

“I hope you’re right on that one,” I say, stopping just outside the kitchen, the scents of french fries and bacon mixing like sour eggs. Suddenly my stomach clenches, then rolls. 

“Me too,” Katy laughs, turning to face me. “But you’ll get used to him, I promise.” Her brows dip and she frowns. “You okay?”

“I took a vitamin on an empty stomach when I know better,” I say, and as much as I hate the lies that are my life, this one comes easily. The two waitresses on duty head toward us to hand off their duties, and I barely register the exchanges that follow. My mind is in another place, back in Liam’s hotel room when we’d had angry, passionate, unprotected sex.
You’re not pregnant.
Eight weeks, three cities, one period, and one negative test says I’m not. But my period was barely there, spotty at best. 

When I finally head toward my first table, any comfort I’ve talked myself into ends when another whiff of bacon hits me and my stomach knots.
Not pregnant,
I repeat in my head. I’m not. It’s impossible.
Right?
Just like the reality of me being in a roadside diner on the run isn’t possible and yet it’s happening. That’s enough to make me decide I’ll go take a test at my dinner break. Until then, I hope for a busy crowd to keep my mind off of the moment I look for that little pink line. 

***

Almost four hours later, I head toward the window behind the counter area that is open to the kitchen to pick up my last order before my break. Thankfully, whatever had affected my stomach is long past, but I still want to take a test to put my mind at ease. Most likely, my lack of sleep, worry, and the incessant flashbacks I can’t control without the acupuncture that travel and my budget do not allow, have made me this way. But I’ll fix that. I’m working on a plan that lets me get settled in Texas, pull myself together, and be on top of my game when I address the past.

“I think every drunk this town has come here tonight,” Katy complains, joining me to wait for her next ticket to come up. “I’ve been groped and hit on all night and that was just the women.”

“Right there with you on that one,” I say, and for some reason I feel the need to promise myself this job, this life, is not my forever. It’s just a means to an end. It’s smart. It’s me staying off the radar and building resources.

Katy pats her apron pocket. “At least the tips have been good.”

“Oh yes,” I agree. “I’m close to my best night ever. And I can use every dime I earn.”

“Can’t we all.” Her gaze flickers over my shoulder and her lips quirk. “And honey, I have a feeling your tips are about to get better. A guy who looks real expensive and good enough to lick asked to be seated in your section as I was headed over here, and sorry, no offense, but I tried to get him for me.” She glances down at her ample cleavage. “The girls failed me. I guess he likes them au naturel.”

I go still at her words, and a familiar, too often repeated, memory of me telling Liam I want to lick his tattoo flashes through my mind. He is not here. It can’t be him. It just...can’t. But isn’t that what I said when he’d shown up at the airport? “Can’t” isn’t a word Liam likes. Can’t never applies to him. 

“Order up,” George shouts and shoves two plates inside the pass-through window. 

Staring at the plates, I will myself not to overreact. Not to create a Godzilla that doesn’t exist when I have plenty of problems before me that do. Liam is not here. I’ve moved around and paid cash for everything. I’ve found small diners to work for that accept my pitiful little girl with a lost wallet excuse during the paperwork. I promise to replace my ID right away and then write down random socials. Even the phone calls I’ve made to Texas to research my past were done on disposable phones that I ordered with Texas numbers and a pre-paid gift card. I’ve been smart. I am not traceable. 

“You daydreaming or doing your job?” George demands, snapping me back to the moment to realize Katy is chatting with the other waitress. 

Grabbing my order, I whirl around, pinpointing the table my plates are for, and any chance I have to scan for this lickable man Katy has mentioned is killed when several people walk in the door and block my view of the rest of the room. 

Quickly, I set the orders on my customer’s table and the sensation of being watched comes over me. No. The sensation of being watched
by him
comes over me. Liam.
Liam is here. No. No. No. He’s not here. No Godzilla, Amy. No Godzilla
. 

“Can I get ketchup?” My customer asks. 

I manage a choppy nod and turn away, taking a few steps before I stop dead in my tracks, my attention riveted to the corner booth at the back of the diner. To where
he
lounges, looking as cool and confident as ever in jeans and a charcoal-gray pullover with the sleeves tugged to his elbows, as refined as a tailored suit. 

This isn’t happening. It’s not supposed to happen, at least not now, not like this. Not when I am no more certain than when I left Denver if he is good for me and I for him. Not when he could be the hunter and me the prey. And yet there is no urge to run. There is only the urge to go to him, to touch him, and lose myself in this man as I had months before. Illogically, there is relief that he is here and somehow I am not alone, when my running from him says there should be fear. And maybe my reaction is what should scare me the most. Liam is my weakness, not the strength I’d once seen him as being. 

Swallowing hard, I start walking toward him, certain he will have a plan to prevent me running anyway. He tracks my approach with those intense aqua-blue eyes of his, his neatly trimmed goatee somehow giving him a worldly, dangerous air, his cool stare turning hotter the closer I get to him. And terrifyingly, just as easily, my body burns in reaction, warning me I cannot touch him without losing myself in the process. That is the power of this man over me and knowing this, accepting it, is my only defense.  

But my plan, like the one to stay off the radar, is lost on Liam. The instant I stop at Liam’s table, he angles toward me, gently shackling my wrist, pulling me to him, my bare legs pressing to his jean-clad knees. The heat of moments before becomes downright fire and I am weak and aching for this man as I have never ached for another. 

“How did you find me?” I demand, and somehow my hand is on his shoulder, but I do not push him away. Why am I not pushing him away?

“The same way someone else will if you keep living like this. The CB circuit is broad and truckers like money. And damn it, Amy, what if one of them had raped you? Or worse, killed you?”

“You think I didn’t worry about those things?” I demand, angry that the control I’d thought I’d had was nothing but a façade he’d destroyed with his money. “I did what I had to.”

“You ran when you overheard me talking to Derek. And, yes, I know. I saw the security footage. What I don’t know is what you assumed it meant. All I’m guilty of is trying to protect you.” 

“I can’t trust you, Liam. I don’t trust you.” 

“You think I’m involved in whatever you’re running from, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what I think.”

“Would I be here, in a public place with you, if I meant to hurt you? I could have waited until you were alone and cornered you.”

“You weren’t afraid to be seen with me in Denver.”

“Exactly.” He settles his free hand on my hip, and it is a branding, a claiming that sets my heart racing. “Because I have nothing to hide. And you have nothing to fear from me. Not from me. I would never hurt you.” 

Not from him.
There are so many ways to translate that. “Liam--”

“Do you know how good it is to hear you say my name again?” His tone is rough, affected. And
I am
affected by the emotion I sense in him. 

“Let me go,” I whisper, telling myself I mean it, but I do not sound convincing, not even to my own ears. 

“What do I have to do to convince you I’m the one you run to, not away from? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“You put a camera in my computer. Nothing is going to convince me you are my hero whisking me away to safety. Nothing.”

“I didn’t put the camera in the computer. I found the one your ‘boss’ installed.”

I blink at the unexpected answer.
Found it?
Is he saying my handler put it there? That makes no sense. “Why would you even look for a camera if you didn’t know it was there?”

“Because nothing added up about your new boss.”

“You promised I could tell you what was wrong when I was ready, so either you lied about that or you’re lying about this.”

“You couldn’t tell me what you didn’t know was a problem. I won’t apologize for protecting you, Amy. Not then and not now.” He softens his voice. “
Run to me. Not from me.
Let’s get out of here before someone else finds you.” 

Run to him.
If only it were so simple. If only I could just say yes. “And if I say no? Will you walk away?”

“Don’t. Don’t say no.”

“If I do,” I repeat, “will you let me walk away?”

“Raw and honest, baby, no matter what. So, no. Not now. Not when I fear for your safety. I won’t let you walk away.”

“So you’re telling me you came here to kidnap me.”  

“Call it what you want, but I’m not leaving here without you.”

“Amy? Is everything okay?”

I stiffen at Katy’s unexpected interruption and I try to pull my hand from Liam’s, but he holds on to it. “Think before you act,” he orders softly. “You’re already on too many people’s radar.”

“Including yours.” My lips tighten. “But I know.” And I do. It seems just about everyone can be bought, even the police, I suspect. They certainly document everything and have their own radio system.   

“Amy,” Katy snaps, and her concern now rings more like irritation than anything else.  

“Liam,” I say softly.

“Be careful,” he says, and with obvious hesitation, releases me.

I turn to Katy, acutely aware of Liam standing up behind me and stepping to my side, his shoulder brushing mine. “Sorry, Katy,” I manage, despite my struggle to think of anything but Liam. “I was catching up with--”

“An old friend,” Liam supplies, clearly avoiding the use of his name and this hits a nerve for me. I thought he was fine with being seen with me, but he’s not fine with anyone knowing who he is here?  

Katy focuses on me. “We have customers. Some of yours are pretty angry. You need to get back to work.”  

“Actually,” Liam says, reaching across me and dropping a stack of money on the table, “Amy’s resigning, effective immediately.” He straightens again, still standing protectively by my side as he adds, “That should pay for all of her tables tonight and leave a generous tip for you taking over on such short notice.” 

Her eyes go wide at the large sum of money. “Oh. Well.” She scoops up the cash. “No problem. Sorry to see you go, Amy, but,” she looks Liam up and down, and her lips curve, “I get it. Believe me, I do.” 

She turns and walks away, but I stay put, and I do not like where my mind is taking me. Liam has just paid Katy off. He paid the trucker to find me. My father lived a life filled with invaluable relics which translated to more money. I’d tried to find a connection between my father’s work and Liam, and had come up dry, but now I have it. Money.

Liam’s hand settles possessively on my back, and I squeeze my eyes shut at the shiver that races down my spine, angry that I cannot control myself with this man. “Let’s get out of here, Amy,” he urges and panic rises inside me. 

Without a conscious decision to do so, I whirl on him and take several steps backwards. “I’m going to get my backpack,” I announce and I don’t give him time to respond, rushing away to the echo of his soft curse, and charging for the back of the diner. He won’t follow, I tell myself. He’ll want to avoid a bigger scene that draws attention. He doesn’t like attention or the press that comes with it. And I won’t risk the police, with nothing to truly report, and no certainty their records won’t somehow tell the wrong person my location. Or maybe the wrong person already knows. Maybe that wrong person is Liam. 

Fighting the urge to look over my shoulder, I push the door to the kitchen open and walk past the grill where George is working, but I don’t look at him. “Hey!” he shouts after me. “Get back on the floor. We have customers.” 

I don’t answer. I go straight to the coat rack and grab my bag, then turn the corner, heading to the hallway and the back door, hesitating as I reach for the latch on the industrial door. Waiting expectantly, I am certain Liam will be here any moment, but there is only the sound of something frying on the grill. Why hasn’t he followed me? It can mean only one thing. He’s already outside waiting on me. I flatten my hand on the cold steel, and then rotate to lean on the door, my mind reeling.