Mine: Black Sparks MC (21 page)

She laughed. “Sorry. I had to learn that for this ridiculous off-Broadway musical I was in. It was supposed to be this tongue-in-cheek parody of West Side Story, but it never once worked. It closed after three performances. Of course, all the knives we used were rubber bladed-trick knives. Still, I think I’d be pretty good in a rumble.”

Nick laughed, but there was a seriousness behind his eyes that she couldn’t help but notice. “Liana--this is serious. If somebody threatens you, he won’t be some actor doing choreography.”

“I know.” She hung her head and studied the floorboards. The undertone of what he was saying was, of course,
and I won’t be there to help you.
And the worst part was, Liana couldn’t argue with him about that. It came flooding back then: they had no plan; this couldn’t last, the moment they shared might have been all they’d ever have. Liana felt a sob rise in her chest.

Nick recognized it in a second, and pressed her to him again. “I wish I could always be there for you. I wish I could give you something better than some shitty knife. Maybe I could--”

“Nick. It’s okay,” she murmured, though she didn’t really believe that. “I mean, I’m still alive, aren’t I? After all this time?”

“You’re a survivor.”

Liana had never thought of herself this way; in fact, she’d only said to Nick to ease his fears. In fact, she’d thought of herself as the anti-survivor, the girl who was always running, always fleeing, always stupidly putting herself back in the same types of situations she was fleeing from to begin with. She wasn’t proud of it. But maybe she had something to be proud of, after all. Besides, whatever she’d gone through, Nick had been through worse.

“We’re survivors.” Liana tightened her lips, watching the light filter in from the narrow window. “When Noel came up there that day, I thought it was the worst thing that could have ever happened. I was like why me? Why does God, or whoever or whatever’s up there, want to ruin everything I do to even try to be happy? I thought I must have been cursed. Like I must have done something horrible in a previous life that would prevent me from ever finding fulfillment.”

“Well?”

“Now I know,” she whispered, fingering a lock of his copper hair, gazing at the bone structure that was even more exquisite than it had been, the gray-green eyes that were even deeper, more filled with sadness, but also more filled with love--love for her. How could she have ever doubted that? How could she have ever thought he hated her? He was looking at her like she was the only home he needed, as if she were the only shelter the world could offer. For a minute, it was enough to make her believe she could let him do what he had told her he was prepared to do--sacrifice himself, sacrifice his home, his family, and his happiness -- for her. To pay the price for her mistake. Again. But it lasted for a moment, only. She reached up and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, threading her hands through his hair. “Because I know now. It wasn’t supposed to be then. It was supposed to be now.”

“And if it all goes to hell--” Nick said. He didn’t finish.

Nick didn’t often sleep, Liana knew. But he did now, turned slightly toward her, his chest rising and falling imperceptibly, lips parted, eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, as she rested her hand on his shoulder for the sake of being close to him. And she knew she had to let him. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but she knew it wasn’t the least comfortable place he’d ever slept, either. She knew Nick could probably count on one hand the times in his life when he’d had nothing haunting him, nothing chasing him, nothing keeping him awake nights. There was only one place he’d found that could give him comfort, could give him some modicum of protection from everything that threatened. And that place was not with Liana.

Being here with her was among the most dangerous places he could be. Liana had thought growing up was going out on her own, proving she could make it, finding success and happiness in a new city, without anyone’s help. But she hadn’t really grown up until now. Looking at Nick, she could make the choice she knew was waiting for her. The choice she would have to make to set everything right. To give Nick back what she owed him, after taking so much from him, after stealing years of his life, after casting him into a dark pit of grief.

He would disagree, of course. He would tell her he’d forgiven her, that he’d forgiven her a thousand times already, that the only thing he needed was to be with her, that he’d turn against his brothers, cast himself out in the cold once again, turn into the lonely boy he’d been before the Black Sparks, that he’d make the sacrifice.

But part of being a grown-up was sticking to her guns. And what she knew was that Nicholas Stone had sacrificed enough.

It was Liana’s turn to sacrifice now. And if she didn’t do it happily, she would at least do it willingly. She rose from the floor, tiptoeing toward the windowsill where she’d left the switchblade, hoping she wouldn’t have to think about it again. Despite having lain underneath the floorboards for years, it was surprisingly free of tarnish or rust. But it also spoke to her silently, of dangers to come, of dangers Nick knew about but wouldn’t always be there to protect her from.

It was worth the heartache, she realized, bending down to kiss his eyelids as gently as she could, as she silently rose to her knees, then to her feet, quickly gathering herself. She retracted the switchblade deep into the deepest pocket of her handbag, knowing that if she paused to think about what she was doing, she might burst into tears, wake him up, and she would lose her chance.

This would be her ultimate gift: to leave him with that faint memory of her. It was worth the grief. And she knew what she had to do.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

“Do you want the 3:15 to Los Angeles?” asked the dreadlocked woman behind the counter, tapping at her computer screen. “Stops in Cincinnati, St. Louis, Oklahoma City, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles.”

“I’ll take it,” said Liana trying to steady her voice.

“All the way to L.A.?” the woman asked, eyebrows slightly raised.

Liana couldn’t tell if she thought it strange that someone would decide to travel halfway across the country on a bus on a ticket they bought the same day, but she decided not to think too much about it--after all, all kinds of characters must drift through this station, fleeing all kinds of pasts. She swallowed. “All the way.”

She knew if she paused to think about the step she was taking--whisking herself a thousand miles away from Prudence and Nick, perhaps irrevocably--she wouldn’t go. So she agreed. She did it as quickly as she could. She glanced at the doors anxiously, wondering if the bus had arrived yet. The sooner she could get on that bus and see the highway falling away behind her, the better.

She tried to keep her thoughts positive, though she felt a lump forming in her throat as she dug out cash from her wallet to pay for the ticket. At least Jack wouldn’t be able to track her credit card activity; she would be careful about that.
How had it come to this?
she thought as she collapsed on a hard bench to wait, keeping her bag snug in her lap.

A bus labeled “Los Angeles” had just pulled up at the door across from her, and the driver dutifully unloaded baggage from the compartment underneath as passengers milled around, smoke from cigarettes swirling around their heads. Across from her, a black-haired woman breastfed a fussy baby as the hoodie-clad young man who had accompanied her fed change into the snack machine a few feet down. Down farther, a dark-skinned man in a suit sat rigidly with a suitcase, talking to somebody on the phone. “Okay, baby, see you soon. I love you. Goodbye.”

They have places to go
, Liana thought as she took her place in line forming at the door and edged up closer, preparing to give her ticket to the driver. They had people waiting for them. Even if they were leaving on some other journey, heading someplace far away, they knew they had someone waiting for them at home who would be happy to welcome them back with open arms, no matter how far they strayed, how long they stayed away. She had that, for a short time. Now, because of the choices she had made in New York, because she had let Jack Camus control her, she had given all of that up.

She was aware she’d run out of cash at some point, probably sooner than later.
I’ll cross that bridge when I came to it
, she thought as she ducked into an empty seat halfway down the row, trying to be unobtrusive, hoping none of the people who followed were looking at her as a possible seatmate. It’s not like she was antisocial; she just didn’t trust herself to interact with anyone right now without breaking down or giving herself away. She wished she’d brought some earphones and an iPod, but she’d sold them to Misty when she’d left New York for some extra cash.

A middle-aged woman across the aisle, broad and bewigged, with skin as black and shiny as mahogany wood, gave her a smile. “Where are you headed, honey?”

Liana sunk down in her seat and told her, stumbling over the words.

“I’m going to see my son and my grandbabies in St. Louis,” the woman offered proudly. “I’ve been saving my time off and I get to stay for a whole week. I’ve been looking forward to it all year. You see pictures, you know, and you can Skype, but it’s just not the same.”

Something about the wistful longing in the woman’s voice, for family members loved and so seldom seen, made Liana’s throat hitch. She nodded and turned away.

“Did you bring anything to eat?” the woman asked.

Liana shook her head.

“Here,” she said, rustling a shopping bag and emerging with a banana.

“Oh, I don’t--” She didn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten. Logically, she knew she could use the nourishment. In reality, she never thought she’d eat again.

“Here,” the woman insisted. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

She fumbled with her phone as she heard it vibrate from deep within her handbag, and she hated the feeling of dread it invoked in her. The woman across the aisle looked at her, probably thinking she was about to become one of those chatterboxes who had everyone on the bus hating them by the time they got off. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Liana?”

“Kirrily?” she asked, surprised.

“Liana?” The older woman’s voice, suddenly blaring through the mouthpiece, sounded strained, almost raspy, different from her normal joyful Aussie lilt. “I’m in Cincinnati, and--”

“Kirrily?” Liana shouted. “What’s wrong? Is--”

“The blokes Tryg sent me to meet? They’re not--” Liana heard a thump, as if Kirrily had dropped the phone, or clumsily tried to hide. There was a sound of scrambling. Then a scream. “I can’t reach Tryg. You have to--” The phone clicked off.

“Kirrily?”
she shouted into the phone. She dropped the phone as if it were red-hot, blood rushing to her head, her face on fire.
Nick, where are you?
she thought desperately, then shoved the thought out of her mind. Here she went, getting him in trouble again. Nicholas Stone rushing into danger for her sake was out of the question and, besides, he’d never get there in time--and that’s assuming he was still in Prudence. If he knew what was good for him, he’d be in the next county right now.

What else could she do? Fleeting, she considered dialing Tryg, but she snatched her fingers away from the phone. She knew he’d demand an explanation, and then he’d know she wasn’t with Jack. She’d have no chance of helping Kirrily then. She didn’t know which men Tryg had sent Kirrily to meet or why, but nothing about the situation sounded good, and Kirrily’s strangled gurgle as she’d hung up the phone echoed through Liana’s brain again and again, forming a tunnel of fear. She thought back to the times Jack had hurt her--shoved her into the door, wedging her body between the doorframe and the door, then slamming it closed again and again.
It’s for your own good. Why do you make me do this? This is hurting me more than it hurts you.

She shuddered, covered her face. She knew what that pain was like. She should be able to stop it, but she couldn’t. Not for herself, and not for anybody else, it seemed. She rested her head against the window slowly, feeling suddenly helpless, overwhelmed. Here she was running away, and it seemed trouble had followed her.

The woman across the aisle reached out and tapped her. “Are you okay?”

“I--” She bit her lip. Out the window, she spied a highway sign--the exit to Cincinnati was only twelve miles away. In an instant, her decision was made. She leaped out of her seat and dashed to the front of the bus.

“I’d like to change my ticket. I’d like to get off in Cincinnati.”

“Ma’am?” the driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror, confused. “But your ticket is to--”

“I know what I bought. But I can use it later, can’t I?”

“I’m sorry; it’s nonrefundable.”

“I don’t care. I’m getting off in Cincinnati.”

The driver kept his eyes on the road, but she could almost see him shying away from her in his seat, as if she were one of the crazies his on-the-job manual had warned her about. “If you want.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, her shoulders swiveling, as Liana returned to her seat, heart pounding. She perched on the edge of the purple upholstered seat, eyes focusing everywhere and nowhere--the gum wrappers shoved into a chink in the wall, the mother with the cranky toddler walking the aisles, taking him back and forth to the restroom, swaying with the motion of the coach, the cars cruising by on the highway, their drivers’ elbows sticking out of windows, enjoying the unexpectedly warm spring afternoon. All of it was familiar, all of it meaningless.

She rummaged around in her purse, glancing hesitantly at driver, willing him with every part of her body for him to press on the gas pedal, as if she had her foot on it herself. She wanted to run up to the front of the bus and scream in his ear.
Can’t you drive any faster, for God’s sake?

When the bus finally exited the freeway and lumbered into the station, she was momentarily relieved--until she saw the black Mercury wedged into a spot right next to the entrance--and she knew something was seriously, seriously wrong.

Her heart started thumping, an automatic response, a holdover from her time in New York when she had to peek around every corner, when she couldn’t walk, sit or sleep without fear. And now the embodiment of that fear had caught up with her.
No, turn around,
her mind was screaming at the driver now as he shifted into park.
I didn’t mean it. Go back!

“Honey?” asked the woman across the aisle, her eyes crinkling with concern as Liana reached for her phone.

But she knew it was already too late as she saw the unusual expression form on the driver’s face as one of the station employees waved him down. She heard shouting from outside, activity as employees rushed toward the bus. Heart thumping, her fingers paused over a number she’d only put in the day before. There was nobody else. It had to be him. She only had enough time for one word--

Help

--before the door to the bus flew open and heavy boots thundered up the stairs, and a voice that sounded like coiling snakes announced the words she hadn’t hoped to ever hear. He was a cop, born and bred, and he knew how to intimate, to make the entire bus go silent. His badge around the neck over his black t-shirt and leather jacket, his Glock brandished menacingly at his side. Still, his voice oozed boyish charm.

“I’m awfully sorry to disturb you fine folks today, but my name is Sergeant Jack Camus, NYPD. I just received good intelligence that there’s a fugitive from justice aboard this bus. If the individual who I’m referring to will give him or herself up without a struggle, we can be on our way without any trouble.” Jack looked directly at Liana and smiled.

A woman behind Liana gasped.

There was no way out now. Jack and his gun blocked the entire aisle, and no doubt a whole fleet of other black-and-whites were merely a phone call away. Slowly, trembling, barely seeing or feeling, Liana got to her feet. She couldn’t bear to think what the kind lady who had offered her a banana was thinking. The woman’s eyes were open so wide there was more white than pupil, and she was mouthing something under breath--Liana could have sworn it was a prayer.
Lord help me, that nice young lady was a violent fugitive the whole time, and I didn’t even know it. What has the world come to?

Liana froze like a block of ice as a hand latched onto her elbow like a claw, swinging her backwards as her back collided with the expensive black leather of his jacket, a familiar scent of Vetiver cologne that now made her stomach sink into her knees.

“What’s the matter, princess?” Jack whispered as he fastened the cold metal of the handcuffs around her wrists and shoved the barrel of the Glock into the small of her back. Liana didn’t know which sensation she hated more as he marched down the aisle past seemingly endless rows of wide-eyed, gaping passengers. “You’re an actress. I thought you loved putting on a show.”