Page 75 of Twisted Enemy
“I can?—”
“You can find your own way home. That’s what you can do.”
I drop the mangled Kitty Mew-Mew onto the ground and slam the car door closed. I can’t manage the twist to bring around my seatbelt, but I can start the car and put it in gear. Gritting my teeth, I measure out pressure on the accelerator. AsI stare at the road, avoiding the rear-view mirror, I leave Kate behind with the rest of the fortune I’ll forfeit in the next twenty-four hours.
31
KATE
Iwatch the Mercedes’ taillights until the car disappears around a bend in the road. I’m conscious of the building at my back, of the freeport employees who have watched this last, humiliating chapter in my fight with Cole.
Setting my teeth, I rescue Megan’s pitiful stuffed animal and shove it deep into my pocket. Then I stand there, staring toward the front gate as if I can magically erase the past few minutes. Few weeks. My life.
“Kate.”
I jump at the sound of my name, but I recognize Alix’s voice before I turn to face her.
“Come inside,” she says. “We can set you up in one of the freeport’s cabins for the night.”
I glance back at the office building. Trap Prince stands in front of the huge double doors, chin up, hands on his hips likehe’s balancing the world on his shoulders. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.
“You’ll be safe.”
“It’s notmysafety I’m worried about. I don’t think Himself would take kindly to your helping me.”
“Himselfwould never lay a finger on me.” Her tiny smile says worlds. “Not unless I ask him to.”
I can’t help but repeat the words she said to me, less than an hour ago: “So it’s like that, is it?”
She gives me a gracious nod. “Let me help you.”
“Thank you,” I say, pushing enough emotion into the words that I hope she’ll believe me. “But I need to do this without the freeport.”
She produces a business card from her pocket and presses it into my hand. “Call me if you need help. Any time, day or night.”
“Thank you,” I say again.
Turning my back, I open a rideshare app on my mobile. A driver is five minutes out. I trudge to the front gate to avoid the entire mess of security.
The driver is half a mile from the small Dover airport when I change my plan. I have no idea if car hire companies are open this late on a summer evening. Even if they’re doing business, they might not have unreserved cars available.
“Take me to a motel,” I say to the driver.
“Which one?”
“I don’t care. Whatever’s closest.”
He takes a few turns and pulls into a run-down place overlooking the highway. I must look skeptical because the driver says, “The rooms are clean. And it’s safe.”
Clean and safe. I could do worse for tonight.
The front desk clerk runs my credit card and gives me a key to a room at the back, on the ground floor. He says there are vending machines and an ice maker, and the pizza place acrossthe road delivers for free. I can’t imagine ever wanting to eat or drink again, but I thank him for his kindness.
When I get to the room, I close the door, turning the deadbolt and putting on the chain. I pull the scratchy curtains closed too, doing my best to make them overlap in the center. It occurs to me that Tarasov knows his mates were cheated by now. They’ll be wanting revenge.
It also occurs to me that my driver has a very different definition ofcleanthan I do. Every laminate surface in this room is covered with greasy dust. Two wooden chairs push up to a tiny table. The closest one feels tacky, as if someone left behind a layer of tape.
I hope the driver and I have more agreement on the meaning ofsafe.
