Page 10 of Crowe
I zipped the bag and turned, scanning the room one last time. Six months of my life reduced to a single bag I could carry under one arm.
Jackson took the bag from me without asking. “All right. Let’s go.”
We didn’t linger. He ushered me out, locked the door behind us, and didn’t let me look back. As we headed for the stairs, the weight of it finally settled in my chest. Whoever had paid for me still believed he owned me. He hadn’t forgotten, hadn’t let it go.
Jackson didn’t talk much as we pulled out of the lot. He drove like it was a normal day, not like we were heading for Three Bears HQ because my worst nightmare had come true. Like we were just running an errand or going for a drive.
I folded my hands together in my lap and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound scared or weak, and I finally decided on generic road chat. “It’s what, about five hours to Vesper?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sure, once we get out of Houston. The city alone adds another hour.”
“Right?” I asked. “Traffic here is crazy.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I never really was a big city guy. Vesper is the largest place I’ve ever lived.”
“Me, either, but when I left six months ago, all I wanted was to be anonymous, and I figured a city this big would be the best place for that.”
“I can see that.”
I looked back out the windshield. “It’s been good, though. I mean… I’m better. Therapy twice a week, and my work keeps me busy. Flowers don’t ask a lot of questions.”
“They don’t,” he agreed.
“They do make me calm, always have,” I added, then huffed out a quiet laugh. “Which probably sounds ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t.”
The highway opened up in front of us as we finally left the city behind. Lanes stretching long and clear, and for a second, I let myself believe we were already past the hard part.
“Wolfe says it’s temporary,” I said. “Staying there. Until they figure things out.”
“That’s the plan.”
“And then what?”
Jackson was quiet for a beat too long. “Then we take it one step at a time.”
I nodded, even though my chest felt tight. One step at a time was better than spiraling, and I was trying very hard not to spiral.
I settled back into the seat, watching out the window as the area around us slowly shifted from urban sprawl to something less congested and more open.
We’d been driving for about an hour when Crowe’s posture changed. It was subtle. A tightening through his shoulders, his hands shifting on the steering wheel, not gripping harder, just… adjusting. Like he’d moved from casual to on-guard.
“Seatbelt,” he said.
I blinked and looked down. It was already fastened. “I—”
“Check it,” he repeated, calm but firm.
I tugged it anyway, my pulse jumping. “Okay.”
He didn’t look at me. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then to the side mirror, then back to the road ahead. The radio went silent as he reached out and shut it off.
“Jackson?” I asked.
“We’re being followed,” he said, like he was telling me the weather.
My stomach dropped. “What?”
