Page 57 of Bitter Truth
I turn to the last page, hoping to find a clue as to why I’m not. It can’t just be sheer luck. But as I search for the answer, I realize I’m not going to find it. There was a fluke when this sheet printed.
Instead of revealing the finer details of the man’s experience, as the previous sentence implied I should find, the words here are illegible, the text bunched tight on the left, widening on the right. It looks like blood spilling from a body, like it had from Skunk’s wound. Thoroughly creeped out, I shiver.
Quickly, I shove everything back inside the glove box other than the folder and the last SIM card, which I push down to the bottom of my pocket. I turn to stare at the store where Jake went, its lights shining brightly in the distance.
I don’t believe in coincidences, but I do believe in fate. I think that this is a sign. And it’s telling me that what Jake and I intend to do isn’t going to be nearly as easy as he thinks.
CHAPTER 29
I stare at the entrance to the store across the parking lot, debating whether I should go inside or not. Though the dread in my stomach has been coated with a thick layer of Mexican food, that doesn’t stop it from rising up, clawing at the back of my throat.
How long has Jake been? Long enough to worry? Or am I letting my nerves get the best of me?
There’s no denying that I’m twitchy. I can’t stop chewing on my lip and trying to finger comb the braid out of my hair, which has turned it into one massive dreadlock. By the time Jake finally appears, I feel like a wreck.
My gaze darts between him, as he pushes an overflowing cart toward the car, and the glove box, where the dossier of Don Farris is stowed once again. As soon as he gets close, I hop out of the vehicle and hurry over to him.
“Everything okay?” he asks as I fall into step beside him.
“Yeah. Just thought you might want some help.”
“I’ve got it. But here.” He pauses for a moment, rummages through the jumble of bags and pulls out a large bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, he hands it to me. “I’ll load everything. You rest.”
I want to argue that I’m fine, but I have to use both hands to hold the plastic liter he just gave me. Even though the meeting at the warehouse earlier today seems ages ago, the truth is, my body still feels like it’s back in that shack in the woods, exhausted, thrumming with fear, dehydrated, and weak.
Despite that, I stay, leaning against the back door of the car as he opens the trunk and begins transferring packages inside.
Picking at the label on the water bottle with a ragged nail, I think about the file in the car. The dossier on Don Farris contains the type of information Director Jacobson was working on getting for me. How had Jake’s PI managed to find the data so quickly?
Perhaps an even more important question is, what kind of connections does Jake have that allowed him to take the discovery a step further and access the hitman’s financial records?
As easy as it would be to ask, I can’t bring myself to say the words. I don’t want Jake to think I don’t trust him. And I don’t want him to know that I’ve read—and memorized—every word of what his PI discovered.
“So, what’s the plan, exactly?” I ask, needing to do something to vent some of my frazzled nerves to make space as more worries continue to fizz up inside of me.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean when we get to Key Largo. I’m going to use that ID to pose as your mom, right? To empty out her bank account?”
Jake deposits a handful of bags into the trunk and says, “I’m not sure. I mean, it’s one option, yeah, but I don’t know if it’s the best one. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a start.”
He pauses, turning to give me his full attention. “If we take her money, she won’t be able to pay anyone to do her dirty work. What else do you think we should do?”
I shake my head in response, not sharing the plan that I’ve started to form, because if the need arises to put it into action, there’s not going to be aweinvolved. It’s going to a me job.
Jake studies my expression. “What are you thinking, Cassie? Something’s bothering you.”
“I guess I’m just concerned. What if it isn’t enough? Your mom could have money stashed in bank accounts across the country. Or even in other countries, for all we know.”
A muscle in his jaw tics. He swallows hard as he sets his hands on my shoulders. “I don’t want you to worry. You’ve been through enough already. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Stepping forward, he closes the distance between us, his arms sliding across my back as he holds me close. He whispers against the top of my head, “I promise. One way or another, I’ll make sure she can’t try to hurt you again.”
Something about the way he says it makes my skin tighten. I pull back until I can see his face. “How?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
