Page 69 of Bitter Truth
Still, he’s silent.
“You leave me no choice.”
I press the green icon next to the phone number todial. Wait several rings, my nerves ratcheting with each one of them, until the call is answered.
“Eddie, my man, what’s up?”
“This isn’t Eddie,” I say, meeting the bank teller’s frantic gaze in the mirror and smirking. “He thought I should make this call myself.”
There’s a long drawn out pause that I take for shock, but when the man speaks, his voice sounds amused, like he’s on the verge of laughing. “Cassidy Knox.”
“Garrett Glover.”
“You are a crafty one, aren’t you?”
“I’m highly motivated. And I’m on my way to a warehouse listed in your name on the tax roll. You know the one I’m talking about?”
“I do.”
“Then how about you meet me there in ten minutes?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Come alone, no weapons, and we’ll keep the chat friendly.”
Hanging up, I use the phone to tap the tattooed man on his shoulder. “I guess now you’re better off with me surviving than him. Here, take this and get out of the car.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing.”
He turns to face me with a startled expression. I hand him his phone.
“I’m not the bad guy here. You should remember that.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, giving a single nod before he jumps out of the car like he’s afraid I might change my mind. The truth is, I don’t want to hurt anyone. But that doesn’t mean I won’t.
CHAPTER 36
I should have known that my luck wouldn’t hold. Should have expected something like this to happen. But I’d been so desperate for everything to be quick and easy. To put this nightmare behind me so Jake and I could get on with our lives—happily and together.
Now, it feels like a clawed fist just seized my heart in a stranglehold and clenched, the tips of the daggered nails puncturing the vital organ. Because even though I’d been so careful, tried so hard, it feels like my plan is crumbling to pieces.
But it’s too late to turn back now.
While I was driving around before dawn, learning my way around, I timed the drive between the house listed in Garrett’s name on the tax roll and the warehouse. It should have taken him a full fifteen minutes to get here.
Though it only took me six minutes to make the drive from the parking lot behind the bank, it was clear the instant that my destination came into sight thatsomething unexpected had happened. Because the same car that had been parked outside Garrett’s house, a very recognizable classic Mercedes convertible, silver with a black soft top, is already here now.
Which means I have no chance to prepare. No opportunity to lay a trap. No time to take measures to ensure that I have the upper hand.
Instead, I just have a sick feeling of dread filling my insides to capacity and the sinking sensation that this is only the first thing that will go wrong. I wish I could turn around, drive back to the campground and pretend this never happened, but I can’t do that. I have to at least try to seize back control of my life, my safety, my future.
I glance around quickly, surveying my surroundings as I come to a stop in front of the building. There’s not much more than I was able to see in the dark this morning. Several other similar structures are arranged around a property that otherwise appears abandoned.
Weeds break through cracks in the asphalt and crowd around the sides of the warehouses, which are simple and nondescript, exact replicas of each other. There are no windows. An oversized single door has been cut into one of the two-story corrugated metal walls of each building. There are no trash cans, no benches, not even lights affixed to the exteriors by the entries.
I decide to leave the keys inside the ignition in case I need to make a quick getaway, but that leaves the problem of where to put my gun. I’m the one who said no weapons. I can’t exactly go waltzing in there with a firearm, not if I want any credibility that I’m here to make nice. And I don’t want to leave it in the car if it’s going to be unlocked.
