Page 39 of Everything We Found

“I’m about to tell you, so back off.” Her words gained volume as her palms pushed against the air.

“Keep it down.” He motioned, tossing the lasagna into the truck as he stepped off the foot rail and closed the short distance between them, forcing her to look up at him. “Tell me EXACTLY what this woman said to Aimee.”

“I told you. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. She’d left by the time Kristen and I caught up to her. But whatever that woman hadsaid really upset her because she puked in the parking lot. She was crying.”

“Any idea where she came from, what she wanted?” He was getting a very bad feeling about this. Yet something else he’d have to look into. One more loose end to tie up.

Nadia shook her head. “She gave Aimee the card I showed you. Anyways, I had it but I lost it. I couldn’t find it in my purse where I’d left it. I wanted you to know that I was going to look her up, see if I could find anything about her.” Her eyes searched his. “I take it this is bad?”

“Very.” Because he was remembering who exactly this woman was. Whose friend she was. Imelda Rodriguez. The one woman who could yank the curtain from his charade and ruin him.

He got in the truck and started the engine. Shut the door.

“How long will you be out of the country?” Nadia asked through the window.

He shook his head, unclear. But it would be however long it took to ensure James stayed where he was and didn’t get himself killed should someone connected to the Hidalgos realize they’d botched his murder. Even if he had to risk putting himself in the line of fire to make sure it happened.

13

NADIA

PRESENT DAY

Nadia’s eyes flew open. She jerked to sit up only to find she couldn’t move. A shock of fear jolted her system. A hand was clamped over her mouth, keeping her prone in the bed.

“We aren’t alone,” Thomas whispered against her ear, leaning over her in the dark bedroom. His warm breath sent a zing of alarm down her neck, and not because he loomed so close with not an inch of space between them.

Her gaze darted to the door, cracked open from when Thomas had entered. Emotionally wrung out after Kane’s visit, as well as from watching the news all day, she’d barely eaten anything for dinner before showering and collapsing from exhaustion. It had to be well after midnight.

“Don’t make a sound. They don’t know where we are yet, but they’re looking.”

She nodded, making eye contact with him, and Thomas removed his hand. He helped her up and pointed at her shoes. She put on her sneakers, tying the laces quickly with trembling fingers. Her thoughts surprisingly weren’t scattered. Rather,they were surgical in their precision. Get dressed. Get out. Stay alive. She moved fast, picking up her limited belongings.

Thomas tugged the clothes in her hand and shook his head. She dropped the garments, getting his meaning. They were leaving everything behind.

He put her phone in her hand, which she slipped into her pocket. He took her hand and pulled her with him to the door. He angled his ear at the opening, listening. The floor creaked from somewhere within the house. A door softly closed. Thomas nudged her into his side and whispered against her ear. “When I say go, we go.”

“Where?” she mouthed silently in the darkness. His eyes must have been more adjusted than hers because he saw what she’d asked.

“Out the slider in the master bedroom.”

So across the hall, into the room, out the back, and over the fence, she finished in her head. Their escape route he’d planned when they first arrived. They just needed to slip from the house without whoever was here realizing they were getting away.

Thomas patted his jean pockets with his free hand. His grip on her hand tightened. She tugged his arm and he looked at her. She raised her brows significantly.What’s the problem?

“Car keys.” He shook his head.

She bit into the corner of her lip. He didn’t have them? He’d been keeping them on him just for this situation. When had he taken them out of his pocket?

Then she remembered.

Dinnertime. He’d slipped his phone into the same front pocket he kept the keys to help her cook. His phone had rung, and in his rush to answer—he’d been hoping for a call from James—he’d pulled out the phone and the keys. The keys dropped on the floor. She’d put them on the counter when he’d walked away to take the call. But he’d never put them back.

“Kitchen,” she whispered.

Fuck. His mouth shaped the word. He glared at the floor, thinking.

“All right. We leave the car.”