Page 8 of Dane

“‘Rourke, D. -- acceptable loss.’” Knight read it aloud, like he was announcing a death sentence. “Four lines below, ‘Sloan, B. -- asset, maintenance required.’”

“You were never going to get out of that robbery, Dane. It was only a matter of how long they kept you behind bars. And I suspect Sutton had a hand in your sentence length, but I’m getting ahead of myself there. I still have a long way to go with that paper trail.”

“Fuck me.” The hits just kept coming.

Knuckles knocked on the open door to Knight’s office, poking his head inside. “You get anything on that gray sedan?” he asked, voice low.

Knight shook his head. “It’s clean. Out-of-state plates, rental. Classic ‘don’t want to be found’ setup.”

Knuckles let out a grunt. “Could be a hired gun. Could be someone else watching Brielle. Either way, I don’t like it.”

Knight looked from me to Knuckles and back. “You know what I think?”

I said nothing, but the sick feeling I already had in the pit of my stomach grew.

“I know what you think.” Knuckles said. “You think she’s the target.” Knuckles met and held my gaze. “Not you, Dane.”

“Fuck me,” I whispered again.

“Yeah, you already said that,” Knight waved a hand. “I don’t swing that way and Lavender is off fuckin’ limits.”

“Asshole.”

“She’s in over her head,” Knuckles went on, ignoring the byplay between me and Knight. “And if what Knight’s got is right, there’s someone else pulling Sutton’s strings. Maybe even more than one someone. Which means we gotta figure out who the real enemy is.”

I clenched my jaw, the anger coming back. “She lied under oath. How trustworthy could she be?”

Knuckles just looked at me. “People do dumb shit when they’re scared. Hell, most of us are only here because we did some dumb shit when we were scared. And even you don’t believe a Goddamned word you’re saying. Yeah. She lied. Tell me you haven’t lied, and I’ll call you a mother fuckin’ liar. Stop making excuses to hate the girl and see the situation for what it is.”

“Don’t forget, she tried to fix her mistake. She tried to quietly pass on what was happening. Sutton was able to intercept it. She lied, yeah. But I’d argue she was more a victim than you are, Dane. And I think you know it, too.”

I wanted to disagree. I wanted to tell Knuckles he was full of shit and to go to hell, fuck you very much. The world didn’t work on good intentions or second chances. But all I could see was the look on Brielle’s face when I told her she’d have to live with what she’d done.

Knuckles put a hand on my shoulder, surprisingly gentle. “Give it a day. Sleep on it. Then you can decide if you wanna keep being pissed off or do something useful.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice.

Knight watched, his mouth quirked in something close to a smile. “If you want, I can run the numbers,” he said. “But I’m warning you, ROI is pretty low.”

Knuckles snorted, but I quit listening. Knuckles was right. I needed to think about everything I’d learned.

I left and headed out into the cold night. The parking lot was empty except for the security lights and the faint outline of the river beyond. I stood there for a long time, letting the cold strip away whatever was left of the old Dane Rourke. When I finally went inside, I didn’t look back. From now on, there was only forward.

Chapter Five

Brielle

I woke up in a strange room in a strange bed. The blinds covering the large window were drawn up all the way, letting in the warmth of daylight. I woke on top of the bed still in my jacket, mouth dry and stomach a sunken pit. The last memory before sleep was the click of the lock, and the pressure of what seemed like a hundred hours of wakefulness closing in all at once.

I blinked a few times, fearing for a moment I’d overslept and should be at a meeting. Then my brain caught up with where I was, and the panic that flooded in was different and so much worse. Dane Rourke’s voice telling me exactly what he thought of me would likely haunt me for the rest of my life.

I sat up. I had a full-size bed with a deep blue comforter and sheets. There was a laundry basket inside the door that hadn’t been there last night. In it I found folded towels, a toothbrush in its package, two pairs of socks and two pairs of underwear, both also still in the package. There were two T-shirts, a pair of drawstring sweats, a pair of jeans, and canvas shoes. Thank goodness, too, because until that moment, I hadn’t even thought about all the shit I needed.

I’d driven five hours to get here, stopping only to pee or top off the tank. It never occurred to me to stop and buy toiletries. I’d spent so many years telling myself that running wasn’t an option that when it finally became one, I didn’t know how to prepare for it. If I’d so much as brought an overnight bag, Sutton would have noticed. He saw everything, and I was always only one mistake away from exposure. I had my coat, my shoes, and the envelope. That was pretty much it.

I picked up my phone from where it sat on the nightstand where the time read 10:38, the battery at twenty-six percent. There was a missed call from an unknown number and three emails from Grant’s address. I swiped them away without reading and set the phone back on the nightstand.

I shed the coat. My shirt was damp from sleep sweat and I felt grimy after the day of travel. The bathroom was nice with a large, walk-in shower. Adjusting the water, I stepped in and did a quick wash. New bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel sat lined up on the bench along one side.