Page 5 of Claiming Becca

“No! You’re supposed to be one of the good guys,” I exclaim, grinding my teeth.

“I am, but I’m trying to fly under the radar.” He tries to explain, but I’m sick of listening.

“If I see this piece of trash on the streets in a few weeks, he’ll be in a body bag,” I threaten.

Jarrod groans in frustration. “I am trying here, Connor; please work with me. It’s me against them, and there’s more of them.” I take my baseball cap off and run my hands through my hair again, putting it on backward.

Turning toward Becca, she’s staring at me, and I motion for her to stand.

“Are you alright? My truck is two blocks over. Can you walk there?” I ask her. She nods silently as her eyes move from my baseball cap to my eyes and back. I motion for her to begin walking. She tears her eyes away from me as she walks in the direction I indicated.

“Take care of this, Jarrod. I mean it,” I say and hang up. Hearing sirens in the distance, I grab Becca’s hand so we can get to my truck as quickly as possible.

Those sirens may not be headed in this direction, but I no longer trust anyone. I don’t want Becca anywhere near here when they show up.

“Can you run? Do I need to take you to the hospital to get checked out?”

She glances up at me. She’s so tiny. “I can run, and no, I don’t need to go to the hospital. I hate hospitals,” she replies.

I nod once before pulling on her hand as we jog to my truck. Opening the driver’s side door and ushering her to get inside. She climbs in, moving over to the passenger seat as I climb in behind her and drive off. She runs her hands down her thighs repeatedly before pulling her knees to her chest and placing her cheek on them. She’s back in the jeans she wore yesterday, but she still has the t-shirt that Bass gave her. She stares out the passenger window before turning to me slowly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice catching. My mouth opens to answer her, but she focuses on something out the window, and her mouth pops open. I turn to see what she’s staring at.

It’s a black Mercedes Benz, which stands out against the neighborhood’s rundown houses and mobile homes. Is that the exact car I saw last night? My eyes narrow, trying to see who is in it, but the windows are tinted so dark it’s impossible. Becca slides down in her seat and grips her thighs so tightly her knuckles turn white.

“Do you know who that is?” I ask her. She looks at me with trepidation.

“I know of him. Everyone on this side of town knows you run in the opposite direction if you see that car. If you don’t, you either die or disappear,” she whispers.

I bite the inside of my cheek and frown. Did Jarrod call this person? Is it Donovan? Or Victor? My muscles tense as we pass each other. Sucking in a breath, I face forward, trying to assess the situation. This can’t be fixed through the sheriff’s department. Every person within the sheriff’s department is bought.

I’m beginning to question if Jarrod has been bought as well. It’s one of the reasons my older brother, Julian refused to work here. He would have stayed if he had known it would get this bad. Now, he’s stuck in the city dealing with a serial killer. Maybe he’ll come back home one day. Glancing at Becca again, I inhale and turn towards my parent’s house. There still isn’t food at the apartment, and Becca needs some real food and a woman to look her over to ensure she’s alright. Becca sits up and looks around.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“I’m going to take you to my parent’s house. My mom is the best cook and can look you over to ensure you’re alright.”

“No. I don’t want to go there. Can we just go back to your apartment?” she says frantically. Coming to a stop at a traffic light, I study her and see her hand shaking slightly.

Sighing, I give in. “Yeah, okay. But I will at least have her come over and check you out.” She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs. I’m not swaying on this.

“She’s a nurse. And I’ll run through a drive-thru and get us some food. Bass and I haven’t had a chance to stock up on groceries, and you need to eat.” She runs her hands through her hair and looks out the passenger window.

“I can take care of myself,” she mumbles.

“Obviously, you can’t. You’ve almost gotten killed twice in less than a week,” I snap at her in frustration.

She keeps her eyes focused out the window, but her hand comes up and rubs at her cheek. Is she crying? Guilt settles in my stomach, and I take a deep breath.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, but I need you to promise you won’t run away again. And I need you to let my mom check you out. It’ll make me feel better. Okay?” I keep my eyes straight ahead on the road and grip the steering wheel tightly.

Her soft hand lands on my forearm. “I’m sorry. You saved my life twice. He stole the snacks, so I was trying to get them back. And I’ve taken care of myself for so long that I hate depending on anyone else.” She runs her hands down her jean-clad thighs. “I’ve learned depending on anyone else other than myself leads to disappointment.”

Pulling into a fast food drive-thru, I turn to her and tilt my head. She shrugs in defeat and looks away.

“I can tell you haven’t had an easy go of it. But I’m not naïve to the things that happen in this town. I ignored it in college because I was determined to leave here after graduation, but that didn’t work out. So, now, I’m on a different path. I plan on doing what I can to help clean up the mess this town has become.” I don’t know why I’m confiding in a seventeen-year-old girl like this.

But I need to tell someone who doesn’t see things through rose-colored glasses. Bass is my best friend, but sometimes he can be naïve. He refuses to stay armed after I’ve told him he must do what he can to protect himself. He thinks it’s because I come from a long line of police officers and detectives, and maybe that’s part of it, but I haven’t always thought this way. It hasn’t been until the past four years or so that my mind has changed.

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