Page 43 of Cruel Love

Maybe I know more about Fox than I think I do.

“Lot 2-1-4.” He offers me the keys and I palm them. “Fully-gassed and in working condition. Good luck, ladies.”

“Thank you,” Caleb says.

I turn the key fob in my hand to push unlock for Caleb so she can open the backseat. She tosses her duffel bag inside and I step toward the trunk.

I open it to find a stack of about a dozen license plates wrapped together, each one from a different state with up-to-date tags. Not going to question how Fox pulled this one off…

Beside them sits a sturdy, black case, not unlike the one he used to have shoved beneath his bed in his cabin back in Iowa. I scan the lot once before leaning down and popping it open.

There’s a 9mm Glock inside, encased in a deep gray foam. A few extra clips, too.

Caleb joins me at the trunk, and she blinks. “Hello, gorgeous,” she says.

I chuckle. “Fox did say there would be extra plates in the trunk and… other stuff.”

“Do I get a gun?” she asks.

“You didn’t bring one?”

“No, I did. I just like gifts.” She nudges my ribs. “That one’s your favorite, right?”

I nod at the Glock, slowly smiling. “Yeah.”

She sighs. “Don’t ya just love it when guys remember that kind of stuff?”

I close the case. “I do,” I say.

“Well, let’s get going… wherever it is we’re going. Where are we going?”

That is the question.

Where do you go when you have to get away? Where do you hide when the whole world knows your face?

Where would Fox go?

“To see an old friend,” I say.

I stand up and close the trunk.

Chapter 13

Dante

“He’s not coming.”

I glower at Lilah. “Yes, he is.”

I sense it as her eyes roll behind her sunglasses. She collapses to lie on along the hood of my car. My tongue twitches with the urge to tell her to get off. Don’t scratch the paint. But it’s just a car. I may never even see it again after today.

I lived so long in Snake Eyes. I went day-to-day with nothing but the clothes on my back and a bag hanging over my shoulder, usually stuffed with a bit of wire, a knife, and an extra pair of socks. Stuff was just stuff. This thing meant no more to me than that thing.

I haven’t felt this since the day I fled Chicago. I turned back for Lucy but before then, I left with nothing. I needed nothing.

I walk off to take another calming stroll around the parking lot.

It’s still early. I have no reason to think that Fox ran off, except for the seemingly obvious reason being that he’s Fox Fitzpatrick and he’s very fucking good at it. I let a little bit of doubt seep inside, a little bit of darkness to cloud even the bright blue morning sky of Los Angeles.

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