Page 10 of Endless Love

Saying his name seems to get through to him. He lets out a heavy sigh, glancing over at me before returning his attention to the road. “I told you that I’ve been working for the FBI as an informant. Helping them try to catch my father. I’m going to ask them for help keeping you safe. I already have, as a matter of fact—that was the call I made. They’ve already helped another woman my father targeted—a daughter of his rival. The woman you saw me with at the gala,” he adds, and I blink, startled.

“Your father wanted to?—”

“Kidnap and sell her? Yes. He and her father are longtime rivals, fellowpakhanswho have tried to bring each other down for years. My father decided revenge was best served through punishing his daughter for her father’s sins.”

I can’t even speak for a moment, as I process that. “That—that’s horrible,” I manage finally, and Ivan nods.

“It is. And it’s far from the worst of the things my father has done.”

“And you?” I ask the question before I can think better of it, and I see Ivan’s hands tighten on the wheel again, hard enough that his knuckles whiten slightly.

“They helped her,” he says finally, ignoring my question. That, in and of itself, feels like an answer, and I feel that cold sensation slither down my spine again. “They’ll help you.”

The way he says it almost sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself, and that cold, shivery feeling intensifies. I wrap my arms around myself, afraid to ask the next question, but I want to know. Ineedto know.

“What does that mean?”

Ivan lets out another heavy breath. He doesn’t answer at first, and I squeeze my arms around my waist tighter, a feeling of dread starting to build in the pit of my stomach. “Ivan.”

“They’ll talk to you once we get there.”

“You know something,” I insist, chewing on my lip. “You wanted me to listen. Fine, I’m listening. Just tell me the truth. What does ‘helping me’ mean?”

Something tells me that it doesn’t just mean taking me home. Ivan’s hesitation and the look on his face is enough for me to know that.

“They put Sabrina in witness protection,” he says finally. “Or at least that’s what I was told that they would do. I imagine they will likely do the same for you.”

For a moment, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. “I’m not—witness to anything,” I manage, that protest feeling like my best chance of explaining why this solution can’t possibly work.

“I don’t know what else to call it.” There’s a tinge of exasperation in Ivan’s voice now, his hands still gripping the steering wheel hard. “What they do to keep people adjacent to criminals who need protection safe. It’s the same thing, I think. Basically.”

“Criminals like you.”

His mouth forms a thin line, and I can tell that I’ve hurt him. But he doesn’t deny it. I almost feel bad for saying it, but I can’t. Not entirely, because if what he’s saying is true?—

“No.” I shake my head. “No, that can’t happen. That means—my entire life would be erased, Ivan. A new name, a new place to live…I can’t do that. I’d lose everything. Not just my job and my apartment, but my friends. Jaz, Sarah, Zoe—they’d never know what happened to me. I?—”

“I know what it means, Charlotte.” Ivan’s voice has never sounded heavier. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. It will be easier hearing all of this from them?—”

“Do you really believe that?” My voice is rising, angry and loud in the small interior of the car, and I see Ivan wince, but he says nothing in response. “Do you really think that hearing this atanytime would be easier?”

He still says nothing, and somehow, that makes me even angrier. “Last night, everything was fine!” I shout, twisting around to look at him. “I went out to dinner, and I hung out with Jaz, and I was looking forward to another date with you, and you were just a normal guy, and?—”

Ivan’s hands twist back and forth on the steering wheel. “I was never a normal guy, Charlotte,” he says quietly. “I just hadn’t told you yet.”

I slump back into the seat, tears pricking hotly at the corners of my eyes. “Were you ever going to?”

His silence tells me all I need to know. And deep in my chest, I can feel the first cracks starting to make their way across my heart.

—

We drivelike that for what feels like a long time, in silence. Ivan doesn’t look at me, and his hands never unclench from the steering wheel, not until he turns into the parking lot of a small motel. I’m not even sure it’s still operating—the parking lot looks empty, except for a black car with tinted windows parked on the far side. I glance over at Ivan, fear suddenly curdling my stomach as a new, horrifying thought occurs to me.

He said he was taking me to the FBI so that they could help me, but what if that, too, was a lie? What if he’s handing me overto someone to take me away for something even worse? What if all of this, all along, was a ruse?

“That’s going to be Agent Bradley,” Ivan says, gesturing towards the other car. There’s a grim look on his face, tinged with what looks like hurt, as if he knows what I was thinking. “Let’s go.”

I open my car door myself, not waiting for Ivan to come around and do it for me. I stand up, feeling a little unsteady, and watch as Ivan comes around the car to stand in front of me. The way he’s standing partially blocks out the sun, making it so that I can see his expression clearly, and I can’t quite read what he’s thinking on his face.

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