Page 43 of Final Sins

But how to explain this to Liv without revealing her suspicions about Jason? She settled for a half-truth, tapping out a quick message.

Can’t explain, but I need a new safe house. Now.

Liv’s response was immediate, bringing a ghost of a smile to Alex’s face. At least some things were constant.

On it.

The drive into town was a blur of conflicting thoughts. Alex found herself in a quaint coffee house, the aroma of freshly ground beans doing little to settle her nerves as she waited for Liv’s update. She doubted the place would be as sumptuous as the Redemption Creek choice, but she didn’t plan to be there long. Just enough time to dive into some serious research into the allegations against Jason. Her heart said she’d made a huge mistake not telling him about the strange info, but she’d learned long ago never to trust her heart.

But her instincts had been wrong before, hadn’t they? Like in Marrakesh, where her poor judgment had cost lives. The memory sent a chill down her spine, despite the warmth of the coffee cup in her hands.

She had to play this smart. Conservative. If the info was tainted, she’d owe Jason a huge apology.

She closed her eyes, praying for clarity, but found only more doubt.

“No biggie,” she said aloud, trying to convince herself. “He’d do the same thing, right?”

The lack of response from the universe was not reassuring.

While she waited for Liv to get back to her, she pretended to be absorbed in her phone, thumb scrolling aimlessly as she sipped her latte. The rich, bitter taste of espresso mixed with creamy foam coated her tongue. In reality, her gaze flicked from patron to patron, assessing potential threats.

The exhausted new mom in the corner, dark circles prominent under her eyes, nursed a steaming cup of herbal tea. The faint scent of chamomile wafted over, mingling with the café’s ever-present aroma of coffee beans. A bearded man withpaint-splattered jeans lounged by the window, pencil flying across a sketchpad. The soft scratching sound barely audible over the low hum of conversation and the gentle clinking of ceramic mugs. At the counter, a sun-weathered older woman in hiking gear studied a trail map, her boots leaving small clumps of dried mud on the worn wooden floor.

Alex shook her head, chiding herself for the paranoia. Not everyone was out to get her. Though if they were, Jason would be a formidable adversary. The man moved like a panther, all coiled strength and deadly grace. She’d seen him in action, knew the damage those hands could inflict.

The quaint café, with its mismatched mugs and local art, seemed at odds with the harsh beauty just beyond the windows. Jagged cliffs plummeted to a roiling sea, a reminder that danger lurked beneath even the most picturesque surfaces. The muted crash of distant waves provided a constant backdrop to the café’s cozy atmosphere.

Her phone buzzed, the vibration startling against the smooth tabletop.

Arranged for a small cabin.Approx. 1 hour drive from your location. Directions to follow. Stay as long as you need.

Liv’s message, short and to the point, ended with an uncharacteristic,Love you. Good luck.

Alex’s nose wrinkled. For Liv, that was practically a tearful, rib-cracking hug. She must have inadvertently communicated more fear than she’d intended.

“Still,” she murmured, allowing herself a small smile, “it’s nice to be loved.”

The warmth of that thought lasted approximately three seconds before her paranoia kicked back in, her fingers tightening around the smooth ceramic of her mug.

Her gaze drifted to the window, watching a seagull ride the wind currents above the cliffs. Her thoughts, however, were firmly fixed on Jason.

He was a force of nature, as wild and unpredictable as the churning sea below. In a physical confrontation, she knew she’d be outmatched. She’d seen him take down men twice his size with a fluid grace that was almost beautiful in its brutality. His hands, capable of such gentle touches, could just as easily snap bones.

And yet ...

The idea of him turning those skills against her seemed as impossible as the sun deciding to rise in the west.

She’d trusted him. Implicitly. Completely.

Which was not in any way reassuring. Her trust meter had been smashed a long time ago. If she ever had one.

Her fingers absently traced the thin, silvery scar that ran from her elbow to her wrist. A permanent reminder of the last time she’d been so blind. Marrakesh. The name alone brought a bitter taste to her mouth, overpowering even the lingering notes of her latte.

“You’ve been wrong before,” she whispered to her reflection in the window. “Spectacularly, disastrously wrong.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling the rich scent of coffee and pastries. When she opened them, her reflection stared back, eyes hard with resolve. She couldn’t afford to let her heart overrule her head. Not again. Not with so much on the line.

“Trust,” she muttered, “but verify.”

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