Page 40 of Cruel Hearts

While he waited for me, Denton turned the radio to a local news station. A perky female reporter is talking about the bomb scare at Quiet Meadows. “At this time, law enforcement have no leads concerning who called in the fraudulent threat.”

“That was good thinking,” I say, slipping into the car.

“Every once in a while I come up with something,” Denton says, pulling out of the gravel lot, the wheels crunching over the rocks. “Now what?”

I want to laugh he’s deferring to me. I’m trusting him to know what we should do.

“Find somewhere safe and go over what we’ve got. We need to bust Zarah out of Quiet Meadows. Like you said, if Zane will listen to anybody, it will be his sister, but she doesn’t belong there and I want to get her out regardless of what she knows. We need proof the Blacks were behind the plane crash, but I don’t know how we’re going to find it. Quinn said Kagan was dirty and someone took him out for their own personal revenge. The FBI investigated, said ‘Thanks for doing our job,’ and looked the other way. Ash lied and said Homeland Security brought the plane down to stop Kagan from selling weapons on the black market. Neither of those is correct, but either way, the FBI isn’t telling the truth.”

“That’s what I think,” Denton agrees. “Clayton and the director of the FBI went to school together. They like to keep shit like this in the family, and there’s no doubt Clayton gave him a big payoff to keep his mouth shut.”

“How far does his power reach?” It seems surreal to me someone could have the director of the FBI at their disposal.

Denton smirks. “They convinced Sergio Cardello not to deny he was in a relationship with you, didn’t they?”

I never thought of that. Surely when the media linked him to me, he would have issued some sort of contradictory statement, but he let the entire world believe I left Zane for him.

“That’s a long time to lie.”

Denton shrugs. “It’s costly, too, but what I want to know is what else are you to Ash, Stella? Why you?”

“I was growing close to Zarah, and maybe he thought I would find out everything eventually. Even just him selling her would put him away for a long time, not to mention her clients.”

He flicks me a glance. “Is that all it was? Or was there a different reason why he locked you up? Why did he feel so threatened he kept you in his sights, and paid to do it? That sounds personal.”

“It was personal. Ash didn’t like me from the minute he met me. Loathed me, in fact. He constantly accused me of dating Zane to get at his money. He was killing two birds with one stone. He didn’t want Zarah telling me anything, and he didn’t want Zane in a relationship with me because I’m poor.”

Denton nods, but he’s not convinced.

I don’t need a list of reasons why Ashton Black hates me. That he does, and is willing to do something about it, is enough.

He circles around the industrial park. Bless him for remembering people are after me. Besides stealing a different car, we have no way to switch vehicles. If someone working for Ash pegs the sedan as Denton’s, we’ll have to stop using it.

Maybe Zane’s finished tormenting me now that Maryanne’s dead. Short of killing me, there’s nothing else he can do to hurt me.

The relief I feel that Quinn is okay turns me into a puddle and I melt into the seat. My aches and pains scream at me, and I wish I had a drink and more ibuprofen. Plus, I’m hungry again.

Denton drives along the river’s gravel frontage road. We’re near the bridge I crossed the night I escaped Black Enterprises. The water calms me, and I focus on the enormous barges floating by carrying shipping boxes. The view is lovely, and I relax, using the few moments of peace to quiet my mind.

The radio is a low hum in the background, the newscaster reporting that there are no new updates regarding the bomb threat at Quiet Meadows. Law enforcement set up a hotline, andthe woman rattles off the number, asking people to call if they have any tips.

Without a hint of warning, a massive black pickup truck, its windows tinted, comes out of nowhere and rams into the driver’s side of the car, shattering the window. Shards of glass fly into Denton’s face and lap, and he swears. My body slams against the passenger’s side door and I crack my head against the window. Stars burst behind my eyes.

Jerking the wheel and gunning the engine, Denton tries to steer us clear, but it’s no use. The truck plows us off the road and onto the riverbank, our tires skidding through the soft soil and grass.

“He’s going to push us in,” he shouts.

I grapple with the seatbelt, my sweaty fingers slipping over the buckle, but I can’t jump out. The car is sliding too fast down the bank.

Metal against metal grinds and shrieks.

The front passenger’s side tire runs out of solid ground and we lurch toward the water. I brace myself against the dash.

Denton slides my window down and shouts at me, “Before we sink, go through the window. You’ll only have a few seconds.”

“I don’t know how to swim.” I never learned how. None of my foster families paid for swimming lessons.

Blood trickles down his temple. He squeezes my hand. “I do. Don’t panic and let your body float to the surface. I’ll find you.”

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