Page 87 of Without a Trace
“Why?”
I hesitated.
“Because if I don’t, someone might die.”
Lena appeared in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself, holding in whatever part of her heart still wanted to beg me to stay. She didn’t speak.
That was enough.
“Watch him for me?” I asked, nodding toward the porch—toward the window where I knew Hemingway was still curled up, waiting for my footsteps.
“Always,” Sloane said.
I tossed my bag in the back seat and climbed in without looking back.
The door slammed shut.
The caravan rolled out.
And just like that, we were gone.
The road stretched in silence for the first few miles.
Then Kane cleared his throat and started singing—badly.
“Country roads… take me home…”
Trace groaned. “Don’t.”
“To the place—”
“I said don’t.”
I let my head fall back against the window, a smirk tugging at my mouth. “God, it’s comforting to know you guys are still morons under all the trauma.”
Kane turned and winked. “Some of us cope through music.”
We pulled into a small private airport half an hour later. A place that reeked of secrets and tax evasion. A sleek black jet waited at the edge of the tarmac, engines humming like it had been waiting just for us.
I stepped out and whistled low. “Damn. And here I thought we were fugitives, not royalty.”
Alden came around the corner holding two coffees and smirking. “Both can be true.”
The stairs to the jet dropped down smooth and silent. I climbed them like I owned the sky, duffel slung over one shoulder, exhaustion riding shotgun behind the attitude.
The jet smelled of leather and secrets as
I stepped on board like I owned the damn thing, even though I’d barely processed what the hell I was walking into. Zeke nodded at me from the far end, already buckled in unmoved by the fact that he just told me to abandon my entire life.
Alden stood near the bar, pouring something that looked too expensive to be legal.
Trace followed me on board and sat down across the aisle without a word, hands braced on his knees.
Good.
I dropped my bag into the seat beside him and turned back toward the aisle like I had a damn audience.
“You boys ready to play house?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
