Page 32 of Festive Fugitive
“Get in there, and whatever happens, do not reveal yourself,” he says like the man who first brought me here—curt, tense, and uncertain where he stands.
I can’t believe our idyll could be cut short so fast. I give him a desperate look, but he’s the proficient one, so I won’t be arguing, and rush up the ladder.
I just hope it’s a friendly neighbor here to tell us the road is not covered in snow anymore, not a SWAT unit.
Chapter 13
Eli
Isitcops?Thereal owner of this place? I have no idea, but Cesar hasn’t disappointed me yet, so I crawl away from the ladder he’s pushed back in after me and reach into the toolbox resting next to the trapdoor. My fingers tighten on a wooden handle, and moments later I pull out a hammer with a flat face on one side and a claw on the other. It’s the same one Cesar used to hang up our Christmas decorations. I don’t think I could efficiently defend myself with it, but its weight still feels reassuring, so I take it with me.
I regret leaving my gun downstairs, but it can’t be helped now.
There is a small window in the roof, overlooking the front of the cabin and the driveway, and what little light it lets in reveals the massive amount of dust floating around me. Its dense cloud contaminates each inhale,but sneezing would reveal my presence, so I pull up my T-shirt to cover my nose and shuffle forward. I pop the window open almost all the way just before the roar of not one but two cars dies.
My hand freezes in the air, as I worry the men exiting the two vehicles in a hurry might spot me, but they are all focused on Cesar, who steps from the shadows of the roof’s overhang as if he were expecting guests. One of the vehicles is a bright yellow SUV, the other—a red truck. Neither looks like a police car, since even plain-clothes officers tend to drive vehicles in neutral colors.
For a moment, I hope it’s a group of tourists who’ve gotten lost in the woods after taking a wrong turn, but if that were true, they wouldn’t all step out at the same time, nor would they come so uncomfortably close to Cesar.
Paranoia weaves itself through the folds of my brain, because what if the cops have tracked us down somehow? No, that doesn’t make any sense either, since none of the men are openly holding firearms. Not to mention that considering the high profile of my case, wouldn’t there have been a helicopter landing here as soon as the police figured out where we are?
Maybe they aren’t here about me? After all, this is Cesar’s place, and with the aggressive edge to the movements of the strangers, I’m suddenly terrified they’re going to take him away from me. It’s selfish, I know, but I can’t deny that the thought is there. If those people are cops, I could take all the blame and deny Cesar had any knowledge of my crimes, but what if—
“We couldn’t reach you for almost two weeks,” a man in a blue winter jacket says, standing just two steps from my man. “Have you been watching the news at all?”
There’s anger in his voice, and I hug the hammer to my chest.
“My phone got fucked, and there was no way to leave this place until today, because of all the snow.”
One of the men, a tall redhead, takes a sharp step forward and doesn’t collide with Cesar only because the stranger who spoke first stops him by extending his arm. “So you spoke to Mr. Sullivan, broke your phone immediately after that, and then buried yourself here? You really expect us to believe that?”
Sullivan.
A name that makes my mouth dry, yet Cesar’s calm as ever. “Let him go, Lyle,” he says, gesturing at the redhead in a way that oozes familiarity. “I actually have very valuable information.”
The body language of the men transforms, visibly relaxing, but I’m struck by the sudden realization that Cesar might not be on my side after all. He’s admitted working for Sullivan, those men clearly know him, and what if he’s kept me here to further his position in their ranks? It wouldn’t have to stop him from fucking me while he waited for the snow to thaw.
And I let him.
I started having… feelings for him, because who wouldn’t when he treated me better than anyone before him?
How could I have been this naive when I’ve only just met him?
Typical. I always get in too deep, too fast, and choose the wrong guys.
“Since when are you the information guy, huh?” the one called Lyle asks as the redhead gravitates toward Cesar. “We’re here because you can gut ten armed guys stuckin a room with you. Sullivan might be dead, but you will continue doing as you’re told.”
It’s such an offensive thing to say. Cesar’s angry—I can see it in the way he squares his shoulders—but just as I expect him to drag Lyle by the collar, he swings his right arm, and the axe he used to cut our firewood with splits the head of the man standing farthest away from him.
Air gets stuck in my chest when Cesar’s other hand swipes close to the ginger’s throat, and the front of the poor bastard’s white jacket changes color to a bright red.
I can’t fucking believe this.
This man, who saved me from the police, and who was inside my body this morning, is a dangerous maniac. He didn’t kill the policemen who accosted me back in town, just knocked them out, but the sight of blood spilling on the snow makes my stomach revolt. Cesar is so calm and collected about this.
My palms sweat around the hammer. Despite the compulsion to shrink and disappear from sight, to trust that this is only a glitch, and that Cesar’s true self is the man I’ve spent the past weeks with, turns out I actually havesomeself-preservation instinct.
Below, Lyle spins out of Cesar’s way, and with the four men below locked in a chaotic fight, I grab the lower edge of the open window and take a step onto the ledge outside. I know it runs along the whole roof, and with the snow now only a thin layer, I might be able to move to the back of the cabin and disappear.
