Page 69 of The One Who Won’t Get Away
“Not planning to go there,” I answered, wondering if I’d even be able to handle the flight.I mean, It couldn’t be as bad as cars, but still.
Ugh.Never mind that.I checked each and every camera.I could even turn them from my phone to get a different angle.Nice.
Ryan and Leila packed up, double-checked everything, then Ryan handed me a card.“If you need anything, day or night, call.Or text.Or just tell Vera to tell Sean.”
Nick walked them out, closing the door behind them.When he returned, I was still sitting at the table, phone in hand, watching myself on the kitchen camera.I even looked like I needed a drink.Seriously, I picked the worst time to quit drinking.
Nick sat across from me, elbows on the table, hands folded.“You want to talk about it?”
I shook my head.“Not really.You want to tell me about the calls?”
“My boss called,” he said, after a moment.“I’m officially attached to Renat’s case.Which means I’ll be here, in New York, for the foreseeable future.”
I let that sink in.“You’re moving in?”
His mouth twitched.“Only if you want.I can stay at a hotel, or the bureau will rent something for me.”He scratched his scruffy cheek.“But my boss gave me the go-ahead to move in with you, if you're okay with it.After last night, it's best if you either have someone watching your back or are in a safe house.It can't be a coincidence that the asshole showed up the night after we returned.Someone must've seen you and figured you were a liability.”
My stomach twisted at the thought.I had put a target on my back.
“You can stay,” I said.
Then Nick’s phone rang again.He glanced at the number, then answered.“Go ahead.”
Nick listened to the voice on the other end and the fingers around the phone blanched from how hard he was squeezing.That poor phone better have insurance.
“Where is he now?”A few more seconds, then, “Thanks.”
After Nick hung up, I looked at him expectantly.His phone calls were none of my business, but I was a very curious creature.
“The guy from last night is definitely getting locked up for good.Our guys searched his place and found a boy.Maybe six, seven years old.Alive, but...you know.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Nick watched me, eyes dark and unreadable.“He’s going to be alright.”
I stared at the table, the wood grain suddenly blurry.
“They never stop,” I said, barely above a whisper.
That was the worst part of it.We had escaped, but it never really stopped.How many more kids had been thrown into this nightmare?
Nick reached across the table, his hand covering mine.“But sometimes we stop them.”
We sat like that for a long time, my hand in his, the only sound a distant whine of a siren somewhere below.
