Page 52 of Devoted

CHAPTER13

Penelope

Terror pounds through my veins.I’ve jammed all my clothing and toiletries into the three tote bags my friends packed for me. Cannon tosses a few items into the one that held the snacks we ate two weeks ago.

“We’ll grab a couple extra blankets and pillows and then we have to go.” He hefts the bags and picks a couple pillows off the bed. I gather a blanket in my arms. On the way to the stairs, I take the blanket off the couch.

“Do you think it’ll take them time to link Erik Petrov to you?”

“Not everyone is Jacobi with the computer, but Roman’s likely hired the best. It won’t take them long to find my real name and track us down at the cabin.”

Have I got everything? My pulse is high, and my lungs are tight. I just want to leave. I can’t believe we were sold out, but at the same time, I’m not surprised. I don’t know what the photographer’s motivations were, but I hope she needed the money enough to risk our lives.

We rush down the stairs. Cannon stops abruptly at the door to the garage and holds his hand up. I pause behind him, but nervous energy has me shifting from foot to foot.

He opens the door slowly and peers inside. “Wait here.”

One item I forgot pops into my mind. “My slippers!”

His gaze darts to the studio. “Grab them. I’ll load our things. But hurry.”

His urgency scares me the most. I can’t believe Roman could’ve found us so fast, but Cannon believes it, and that’s all I need to know. I shove the blankets toward him and sprint to the studio. He disappears into the garage.

My slippers are in the far corner. As soon as my fingertips touch the soft fabric, an alarm shatters the silence.

I messed up. I made a critical mistake during an important moment. All that training, all the hiding, for nothing.

I hold the slippers to my chest. How fucked up is it that I wish I had a knife right now? I didn’t even think to pack it. I hated training with one, and now I could just as well be naked.

The urge to run back to Cannon beats at my temples, but I approach the door like I’ve seen him do. I stand to the side and peer out.

Which alarm is going off? I expect Cannon to come inside and tell me what to do, but there’s nothing moving.

The alarm cuts out. I stop a scream in my throat.

What are the chances it’s a false alarm?

I inch out, my gaze sweeping over the gym, as if an intruder is going to be hiding underneath the barbell bench. When I reach the hallway that houses the bathroom door, I mimic Cannon again. To my right, a shadow moves.

All I have is surprise and my dance shoes. I toss the slippers in the man’s face and kick him in the balls. Then I sprint for the vehicle.

“Cannon!” My door’s hanging open, but he’s not in the driver’s seat.

A calm voice says, “Penni.”

Outside the open garage door stands Roman. He’s not wearing black like the guy who attacked me. He’s wearing jeans and a black button-up shirt. It’s like casual day at the office. I have to stop a giggle from bubbling up. He came to kill me while still wearing his expensive black loafers.

My reaction to his shoes is absurd, but I go with it. “Nice choice of footwear for a hit, Roman.”

His scowl deepens. Behind me, the intruder I groin-kicked staggers out. His breathing is wheezy, and he has to stop to hold on to the doorframe.

Cannon speaks from the other side of the vehicle. I peer through the dark back windows to where he’s frozen with his hands in the air. I can barely make out another figure standing by the back corner of the SUV. It looks like Mick.

Tony’s the one hanging on the doorframe.

“What do you think you’re going to do?” Cannon asks. “My friends know what you’re up to. You’re not going to get away with it.”

Only a hint of annoyance enters Roman’s features. “At the very least, you’ll both still be dead. But the most likely scenario is that authorities are going to think my wife’s new stalker boyfriend killed her and then himself in a classic murder-suicide by an obsessed lover.”

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