Page 27 of Break for Me

“Do you?” She asked defensively.

I laughed to try to prevent myself from imagining fucking the sass right out of her mouth twice in the same damned morning. I sent the photo to Memphis while we flew out of that parking lot. I wanted to put a giant gap in the distance between us and that truck while I had the chance. The general lack of population around here kept me from putting too much concern into coming across any police out here to think they might try to pull me over. Trista’s focus on her side mirror was almost distracting. She was terrified that this truck was going to just appear from thin air right behind us.

“Who is he, Fancy Face?” I tried again, in the nicest tone I could have ever offered another human. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“I really don’t know,” she said, without taking her eyes from the mirror. “It’s just a feeling. Like the one you get when you know you’re being watched, but you can’t figure out who’s doing it or where they’re hiding. That feeling. Just so much worse. You know it’s something terrible, something dangerous. But you can’t even see it so it feels unfair from the start.”

Well. That was uncomfortable.

I had absolutely no doubt that this was the feeling I’d watched her experience while I was texting her from within her own bar without her knowing I was there. And rather than even attempting to address that, I turned my focus back to the display in the car when I realized I still hadn’t gotten a response from Memphis. My heart sank so low that it might as well have crashed right through my seat and been crushed on the road under Seph’s back tires. Her worry about our organization finding her was suddenly in the forefront of my mind. Without any logic behind it at all. We hadn’t failed. Hadn’t even come close. There was no reason for her to be in danger, but the possibility of it was apparently enough to scare me almost right into a heart attack. I pulled her name up on the display as quickly as I could to call her through the Bluetooth.

“Are you okay?” Trista asked. When I glanced at her, she nodded toward my hands where every knuckle was as white as could be with the grip I had on the wheel.

“What?” Memphis asked through the speakers.

I was so relieved to hear her voice that I hadn’t even noticed the tone she’d answered with until Trista covered her mouth to stifle the giggle. I leaned my head back against the seat and loosened my death grip on the wheel.

“Why the attitude, love bug?” I asked.

“You never apologized, did you?” Trista asked, and fucking laughed.

“No. No, he did not,” Memphis said.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I said and sighed. “That’s why you haven’t responded to anything I’ve sent you?”

“I’m still waiting,” Memphis said.

She would wait until I was rolling around in my grave too. That was who she was.

And my near-death scare over her safety was a solid reminder that I cared for her in a painfully deep way.

“If I wasn’t driving, I would drop to my knees to beg for your forgiveness, my dearest Memphis,” I said.

“You could always pull over,” Trista said.

“Shut up,” I hissed. “This doesn’t involve you.”

She laughed again, and I’d be motherfucking damned if I wasn’t considering pulling over for one of us to get on their knees. I shook my head to try to force that thought back out.

“I’m sorry, Memphis. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

twenty-two

TRISTA

Who the fuck was this guy?

There were so many confusing layers to him. He could flip a switch from looking like he wanted to eat me alive to the most genuinely concerned and caring human I’d ever encountered in a matter of half a minute.

“Jersey, this person isn’t real,” Memphis said through the speakers.

“What?” He asked.

“The license plate,” she explained. “It’s not a real person. It’s actually even registered to John Smith.”

“And you can’t find the person behind the name?” He asked.

“I can’t,” she said. “Whoever did it, did everything that I do when I have to hide paperwork for you. There’s nowhere else for me to look. They know what they’re doing.”

---