“This feels familiar.” Michael taps his knuckles against the Beemer’s hood. “How’re you doing, Griffin?”
Griff doesn’t answer and Michael walks around the car, stops so close I can smell the sweetness of his aftershave. “You two look awfully close for someone who’s taken up with a doctor’s son.”
“It’s not like that,” I say.
“Pity.”
“Let him go.”
Michael faces me. “Gladly. I’m not here for him anyway.”
Chills ripple through me. “What do you want?”
“You, but I admit he is a problem.” Michael’s attention drags to Griff and lingers. “Earlier, it was useful having him with you, made texting you so much easier, but now . . . ?”
“You have Carson’s cell?” I ask.
“I’m presuming you found my gift, yes?”
I don’t answer, but Michael nods like I did. “Good,” he says. “I went to a bit of trouble to kill him, but I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I’m also presuming you found that micro card. Hold on to it. We’re going to need it.”
“You need to leave.” Griff eases closer to me, and Michael’s guy switches the gun from my head to Griff’s temple. “We’re about to have a ton of witnesses.”
“‘A ton’?” Michael laughs. “Or one extremely stressed lady? Your Bren is still miles away. Got caught on her way here and is getting a ticket for failure to maintain lane and speeding.”
I swallow. “From the same officer who got you out of jail?”
“No, but nice guess. I use a variety of contacts. It’s important to give back to the community, you know?”
Michael glances at me and I flinch, biting down on my tongue.
“But it’s not like we have time to mess around,” he continues. “We’re leaving, Wicket. Get in the car.”
Griff stiffens. “Wick.”
“No,” I say.
Michael’s smile slings wider and he nods to his guy. The man steps closer to Griff and we both tense. “This is how it’s going to go,” Michael says. “In return for good behavior, Wick, I’m going to let Martin here knock your boyfriend out. He’ll go down. You’ll come with me, and in a few hours, he’ll wake up with a hell of a headache.”
And we’ll be God knows how far away. I look at Griff. We’ll be long gone, but he’ll live.
The relief is a rush until I realize Michael will also have leverage on me. Forever.
Our eyes meet and he smiles like he knows what I’m thinking.
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” I ask Michael at last.
Griff’s eyes go wide. “I’m not leaving you alone with him!”
Michael laughs. “You don’t know that I’m telling the truth, but I am. Martin”—Michael gestures to his gunman—“could’ve killed him when you two came out of the field, but he didn’t because I told him not to. Consider it a show of good faith. I know how you feel about the boy and I’m going to let him live.”
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Your cooperation.” Michael bends down, swipes a long piece of grass from the ground, and begins to shred it. “We have things to discuss.”
My head goes light, woozy. I don’t want to discuss anything with him.
“Let him,” Griff whispers and I whip toward him, convinced I couldn’t have heard right. Michael and Martin both stiffen, straining to hear Griff’s words. “Let him hit me,” he repeats under his breath. “Wherever he takes you . . . I will find you.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
Griff shakes his head. “I trust you.”
My breath hitches, and for a very long moment, all I can do is stare at him. “I love you,” I whisper and the words should feel like a bomb because I withheld them for so long, but they’re suddenly easy to say, like they belonged to him all along.
“I love you too.” Griff’s words are a confession and a promise. Now I just have to be brave enough to see this through. I swallow, swallow again. I’m struggling to breathe, but I force myself to look at Michael. I nod.
“Good,” he says. “Do it farther in, Martin. I want Bren to have trouble finding him.”
I wince. It’s another delaying tactic. When Bren finally gets here, she’ll wait and wait, never knowing Griff’s unconscious body is only a few strides away.
Griff keeps his eyes on me as he backs into the waist-deep grass. “This far enough for you?” he asks finally.
“Watch your tone.” Michael flicks the grass bits from his hands. “It’ll do. Come here, Wick.”
I turn, take an uneven breath, and force myself forward. One step. Two steps. There’s the most awful thud behind me and immediately a rush of grass as Griff hits the ground.
Michael extends one hand, palm up. “Cell.”
I give it to him. Michael pops the battery off the back and smiles at me as he pitches the pieces in two different directions. “Now we don’t have to worry about being interrupted.”
Or being saved.