Page 37

37

JAMIE

S awyer wasn’t supposed to be here.

I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger if I’d known she was in the pool area. I still don’t understand how I didn’t see her come outside. The curtains in front of the sliding glass door never moved.

After I break down the gun, I put the pieces in a black duffel bag. Fuck . Did she see the shot hit him? If so, that mental image is bound to stay with her forever.

As I’m climbing down from the neighbor’s roof, a nearly overwhelming urge to go and get Sawyer hits me.

Taking her from the Allendale beach house would destroy the possibility of a clean exit, but I can’t swear I would’ve been able to resist if War wasn’t waiting on the street for me in a stolen car.

After pulling my hoody down over my forehead, I stride down the quiet street. I turn a corner at the same time the car does, and we meet in the middle.

I climb inside and glance over. War’s dark hair is pulled back tight under a black baseball cap. He also wears a black-and-white athletic jersey for a Miami sports team, something he got specifically for this operation since it’s nothing he would ever normally wear.

Sirens rise in the distance as we leave the area.

I keep watch in front of us and in the side mirror. We enter the expressway several miles from the scene, heading north toward the first waypoint, which is in Georgia.

I’m silent for the first leg, lost in my own thoughts. Trying to get a handle on why it was such a punch to the gut to see her there. If I’m done with her, what does it matter that she saw the brother die? Her PTSD, if she has any, won’t be my problem to deal with.

And yet, every fucking cell in my body wants to turn the car around to go back for her.

To what end? I ask myself. There’s no good answer. Just a bone deep feeling that after being through something traumatic, she belongs with me. In my bed. Where nothing else can touch her.

I frown. Thinking this way is pointless, but I can’t stop myself.

It’s not until War and I reach the first drop point that I allow myself to curse out loud over Sawyer being in the yard. War and I wipe down the outside of the car, remove the fake plates, and destroy the interior with fire.

As we walk to the second vehicle with flames still licking the sky, I exhale a frustrated breath. “Sawyer told me she wasn’t going to Florida. There’s a lot of bad blood in the family.”

“Plans change.” War opens the driver’s side door, and I open the passenger one. “Doesn’t matter. Unless you think she spotted you?”

We both climb in, and he glances over as he starts the car.

“No. I stayed low and watched her through the scope. From the way she looked around, she has no idea where the shot came from.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She must’ve come out through a door that’s not visible from the back of the house.”

“Must have.”

“If I’d spent another day watching…”

As he drives along the dirt road toward the highway, he shakes his head. “Then we’d have had a full day of our personal cells being dormant. That would look suspect as hell.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It’s not optimal that she was there. Better if Allendale had been lying dead for hours before he was discovered. But we knew everything might not fall into place. It rarely does.” He licks his lips and cocks his head, checking out the street signs. “We planned for this and worse.”

I nod, but internally, a storm’s brewing. As angry as I am that she didn’t turn in her pedophile stepfather, it matters to me that she may be traumatized.

We drive another eight hours before reaching the second waypoint in South Carolina.

The adrenaline surge has worn off, and fatigue kicks in as we wipe down the stolen vehicle, before rolling it into a swamp and watching it sink.

After shedding our operation clothes and disposing of them elsewhere, along with our burn phones, we go to the rental car we left parked in a structure near a hotspot of bars and restaurants.

When we finally reach our vacation rental house, we’ve already run through our checklist twice. Everything we can do to protect ourselves from getting caught, we’ve done.

I answer a few texts, per the plan. Unfortunately, there are none from Ash. I’d been hoping she’d have heard from Sawyer and texted me, so I would have an opening to hear how Sawyer is.

War goes straight to bed and, from his snoring, is asleep in minutes. I lie down but it takes me longer to get my mind in order.

When I do drift off, I have nightmares Sawyer is caught in an eddy and drowning. I’m swimming hard to reach her, but can’t.

Jerking awake, I wipe cold sweat from my chest. The irony is not lost on me. Committing murder could not concern me less, except for the one aspect.

Fucking hell. Apparently, I’m far from done with Sawyer Allendale.