Chapter 145

Frankie’s eyes are on me the moment I pull open the driver’s-side door and slip into the car.

“You good?” he asks, his voice tense.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, lifting my purse into the back seat of the car.

“Were you followed?” he asks, still anxious.

I sit up and look out the windshield toward Lupa’s door, and then around. “Not yet,” I murmur, reaching for the keys that I left in the ignition and turning them. “Should we go?”

“Yup,” he says, nodding once. “Hit the road, Bambs.”

I smirk at him, doing as he says and working my way out of the parking lot and onto the roads, as was always part of the plan. I glance down at him as I start to drive. “Your brother says hello.”

Frankie laughs shortly. “Oh yeah? Does he miss me?”

“He called you a jackass a lot,” I say, dry, making Frankie laugh more.

“Yeah,” he says with a fond sigh. “That means he misses me.”

I can’t help but smile.

About an hour later, I’m still driving which – again – is part of the plan. I glance in the rearview mirror to where I can barely see Christian and Nico’s car in the distance – the nondescript sedan Christian allowed me to drive to the beach. Honestly, it’s so plain that I even have trouble recognizing it on the road – which is precisely the point.

But behind me, following even closer, is a tan SUV that makes every turn I make.

“Make a u-turn,” Frankie murmurs, hanging up his phone call with Nico and focusing his eyes on me. “If they follow, pull into that Arby’s on 45(th) street. Head to the back of the parking lot.”

“Really?” I ask, kind of surprised. “An Arby’s? Won’t they have…cameras?”

“Not one that works,” he murmurs, looking towards the back of our car as if he wants to see the tan SUV for himself. “Arby’s is a failing business – they’re not throwing extra money at camera maintenance.”

I’m too tense to laugh as I start to make the u-turn. I’m not really surprised that the SUV follows – I’m pretty sure that it’s been following us for about fifteen minutes now. I glance to my left, anxious to see that Nico has seen the move and is making the turn too.

“Don’t worry about them,” Frankie murmurs, seeing my glance. “Just drive. Did the SUV follow?”

“Yup,” I say, signaling to the right and starting to switch lanes, heading for the Arby’s that I can see two blocks down the road. “Frank?” I ask, my voice a little squeaky. “Can you…tell me again what I’m supposed to do?”

“You do nothing,” Frankie says, his own voice tense. “Just wait until the SUV pulls into the lot too, then get out of the car and start towards the Arby’s. As soon as they all get out of the car – as soon as they close their doors – you fucking run, okay, Iris? We’ll handle everything else.”

“Yup,” I say, nodding – because none of this is new. I’ve heard this plan five times now – could tell Frankie it, if I’m being honest. I just asked him again to hear the sound of his voice, I think. To assure myself.

“You get inside,” he says evenly as we slow down in front of the Arby’s and I again turn on my signal, indicating that I’m pulling into the lot. “And then go to the counter like nothing’s wrong. Just place your order, give them a sunny smile. Ignore everything you hear outside and try to distract the staff too. We’ll come in and get you when it’s all done.”

I nod again, turning into the lot and heading – as instructed – for the back. I don’t bother to ask what I’m supposed to do if they don’t come into the restaurant – if the plan doesn’t work. Because I’ve been assured, heartily, that it will.

I slow down, starting to pull into a parking spot, but then I gasp in panic as I realize something.

“What!?” Frankie asks, tense.

“Frankie, I don’t have any money to pay for the food!”

He groans. “Iris,” he grumbles. “That so doesn’t matter right now –“

“Yes it does!” I hiss, putting the car in park. “Don’t you have any money!?”

Frankie curses fluently and then digs in his pocket, fishing out a bill and throwing it at me. I grab the twenty and give him a little glare, reaching for my purse in the back seat.

“Go!” he hisses. “You cannot get caught in the car!”

“I’m going!” I snap, and then I flip the keys in the ignition and hastily get out of the car. I send one last frightened look back at Frankie. He nods to me, solidly, strong, and then I slam the driver’s door shut and slowly start to walk towards the restaurant.

Everything begins to happen…precisely as Christian said it would.

I hear the opening and closing of more car doors behind me, but I don’t look, instead doing my very, very best to appear casual, even distracted. I walk with my eyes fastened on the doors ahead of me, my heart pounding, my breath starting to come short in my lungs. But I don’t break – not yet. Instead I wait – as I was told to do.

And the minute I start to hear hard, fast footsteps behind me, almost feel someone reach for the back of my sweatshirt?

I fucking bolt.

My feet pound for the restaurant door, one hand extended before me, reaching already for the handle even as I have ten feet to go.

Somewhere in the parking lot I hear the squeal of tires – Nico and Christian pulling into the lot, as planned –

Shouts of surprise from my would-be captors, and then their feet – pounding harder after me –

I’m gasping with fear, the door three feet from me now –

But then there’s another shout, of pain this time, and the steady slap of feet on pavement behind me fades into a muddled mix as my captors turn, distracted from their pursuit.

My hand is on the door handle now and I yank it open, darting inside even as a gunshot sounds outside. I gasp, and grimace, but then remember my role –

Remember that Christian said that there might be guns, but not to let it phase me.

So I straighten my shoulders, and paste a smile to my face, and start to walk calmly up to the counter, completely ignoring the action behind me even though everything in me begs me to turn around, to check, to see if my husband or my friends have been hurt.

“Oh my god,” the woman behind the counter says, peering behind me. “Was that a gun?”

“I don’t think so,” I say casually, studying the menu above her head. “Car misfire, it sounds to me.”

“Who are those guys – are they fighting!?” she gasps, turning anxiously towards her colleague. “I think we need to call the cops.”

“No need,” I say, working hard to keep my voice breezy. And even if I fail a little at that, the two women behind the counter still hesitate, looking at each other and then at me. “They’re a dance troupe,” I say, smiling at both of them. “They’re with me. They’re rehearsing something. Hey, do you guys still make those curly fries?” I ask, perky, twirling a finger in the air to illustrate what I mean.

The woman hesitates again, looking between me and what is surely one hell of a scene in the back parking lot. “Um, yes?” she says.

“Great,” I say, giving her a sunny smile. “Can I get one of those? The biggest you’ve got. And a cherry coke, please.”

She nods, anxious, and then starts to place my order. She tells me how much it is and I place the twenty-dollar bill on the counter, smiling warmly at the other woman as well, who looks at me like I’m crazy.

“I know, they’re so dramatic,” I say, rolling my eyes and forcing myself to laugh. “Male dancers – such drama queens.” And then, when she too turns away, I finally exhale – long and loud – and turn to look out the window.