Over the Line (17 page)

He shakes his head. “I have to do this my way.”

“Please, Oliver,” I beg, my heart crashing against my ribs and my breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Don’t do this.”

He stops in front of me, stares into my eyes for what feels like forever. Then he takes my hand and slaps the Cheetah into it. “I am leaving unless you shoot me. Your call.”

I stare at the gun in my hand, trying to wrap my mind around what’s happening. As my mind begins to clear, I lift the barrel and aim at his chest. “I shot you once. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”

He gives me a sad smile and backs toward the door.

The Cheetah shakes in my hand and I tighten my grip.

“Last chance,” he says, holding up his hands.

I haul a shaky breath and lower the gun. “Please stay with me.”

He comes closer, slips the gun from my hand. “That’s what I’m trying to do.” He tucks it into his waistband then leans in and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be back.” He gives me one last look before turning for the door.

I run down the stairs after him and watch naked from my porch as he jogs a crooked path down the driveway toward the house next door, where his car is still parked. As his taillights fade from sight, I sink to my knees and watch the sky begin to pink with the start of a new day.

And know I’ve just condemned my family by letting him go.

Lee

The sun is high in the morning sky by the time a bleary-eyed Rob appears in my doorway. I’ve been sitting in the chair in the corner of my room since sunrise, my baggy T-shirt pulled over my knees, staring at my empty, unmade bed.

“He in the bathroom?” Rob asks, scratching the top of his head.

“He’s gone,” I answer.

Rob’s fuzzy gaze sharpens to a razor’s edge. “What?”

I drop my forehead to my knees. “He got my gun . . . pointed it at me.”

“Fuck,” he growls, rubbing a hand down his face. “I forgot to tell you he wasn’t tied. How long ago?”

I lift my head and shrug. “Two hours, maybe.”

His eyes storm and his jaw grinds tight. “Why the hell didn’t you scream? Wake me up? Something!”

“I didn’t want anyone getting killed! You would have gone after him. He has my gun. Someone would have died!”

“You should have come to me,” he growls, pounding a fist into the wall. “Why the fuck didn’t I tie him back up?”

“He won’t tell,” I say weakly.

His incredulous gaze cuts to mine. “Are you delusional? That’s the reason he left, to tell his crew where to find us. They’re probably on their way already.”

I shake my head no even though I know he might be right. I let myself believe the smooth lies coming out of Oliver’s mouth. I let myself be manipulated into giving him what he came here for. “We have to go.”

“Fuck!” He rubs his face again. “Fuck fuck
fuck
!” He backs toward his bedroom door, his expression that of a cornered animal, holding up a hand as if he’s stopping traffic. “Don’t call Buchanan yet. Get everyone up. I want you all off this island in the next hour.”

“Where are we supposed to go?”

“I don’t care. Take everyone up to Busch Gardens or something. Sherm’s been asking to go. Just get them the hell away from here.”

Panic kicks in my chest. “You’re not coming?”

His eyes cloud. “There’s something I need to do.”

He disappears into his room and I hear him waking Sherm. I go to Grant’s room and find it empty. He never came home last night. When I retrieve my phone from the charger on my dresser I see a missed call from Wes.

I decide to do as Rob asked and wait to call him.

My heart’s at a gallop as I shuffle down the stairs for Ulie and call Grant. It goes to voice mail. “Don’t come home, Grant. Something’s happened. Call me back as soon as you get this message and I’ll tell you where to meet us.”

I have better luck with Ulie. She’s mumbling something in her sleep, her long dark hair twisted into her hands. I shake her shoulder. “Ulie, wake up!”

She blinks and sits up.

“Get dressed. We have to go.”

“What?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Oliver’s gone. Rob wants us off the island in an hour. Get ready.” I spin and head back upstairs, where I find Sherm feeling his way to the bathroom. I focus on keeping the nerves out of my voice as I say, “Keep moving, buddy. I want you washed up and dressed in fifteen, okay?”

He nods without looking at me as he rounds the corner into the bathroom.

I close my door and grab whatever’s on top in my dresser. When I sit on the bed to undress, the whole thing hits me like a sledgehammer. I can still smell our sex—his musky sweat dried on my skin. I lift the pillow to my face and inhale deeply, then hug it to my chest and flop back on the bed.

“How could you do this to me?” I whisper.

“I’ll see you later, champ,” I hear Rob say in the hall. “You do whatever Lee tells you, okay?”

I draw a deep breath and hold it as his feet pound down the stairs, then pull myself up and change. Outside, there’s a spray of gravel as Rob peels out of the driveway.

I go to the mirror over the dresser and rake my brush through my sex-ravaged waves, then stare at myself for a long moment.

I’m so pathetic. I love him. I needed to believe he loved me too.

But what if it was all a lie?

I turn away from the mirror, disgusted with myself, and pull my hair back and tie it in a ponytail. I take another deep breath, then open my door. Sherm is getting dressed, the dogs circling impatiently at his feet, and I hear Ulie in the shower downstairs.

“Come down when you’re ready and I’ll have breakfast for you,” I say, poking my head into Sherm’s room.

He tugs his T-shirt over his head and nods.

My phone rings again as I’m scrambling eggs.

Wes.

I don’t even know what I’d say to him. I don’t have Rob’s poker face. If I answer his call, Wes will know something’s wrong. We might need his help getting out of here, but Rob didn’t want me calling him yet. So I ignore it and microwave the rest of the pound of bacon from the fridge. No sense rationing it, since we might not ever come back here.

Ulie emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a bathrobe with a towel twisted into her hair. Her feet stall on the way to her room and she looks at me a long second. “We were right to stop Rob from killing him, Lee, no matter what. That’s not who Rob is anymore. It would have destroyed him if he’d gone through with it.”

There’s a ruckus on the stairs and the dogs burst from the bottom into the family room, Sherm on their heels. Ulie slips into her room and closes the door.

“I’ve got eggs,” I tell him, holding up the pan. “Get them while they’re hot.”

Sherm shuffles to the kitchen and grabs a plate, dishing a mound of scrambled eggs onto it and grabbing a handful of bacon.

By the time we’re all fed and ready forty-five minutes later, it’s nearly ten and there’s still no sign of Grant. I try him again with the same result. I leave another message, then herd Sherm and Ulie to the door.

“Should we bring any of our stuff?” Ulie whispers as Sherm puts the leashes on the dogs.

And that’s when it really strikes me. This is the end of Port St. Mary. I’ve lost more than Oliver. By letting him leave, I’ve lost my family’s home.

“No. They said at Safesite that if this happens, we should leave everything and go.”

“What about the dogs?” she says with a nod Crash and Burn.

“Crap.” I hadn’t thought about them. I look at her and see the same confusion I’m feeling reflected in her eyes.

“We can’t just leave them,” she says. “Someone’s got to feed them.”

I look out into the driveway. Rob took the Lumina, leaving the rest of us to cram into the Beetle. Three of us and two dogs is going to be tight.

“Load them in,” I call to Sherm. “Maybe Wes can adopt them out,” I mutter to Ulie.

We’re in the process of figuring out how to fit Sherm and two hyperactive half-grown shepherd-mix puppies into one microscopic backseat when the sound of cars barreling up the road sends my pulse into the stratosphere. I look up, hoping for Rob’s blue Lumina. Instead, there are two black sedans speeding up the driveway toward us, kicking up a plume of dust in their wake.

I mentally curse Oliver for taking my gun as I close the door, trapping Sherm in the backseat with the dogs.

The windows are tinted and I can’t see inside either car as they crest the top of the drive. The passenger door of the lead sedan flies open before it’s even stopped.

“Jesus Christ, Lee,” Wes says, bolting out. He grasps my upper arms, wide-eyed. “Are you okay?”

I stare at him, trying to grasp what’s happening as the second sedan skids to a stop behind the Beetle, blocking us in. Three enormous armed men pile out of the cars.

“What’s going on?” I ask, thankful he’s given me a plausible reason for the shake in my voice.

“I tried to call you. You weren’t picking up. I thought . . .” He trails off and shoves a hand through his hair, his eyes scanning me. “Thank God you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” My mind races, wondering what he knows. Have they caught Oliver? What did he say?

“Can we talk?” He glances to Ulie. “Privately?”

“Go with Sherm and take the dogs for a walk,” I tell Ulie.

She gives me a questioning tip of her head. In reply to her unspoken question, I nod.

“Come on, Sherm,” Ulie says, pulling open the door. “We should probably walk the dogs before we go.”

He and the dogs pile out of the back, and as they all start toward the bluff, Wes catches the eye of the two guys from the other car and nods that they should follow.

I move onto the porch and the third guy stations himself at the bottom of the stairs as Wes follows me up. We settle into the wicker chairs.

“What’s this all about, Wes?”

He takes a breath and watches as Sherm and Ulie disappear down the trail to the beach, his two guys in tow. Once they’re out of sight, he turns his gaze on me. “There’s a manhunt for Oliver Savoca. He vanished off the grid in Las Vegas over a week ago. We don’t know definitively that there’s any connection to your family, but the Chicago FBI office has been catching intel that he may be looking for you. As a precaution, the DOJ has asked that we station someone here twenty-four/seven for your protection until he’s found.”

“What will happen when you find him?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the panic out of my voice.

“That will depend on a lot of things,” he answers, his expression grave. “There’s also word coming from Chicago that the Savoca thugs are out in force looking for him. It’s possible he might be hiding from his own people. That would be our best-case scenario. It would mean he’s too busy trying to save his own skin to be a threat to you.”

Tendrils of panic wrap around my stomach and squeeze. Victor knows about the gambling discrepancies. He’s hunting Oliver.

“If they find him first?” I ask through a suddenly dry mouth.

“My guess is they’ll neutralize the threat,” he answers with a shrug of his shoulder. “Just one less dirtbag to worry about.”

My heart lodges in my throat. I’ll get my wish.

My mother avenged . . . with Oliver’s blood.

Lee

Eric, Jeff, and Tanner. Those are the three marshals Wes assigned to us. He says they’re his best. For two weeks, time slows to a crawl as I wait to hear from them if Oliver’s alive or dead.

Wes doesn’t let any of us leave the house except with supervision. There are at least two of them here twenty-four/seven. He and Eric rotate shifts with Jeff and Tanner. Or at least that’s how it’s supposed to work. How it really works is Wes is here almost all the time, with either Eric, or with Jeff and Tanner.

Rob’s not happy that they’ve forced him to take the time off from Spencer’s. Grant’s even less happy that they won’t let him go . . . wherever he goes. Ulie is allowed out twice a week to grocery shop, but one of the guys is always with her. Sherm walks the dogs on the beach every morning with an armed escort.

The first thing I did after Wes told me what happened was go back into the Savocas’ encrypted gaming program and fix what I broke. Not that it matters anymore. If Victor already knows about the losses, Oliver’s dead.

I’ve buried myself in Polly’s books to keep my mind off everything. Even though I’ve gotten a lot done, it hasn’t worked. All I can think about is Oliver.

According to Wes, there’s been no sign of him. All the worst-case scenarios run through my head.

His family killed him because of the financial havoc I wreaked
.

He reported our location to his family and they’re on their way
.

His wounds were worse than I thought and he’s holed up somewhere, bleeding to death
.

When I needed to go to Polly’s last week, Wes came with me. I introduced him to Polly as a friend from Rob’s security job, but I think she thinks he’s my boyfriend. She winked at me when he put his hand on my back as we walked out of the diner. Today, he’s waiting in the car because I told him people in this town already think our family is “off” and they’ll start to talk if Ulie and I are always walking around with a bodyguard.

“So this is really it?” she asks, spreading the amended tax return over the table in front of us. “I thought I’d owe money.”

I slip the deductions page from between the others. “You had deductions for depreciation of equipment you’ve never taken, both here and at the auto shop. It adds up.”

“Wow,” she says, lifting her gaze to mine and smiling. “A refund? You just saved me ten times what I’m paying you.”

I spend the next two cups of coffee explaining the return and deductions she should be sure to take in the future. We sit and calculate her estimated tax payments for the rest of the year, provided her income doesn’t change significantly.

The bells over the door chime and Polly looks up. “It’s your gentleman friend,” she says under her breath with a sly smile as she stands and moves to the counter.

I turn as Wes steps through the door.

“Thought I might find you here,” he says, all casual, as if he just rolled into town. He slips into the seat across from me.

Polly is back with a steaming mug, which she sets down in front of Wes. “Can I get you anything from the kitchen?”

He squints up at her. “What’s good today?”

She laughs. “Everything’s pretty much the same every day. That’s the beauty of this place. Keep it simple.”

He nods and a smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “Something to be said for that. Bring me the steak and eggs with a side of biscuits and gravy.”

“You got it, sugar.” She looks at me. “Anything for the hardest-working bookkeeper slash tax accountant in town?”

I smile up at her and shake my head. “No thanks, Polly.”

When she’s gone, I glare at Wes. “I thought we agreed you’d wait in the car.”

He shrugs. “Got bored.”

“This isn’t a game, Wes.”

“I know that.” His expression goes deadly serious. “Do you?”

He holds me in that intense gaze until I’m forced to lower my eyes. “Sorry. It’s just . . . it’s been two weeks. Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?”

“Savoca’s got resources,” he says, tapping a fingernail on his mug. “If he doesn’t want to be found, it’s going to be hard to find him.”

“His family has a house in Aspen.” My heart pinches at the memory of our weekend there, and I force the thought away. “And a few in Europe, I think. Sicily and maybe . . . Paris?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Lee. There’s no need for you to worry. We’re here and no one’s getting past us.”

I’m not worried about Oliver getting to me. I’m worried about Victor getting to Oliver. I would rather the Feds find him first. I ball my hand into the hair on top of my head. “I just want this to be over.”

“I know this is hard.” He leans onto his elbows. “Things will get back to normal once he’s located.”

“What if he never turns up?” I can’t keep the grief out of my voice.

“He
will
be found, Lee. Dead or alive.” His fingers brush across mine. “This won’t go on forever. I promise.”

My heart thuds to a stop.
Dead or alive
.

What if I’ve truly killed Oliver?

Somewhere deep in my heart, I know I should have seen what I was starting when I sabotaged that program. I’ve spent my whole life in this world. I know how it works. But Oliver is so self-assured. He’s so together. He never let on how screwed up his family was—that his father hates him.

What kind of parent would kill his only son over money?

I lean back and sip my coffee with a shaking hand.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Polly says, unloading her arms onto the table in front of Wes. “I’ve got steak and eggs hot off the griddle with a side of biscuits and gravy.”

“Are you sure you ordered enough food?” I ask, forcing myself out of the pit of despair I was spiraling into.

“On second thought,” he says, grinning up at Polly, “could you also bring a side of bacon?”

“You got it, darlin’,” she says, turning for the kitchen.

“You better tip her good,” I mutter once she’s out of earshot.

“A good Southern boy always take care of the ladies,” he says, playing up his accent.

There’s a look in his eye as he says it that makes me suddenly uncomfortable. Polly saves me when she’s back a minute later, distracting him with bacon.

“Breakfast is on the house.” She grins. “Lee won’t let me feed her, so I’ll feed you while she watches.”

“Thank you kindly,” he says, still in full Louisiana drawl.

“Your boy just melted my knees,” she says, fanning herself with her hand as she backs toward the table under the window, where a guy is making the universal
check, please
motion with his hand in the air.

Behind her, the door opens and Chuck strides in with Adri. They look grim, which is totally out of character for both of them.

When Rob left the morning Oliver escaped, I thought he was going to Adri’s. He wasn’t. He went to Chuck’s and told him everything. He said, whether we were leaving or not, he needed someone who knew how to handle a gun looking out for Adri. There’s no way Rob could tell her chief-of-police father, but Chuck has always protected her. By the looks of things, I’m not the only one with a bodyguard.

She sees me and her eyes widen, but then they shift to Wes. She and Chuck make their way to our table and I stand to greet them. As she gets closer, there’s no missing her red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says, pulling me into a hug.

She feels stiff, and I can tell she has a thousand questions that she’s holding back, not sure what’s okay to say in front of Wes. If Wes knew Rob told her our real deal, that would be enough to trigger relocation. The only time it’s “legal” to divulge that we’re in Federal Witness Protection is if we marry. I guess they think it’s only fair our spouses should know what they’ve gotten themselves into.

When I glance over her shoulder at Chuck, his jaw is tight and his eyes narrow. He’s clearly taking this very seriously.

“How’s the family?” Adri asks as she pulls away. She can’t totally mask the pain in her voice.

I know she misses Rob. He’s protecting her the only way he knows how, by distancing himself. He’s essentially cut off communications.

“Great. We’re having a great summer.” I glance at Wes and he’s giving us an inquisitive look as he eats. “Will you be teaching fourth grade again next year?” I ask to appease his curiosity.

The hint of a smile teases her mouth. “I am. The school board finally decided to keep me on.”

“Congratulations. I know Sherm thought you were wonderful. He still talks about you.”

When I catch the tiniest quiver in her lower lip, I know she got the message. Sherm misses her too. We all do.

She backs away from the table. “It was really great to see you. Tell Sherm I say hello, okay?”

“I will.”

She turns away, and I’m sure I see her shoulders hitch. Chuck wraps his arm around her and guides her to a table across the room. He lowers her into the chair facing away from Wes and me and pulls his seat close, whispering something in her ear. Polly comes over with the coffee pot to fill their mugs, but takes one look at Adri and slips into the seat on the other side of her.

Rob is an ass.

“She seems nice,” Wes says, pulling my attention back to him. His plates are nearly empty except for a few bites of biscuit, and he’s leaning back in his seat, studying me.

I slip into my seat and pick up my mug. “Sherm had a really hard time adjusting to the move. She was amazing with him.”

“We should get back to the house,” he says, tossing his napkin on the table and polishing off his coffee. He fishes a twenty out of his pocket and drops it on the table, even though Polly said it was on the house.

Adri and Chuck look our way when the bells over the door clang as we open it. I give them a feeble wave before pushing through into the swelter outside.

***

Another week, and I’m starting to feel like a caged animal. I know Grant’s feeling it worse than I am. He’s so used to blowing in the wind that after three weeks in captivity, he’s impossible to be around. It all hit the fan last night when he got up from the dinner table and jumped on his bike. Tanner told him to stop, but Grant flipped him the bird and peeled down the driveway.

There was a tense second when Tanner pulled his gun, but Jeff yelled at him to stay with the rest of us, then jumped in the car and took off after Grant.

I guess they ended up at a bar just across the bridge. Jeff called Tanner and said everything was under control. I don’t know what Jeff did or said to calm Grant down, but when they showed back up around one in the morning, Grant went to his room and hasn’t come out since.

I’m awake at six in the morning when I hear Wes and Eric arrive. They have a conversation downstairs with Jeff, who fills them in on the events of the evening before.

“There’s been a development,” I hear Wes say when Jeff finishes. “Let’s step outside.”

The front door opens and I hear heavy footfalls as the big men tread across the front porch. My heart is compressed into a hard ball, straining to keep a rhythm as I slide out of bed and go to the window. All four of our US Marshal guard detail are huddled together near the bluff. Wes is the only one talking, his hands moving as he does, but I can’t hear a word over Crash going crazy in the run trying to get to them.

He didn’t do well with strangers sleeping on our sofa, so the dogs have been relegated to the run since this started. Believe it or not, I sort of miss having him smashing my feet at night.

I retrieve my short cotton robe from the closet and slide it on over the tank top and panties I was sleeping in, then tiptoe downstairs. One of the guys has already made coffee and I pour a cup. An engine starts outside and I see one of the black sedans glide past the window on the way down the drive. A minute later, the front door opens and Wes steps in.

“What’s happened?” I ask over the rim of my mug, trying to contain my anxiety and conceal my shake.

His eyes flick to Ulie’s door. “Everyone else still asleep?”

I nod.

He takes a deep breath and tips his head toward the door. “Let’s walk.”

I move past him to the door and he follows me through.

“We’ll be down on the beach,” he tells Eric on our way past.

Eric nods, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t talk much.

“Is it something with Oliver?” I ask as we start down the trail at the top of the bluff.

He lays a hand on my back, escorting me down the winding path. “We got a report out of Las Vegas late last night. I didn’t want to say anything until we had confirmation.”

My vision goes gray around the edges and I work on placing one foot in front of the other until we make it down the bluff to the soft sand of the beach. Oliver said he’d flow to Vegas as on his own ID before his alter ego, Patrick Barrone, caught a plane from there to Tampa. “What report?”

He takes my hand and turns me to face him. “It’s good news, Lee. Oliver Savoca is dead.”

My legs go out from under me as all the blood leaves my head. Spots flash in my eyes and the sound of the surf fades out, replaced by the pounding of blood through my veins.

Wes catches me on the way down and lowers me into the cool sand. He must mistake my reaction for relief, because he strokes the hair off my face. “There’s no indication he ever uncovered your location. You’re safe here, Lee. You don’t have to leave.”

A tear slips over my lashes and he thumbs it away. When more join the first, he pulls me to his shoulder. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I want to scream that nothing’s okay. Oliver is dead because of me. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself. Instead, I sob into his shoulder and he rocks me in his arms.

“I’m never going to let anything happen to you or your family, Lee,” he says low against my skin. “As long as you’re my responsibility, you’re safe.”

His breath is warm. His lips strong against my forehead. He’s alive, and I’m dying inside. I hold on to him like a drowning man to a buoy.