Rising Hope by Edie James

29

The lights from Cabrillo,the small beach town north of The Cove, came into view, a sparkling string of lights separating the town from the sea. Sarah sat forward and rubbed her eyes. She was so tired her bones ached, but rest wouldn’t come anytime soon. They were far from done for the night.

She’d made stealing a vehicle sound easy. For her, it was. But what she hadn’t told Enzo was that the chances of them getting very far were slim. There were too many variables to account for.

Her stomach ached just thinking about it. They might make it hundreds of miles, or none at all.

She leaned back and wrapped her hands around the seatbelt, willing away her concerns. It was the only plan they had. Driving around in an FBI decoy van was beyond stupid.

The closer they got to the edge of town, the more tense Enzo looked. He checked the rearview mirror every other second. She wanted to say something cheerful, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

This was not going to end well.

“We need to talk about this car thing,” Enzo said. “It’s not a good idea.”

“No, it’s not. Have a better one?”

To her surprise, he pulled into the next parking lot, a large space flanked on three sides by big box stores and chain boutiques.

She gaped at him. “What are you doing?”

“We need to consider our options.” He circled the edge of the lot, pulling the van in between two large SUVs, and killed the engine.

A smart move, she had to admit. Sandwiched between the two other vehicles, at least they didn’t stand out.

“What are you thinking?” she asked. He obviously had an idea.

“We’ve got cell service here. It’s time I checked in with Rollo. He’ll help.”

“I told you. We can’t—”

“You agreed I could contact him. I just want counsel. He’s former Special Forces. If anyone can give us suggestions about how to disappear, it’s him.” He unsnapped his seatbelt and turned toward her. “We can’t do this alone.”

Another excellent point.

Deep shadows dug into the skin beneath his eyes. And the light was gone, that twinkling energy she’d noticed since the beginning, like he was on the edge of laughter.

Now he just looked haunted.

And he was right. One call from an untraceable burner phone wouldn’t hurt anything. She’d resisted involving his family, but at this point, they had little choice.

Besides, if Panetta and whoever he might work for didn’t locate the two of them soon, they wouldn’t hesitate to use Enzo’s family as leverage.

She dug into her purse and handed over one of the phones.

Enzo’s fingers brushed hers, sending a jolt of awareness through her. For all the good that would do. Once they got out of this mess—if they got out—she’d be seeing the last of him as quickly as he could make that happen.

“Thank you,” he said, and dialed.

But he quickly cut off the call and sank back against the seat, deflated. “It went straight to voicemail.”

“We can try him again.” She eyed the parking lot. It was getting close to seven pm. The stores might be open until nine, but the parking lot would start emptying out any time. They couldn’t stay long.

Enzo did a face palm. “It’s Thursday night. They’re flying home about now. He’s probably in the air somewhere between Rome and Los Angeles.”

“So we’ll stick with my plan. We’ll get a new vehicle. Hide out and try him in the morning.”

Enzo tapped his thigh with the edge of the phone as he, too, surveyed their surroundings. “We can’t wait that long. What about your contact, that DEA supervisor?”

“Ames?” She shook her head. A nice thought, but they didn’t even know if Panetta had been rescued yet. “It’s too soon. It’ll take time for the news to filter through the agency. I figured I’d contact him tonight.”

Enzo looked defeated. “Sure. That makes sense.” He puffed out his cheeks, letting the air out slowly. “We can’t sit here.”

Car roofs glinted under the harsh, overhead lights. Plenty of vehicles to choose from, even some easy to break into models, but this was the wrong place. Too much light. Too many civilians milling around. She needed a dark side street. Or a parking lot surrounding a motel. Somewhere people would be in for the night.

Enzo activated the phone again and lifted it to his ear.

She leaned forward. “Who are you calling?”

“Someone with clarity.” He lifted a hand to silence her. “Emmie?” he said to the person on the other end. “It’s Enzo. I’m in trouble, Ems.”

He listened for a moment.

“It’ll take too long to go into,” he said. “I need…” He eyed Sarah while he spoke. “We need ideas.”

He pulled the phone away to address Sarah. “It’s my twin. She’s a lawyer,” he explained, and went back to talking over the line. “It’s me and Sarah… I mean, Peaches. Yeah. It’s the woman from Giuseppe’s. No, we didn’t get into an accident. It’s way worse than that. We’re undercover.”

While he launched into an abbreviated explanation of how they’d ended up in an FBI van with millions of dollars’ worth of illegal drugs in the back, Sarah threaded her fingers together. She loved that he had people who cared about him, who’d try and comfort him. But there was nothing his sister could do to help. They didn’t need a lawyer. They needed a miracle.

“I tried Rollo,” he explained to his sister. “They’re in flight.”

He listened intently, cutting his eyes to Sarah. “That’s a good idea. That could work.”

“How many calls do you think it’s safe to make with this phone?” he asked Sarah. “Is it okay to have someone call us back?”

“I think so.” Maybe. A wave of despair hit her. What did it matter? They’d get caught soon either way.

Enzo pulled the phone away from his ear, navigating through the device’s menu until he located the phone’s number. He read it off to his sister. “We’ll be waiting. Thanks, Ems. I love you.”

She must have returned the sentiment, because he ended the call with a small smile. “Rollo won’t be reachable for hours, but she’ll fill him in once he and Alyssa land,” he told her.

“What’s this great idea?” She dreaded hearing it, but she didn’t have much of a plan herself.

Except to run. She was the one being framed. If she took off with the drugs and the guns, Enzo might get out of this alive. Whatever his plan, she should go along with it until she saw her chance to flee.

He smiled to himself. “Emmie is calling in the cavalry. Friends of Rollo,” he explained.

She winced, biting her tongue to keep from shooting down his idea until she heard the rest.

“Emmie’ll get back to me as soon as she talks to them. They’re former Special Forces. They run a private security firm now.”

“They’ll have to turn us in,” she protested.

He waved her off. “They’re not law enforcement. They don’t have to do anything. Besides, we don’t even know if anyone wants to arrest us.”

“Yet.”

“Right.” He paused. “Look, if this doesn’t work out, I’ll make sure you get away, okay?”

She wanted to believe him, but it wouldn’t be that easy. Things in her world never were. Besides, if anyone was escaping, it would be Enzo. The innocent party. The boy scout.

“Let’s just hear what these Knight Tactical guys have to say,” he suggested.

A shopping cart rumbled past behind them, making her jump. “We can’t stay here much longer.”

“I know.” He stared out the windshield, checking out the shops, and pointed. “Tacos. You owe me, Ms. Walker.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a couple twenties. “Might as well eat while we wait. I’ll spot you dinner.”

She didn’t want to leave him alone, but they couldn’t leave the drugs unattended, and they’d need to eat eventually. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Don’t go anywhere,” she added, only half kidding.

He raised his hand in a familiar gesture. “Scout’s honor, ma’am.”

Her heart beat so hard she felt dizzy, but she pulled herself together and slipped out of the vehicle. Part of her expected to be surrounded by armed police, but there was just the normal bustle of a busy shopping center.

This close to the coast, the air was cool, and heavy with the tang of salt. She hurried across the tarmac to the taco joint, feeling more exposed than she could remember.

Once inside, the scents of spicy meats and cheese eased her mind a little. It didn’t take but a few minutes to order. She watched the lot until their order came up, then hurried back to the van.

Enzo was just hanging up the phone when she climbed back inside.

She set the bag of food on the floor between them. “What?”

“Emmie talked to Jack Reese, the head of the outfit. He can have his people looking into things behind the scenes as soon as we give the go ahead. And they can get us out of here in less than half an hour. They’re happy to put us up at their headquarters until we’ve got a decent plan.”

Escape sounded wonderful.

Too wonderful.

What did he really know about these people? She was trying not to be paranoid, but putting her faith in others had never ended well.

“We’ve got to trust someone,” Enzo argued, as if he could read her mind. Clearly, he knew her better than she thought.

“I know.” It was just so hard.

He picked up the bag of tacos, his movements slow and calm, as if he were afraid to spook her. “My brother trusted these folks with his life, and vice versa. I’m all in, but if you’re not feeling it, we’ll go with Plan B.” He scratched his cheek. “Or would that be C, D, or E by now?”

All of them too fuzzy to even be considered real plans. But if they could hide, buy some time, she might be able to figure out who was behind all this.

Enzo hadn’t signed up for this. If he felt good about the plan, that would do. “Okay.”

He let out a breath. “Great. Now we just wait for this Jack guy to text us instructions.” He snatched up the bag of tacos, offering her half the napkins. “Eat up, woman.”

She clutched them in her hand, quite sure she couldn’t eat a bite. “So no car switch?”

He shook his head and unwrapped a taco, but the phone dinged, interrupting him. He balanced the food on the dashboard and checked the phone. “No vehicle necessary. We’ll be going in style. Helicopter. We’ve got just enough time to chow down and get to the landing site.”

There’d be no chowing down for her. Between the stress and the flying, food wasn’t on her immediate agenda.

But hope was. Maybe, just this once, she had a right to be optimistic.