“You know more about him than I do, clearly. So, why don’t you share?”
A few beats pass before Cannon replies. “That’s not my place. My job here is to make sure you’ve got someone you can count on to keep you safe. Now, is there anything else you need from me before I head back to the city?”
I open my mouth to deliver some snarky comment, but decide it’s not worth it. Cannon thinks I’m a world-class fuckup, so why reinforce that opinion any more than I already have through my actions?
“No. Nothing.” And because I still have the manners I was raised with, I add, “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Greer. You know both your brother and I would do anything for you. Including saving you from yourself.”
He could have left off that last little bit, thank you very much. I give him a pained smile and clear my breakfast dishes away. Cannon’s already out the door and starting up his car when I realize there’s no dishwasher. It’s not until I’m finished cleaning up the kitchen that I discover I’m completely cut off.
Cannon was correct—the old rotary phone doesn’t work. I have no cell. The cable is turned off. There’s no Internet.
Every single one of those things was missing in Belize, and yet I didn’t feel alone and deprived there because I had Cav.
And now I just have . . . me.
I can’t read another page in this book. My second Danielle Steel isn’t holding my attention. I’ve already read every detail of every page of Holly’s yearbooks from high school—she was adorable, by the way—and now I’m going stir crazy. Is this what they mean when they talk about cabin fever? I have to get out of here.
I opened the front door three hours ago, only to be met by Troy German with a stern order to go back inside. When I tried to chat, he stonewalled me and pulled the door shut. I made myself lunch with the ample groceries Cannon left, but now I need to do something before I start tearing my hair out.
During lunch and between my Danielle Steels, I watched Troy’s pattern around the house. Day is turning to dusk, and his pattern hasn’t changed. He stays stationed out front for twenty minutes and then spends five minutes “walking the perimeter.” Holly’s gran’s house doesn’t sit on a vast piece of property. I have no frame of reference for how big it is, but it can’t be much bigger than the footprint of my New York apartment building. Definitely not a city block.
So I start planning. Holly has told me the story about the night Creighton dragged her out of Brews and Balls, the bowling alley where she used to work and made her karaoke stage debut. I think Holly said it was less than a mile away.
I might be a city girl, but one thing I know I can do is walk. And if walking a mile gets me to some sort of civilization, then I’m down with it.
I dig through my available clothes, glancing out the upstairs window as Troy makes another round in his perimeter walk. I slip into skinny jeans and a blouse, shove some cash and my ID in my pocket, and make my way down the stairs. Peering between the front blinds, I catch him climbing back into his SUV and shutting the door.
It’s go time.
I’m breaking out.
Clearly, Troy doesn’t expect me to make this kind of move, because when I slip out the back door and haul ass across the grass to the dirt road that runs behind the back of the lot, I don’t hear him yelling. I duck behind a tree with a trunk double the width of my body and wait, my lungs heaving, for the shouts to come.
They don’t.
I wait another twenty seconds, counting slowly in my head, before I peek around the tree. Still nothing. I make another break for it, sprinting on my ballet flats to pause behind a shed at the back of the next yard.
All I can hope now is that I’m going in the right direction.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sure I’m lost. It’s almost full dark and this country road isn’t lit. I’m about to give up and turn back when I hear the thump of music in the distance and the glow of neon lights.
Thank you, universe.
I come around the side of the building to the front entrance and find Pints and Pins is written in large scrolling letters across the yellow block-and-sheet-metal building. I thought Holly called it Brews and Balls? But how many bowling alleys can there really be in Gold Haven, Kentucky?
Inside is a cacophony of sound as the crash of balls into pins, loud laughter, and blaring music engulf me. No one looks twice as I head toward the bar and grab a table—or so I think.
The harried waitress in her yellow-and-blue uniform takes my order—a cheeseburger, fries, and soda water with lime. I’m laying off the booze tonight, and probably forever if I were smart.
I’m congratulating myself on fitting in so well when a tall, broad-shouldered man in a red-and-black plaid flannel shirt takes a seat in the chair across from me without invitation. He lowers a frosty mug of beer to the chipped blue Formica table between us.
“She said I might see you here.” His deep voice carries only a trace of an accent.
“Excuse me?”
“Holly.”
I stare blankly at him, shock pooling in my belly while I consider how to respond. He knows who I am. Do I lie? Pretend he’s crazy?
No, if he knows Holly, then chances are he could google my picture in a hot second and it would be very clear that I’m lying. I’ve had too many lies in my life lately to want to go down that route.
I embrace the truth instead as his brilliant blue eyes scan my appearance. “Did she tell you to call her when I staged a jailbreak?”
He laughs, and the deep, rich sound drowns out the rest of the noise in the bar. “Not exactly. She told me to keep an eye out for you and take you home if I found you walking the streets. She didn’t expect you’d want to be babysat for too long.”