Unable to do much more at one-thirty in the morning, Finn drove us to his father’s house. His dad wasn’t home, and wouldn’t be until sometime later the following day, which made me wish I’d just come straight there like Finn had told me to do. If I had, the Blazer wouldn’t be in the impound yard. But if I had, I wouldn’t have been kissed in the park. Once again, I found myself unable to regret the decisions I’d made. The events of our journey seemed unavoidable and pre-destined, almost as if Finn and I were being pulled against our wills toward an inevitable conclusion.
Finn’s father’s house was a narrow two-story that sat on a cul-de-sac at the end of a busy street littered with cars and similarly small houses. Finn said the neighborhood was filled with students, and most of the houses were split up into rentable rooms. It was a two bedroom, two bath bachelor’s pad with the kitchen, family room, and a half bath on the main level and the master suite and a small bedroom up the stairs. The spare bedroom featured a desk, a plaid sofa too small to sleep on, and a few boxes that Finn’s dad apparently couldn’t part with but hadn’t cared enough about to unpack in the seven years he’d lived in the little house. The rest of the house was equally sparse, the tell-tale signs of a man who works too much and has little life outside his profession.
Finn pointed me toward the master bedroom, and I stumbled into the small adjoining bath, pleasantly surprised by the tidy space. I stripped and entered the shower, letting the water run over me, streaming over my hair until the tears streamed from my eyes in sheer, exhausted gratitude. I lathered with Irish Spring because it was available and soaped my hair with Mr. Clyde’s anti-dandruff shampoo. I used the razor that was there as well, and promised myself I would replace it the next day. I hit the jackpot when I discovered an unopened toothbrush in the vanity and wrote another mental IOU for that.
When I finished, I pulled on a T-shirt Clyde had given me from his own things, and reluctantly pulled my red panties with the black skulls back on again. I was back where I’d started from, with only the clothes on my back—the clothes that were now in a heap on the bathroom floor. Actually, I was worse off than when I’d started. I didn’t have a single, solitary dime in my pocket. Amazingly enough, though, the idea didn’t scare me one bit. Finn was with me. And right now, he was the only thing I really wanted anyway.
I stumbled into the little bedroom off the bath and crawled into the double bed. Finn was already there. He’d been quicker than me, using the bathroom on the ground floor, and he pulled me close and wrapped me up without comment. I could have easily been convinced to do a whole lot more than sleep, but sleep was all we did there in his father’s room, in his father’s bed, saving our words for later, letting the things that needed to be said slide over the side of the mattress and onto the floor, like extra pillows, waiting for the morning when we would be forced to pick them up again.
Chapter Twelve
NEW DEVELOPMENTS IN the possible kidnapping case of country singer Bonnie Rae Shelby. Sources close to the family say there has been a ransom demand for her safe return. The FBI has been consulted on the case, and authorities have not confirmed an amount or even that there was a demand made, but again, sources close to the family have confirmed that a ransom demand has been made.
THEY SLEPT LIKE the dead, and when Finn woke and stared blearily at the bedside clock it said 10:30. He hadn’t slept so late or so deeply since he was a teenager. Maybe it was the feel of the girl in his arms, the smell of soft skin and clean hair tickling his nose. He buried his face deeper into the fragrant strands and tried to go back to sleep, not yet wanting to be conscious, because consciousness brought heightened awareness, and he was already far too aware of the slim thigh thrown over his and the arms wrapped around his torso. Bonnie tucked her head when she slept, burrowing in, and he could feel her breath tickling his naked chest. He hadn’t donned a shirt the night before because he’d only had one clean shirt left, and Bonnie was wearing it. She’d seen the tattoos. It wasn’t like he had anything left to hide.
He had thought that once Bonnie got her ID and credit cards, the two of them could go their separate ways. But it was too late for that now. Too much had happened, and even if Finn wanted to let her go, which he didn’t, they were inextricably tied, and he was as afraid for her as he was for himself. She obviously wasn’t afraid, so he had to be. The girl was trouble, but she was also in trouble, and Finn knew he couldn’t walk away. Maybe it was Bonnie’s penchant for disaster. She’d apparently used up every bit of luck she was ever going to get in this life on the lottery of superstardom, because she was an accident waiting to happen. Everywhere they turned, everything she touched seemed to go south in a hurry. And yet he was here, beside her, trying to figure out what to do, what was best for her, and whether or not she’d be the death of him . . . or worse, be the reason he lost his freedom again.
But consciousness reawakened the nagging worry that last night’s fiasco was a bigger deal than just an impounded vehicle and hefty fees. If the police were actually looking for him, then he wouldn’t be getting his Blazer back. Every tow company called in license plate and VIN numbers when they towed a vehicle. He knew that much. The cops could be crawling all over his Blazer at that very moment for all he knew. And Bonnie’s bags were inside. The noose kept tightening around his neck. It wouldn’t take much for them to discover his dad lived in the area. And then they would come calling.
The thought had him untangling his limbs from Bonnie’s and sliding from the bed. He pulled on his jeans and headed down the stairs, eager for coffee and needing reassurance that a SWAT team wasn’t, at that very second, assembling outside the house. He yanked the front door open and found himself face to face with a giant with a raised fist. Apparently, the man had been about to knock. That, or Finn was about to get popped between the eyes.