The Last Thing He Told Me

The airplane started backing up, jolting us, before it turned, slowly heading toward the runway.

“Apparently,” he said.

“I know I can trust you,” I said. “I do. I trust you more than anyone.”

He locked his fingers through mine.

“Metaphorically or actually?” he said.

I looked down at our fingers, locked together like that, just in time for takeoff. I stared down at them, finding comfort there.

“Here’s hoping they’re the same thing,” I said.

The Good Lawyer

When we get back to the hotel room, I lock the dead bolt behind us.

I start looking around the room, our belongings strewn on the floor, our suitcases open.

“Start packing your stuff,” I say. “Just throw it all in the suitcase, we’re out of here in the next five minutes.”

“Where are we going?”

“To rent a car and start driving home.”

“Why are we driving?” she says.

I don’t want to say the rest of it. That I don’t even want to go to the airport. That I’m afraid they’ll be looking for us there. Whoever they are. That I don’t know what her father did, but I know who he is. And anyone who reacts to him the way that Charlie reacted to him is someone we can’t trust. He’s someone we need to get away from.

“And why are we leaving now? We’re getting closer…” She pauses. “I don’t want to leave until we figure this out.”

“We will, I promise you, but not here,” I say. “Not where you could be in danger.”

She starts to argue, but I put up my hand. I rarely tell her what to do, so I know it may go south starting now. But still. She has to listen. Because we have to leave. We should be leaving already.

“Bailey,” I say. “There’s no choice. We’re in over our heads.”

Bailey looks at me surprised. Maybe she is surprised that I tell her the truth, that I don’t sugarcoat it. Maybe she just wants to be done trying to convince me that I’m wrong to head back home. I can’t read her expression. But she nods and stops arguing, so I decide to take the win.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll pack.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Yep…” she says.

She starts picking up her clothes and I walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind myself. I look into the mirror at my tired face. My eyes are bloodshot and dark, my skin pallid.

I splash water on my face and make myself take a few deep breaths in, trying to slow down my heartbeat—trying to slow down the crazy thoughts that are plowing through my mind, one of them finding its way to the surface anyway. What have I gotten us into here?

What do I know? What do I need to know?

I reach into my pocket, palm my phone. I cut my finger on the shattered screen, the small glass shards imbedding in my skin. I pull up Jake’s contact and send a text.

Pls get back to me on this ASAP. Katherine “Kate” Smith. That’s her maiden name. Brother Charlie Smith. Austin, Texas. Cross-reference for birth of daughter, matching Bailey’s age. Name “Kristin”. Austin, Texas. Also check for marriage certificate and death certificate. Won’t be reachable on my phone.

I put the phone under my foot and get ready to smash it. Even though it is the only way Owen can find us. It’s also the way anyone else can. And if my suspicions are right, I don’t want that. I want to get out of Austin without that happening. I want to get away from Charlie Smith and whoever may be with him.

But there is something gnawing at me, something I want to remember before I disconnect us from the world.