Adam angles toward me, lowering his voice. “He’s off-mic right now, but he knows where to go and what to do.”
“Off-mic?” I demand, and my voice isn’t low at all. “Is he supposed to be off-mic? What does that mean?”
“He’s riding hot,” the new man states. “He’s taking all precautions to ensure he doesn’t get picked up by the wrong people.”
“Who are you?” I demand. “And what does ‘riding hot’ mean?” I demand, because yes, I can guess, but right now, I need facts. Just facts.
“Name’s Beckham,” he replies. “And ‘riding hot’ means—”
“He’s being careful,” Adam supplies quickly, all too politically correct.
“Hot means trouble,” I say. “He’s running hot. I’m not a fool. He’s silent because he’s staying off the radar or he’s already dead.”
“He’s not dead,” snaps the new guy. “He’s not dead.”
I glance at him. “What do you know of it?” I don’t give him time to reply. I don’t know him. Adrian has never mentioned him. I face Adam. “You don’t know where he is right now.” And with that statement of fact, frustrated and scared for Adrian, I settle back in my seat, not sure where we’re going and I don’t even care. The idea of losing Adrian when I’ve only just found him terrifies me. And it hurts. God, the idea of losing him hurts so much.
Adam twists around to look at me. “He’s smart. He didn’t stay alive inside the Devils for all that time by being anything but smart.”
The confirmation that I’m right about what’s happening with Adrian claws at me, but I also appreciate the fact that Adam’s no longer coddling me. “I know,” I agree simply, a reply that comes without hesitation. Adrian is smart, and a survivor. The problem is that so is Waters, a man who seems to have one hand in hell and one hand right here on earth with the devil shooting the middle finger at us all.
Adam studies me a moment and apparently decides less is more in this conversation—which is accurate—and settles back into his seat. Already my mind has moved on, or rather back to the entire reason I was at that restaurant. We were leaving tonight, going underground until the trial. “We” meaning me and Adrian, with a Walker Security entourage. I’d wanted my parents to do the same. And regardless of what just took place, I still do. They’re still my parents and I don’t believe they expected Logan to attack me. Which is a whole other situation that weighs heavily on me, but I force that hell into a box.
I don’t have time to be traumatized or rattled.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
I need to talk to my parents, and I’m just about to inch forward to say as much to Adam when the sedan cuts right fast and sharply. I grab onto the seat and already we’re turning left again. Adrenaline surges and I slide to the door to grab hold anywhere I can, as we continue a series of rapid turns, in between which we accelerate. I don’t ask if we’re being followed. I can only assume we are and the last thing those men in the front seat need right now are questions.
I just hold on.
A full five minutes later, we’re pulling into a parking garage and I have a sense of calmer energy that has me scooting forward. “What just happened and what are we doing?”
“Changing vehicles,” Adam says, offering nothing more before he opens his door and then exits. Ten seconds later, he’s opening mine as well.
I climb out easily, with no purse or bag of any kind, and say, “Were we being followed?”
“We weren’t taking any chances before we stopped,” Adam informs me as Beckham opens the rear door to a blue SUV parked right next to us, and motions me forward.
I ignore him and focus on Adam. “I need to see my parents. I have to try to get them to listen to reason before we leave town.”
Adam’s jaw sets hard. “They didn’t show up to your meeting. We can’t trust them.”
“I know that,” I assure him. “I know I can’t trust them, we can’t trust them, but they’re still my parents. I have to try.”
His lips press together. “Do it by phone. For their protection and yours.” He motions to the car. “Hop in.”
“I don’t have a phone to call them.”
He reaches into his pocket and hands me one. “It’s a safe line. I’ll tell you when to make the call. We’ll drive in circles while you make it. Throw the phone out the window when you’re done.”
“And then we’re going to the airport?”
“Yes.”
“And Adrian?”
“He’ll be there,” he states.
“And if he’s not?” I ask, both afraid and desperate for his reply.
“He’ll meet us at the safe house.”
In other words, he’s not sure Adrian will really make the plane. I’m not sure I can get on a plane without Adrian but I don’t say that. I’ll deal with that decision when the time comes. “Which is where?” I ask, fact-gathering because it makes me feel in control.