Inevitable Detour (20 page)

I’m still smiling at
that
thought when Farren emerges from the bathroom, a white towel perched dangerously low on his waist.

I take a few minutes to admire him. He’s all damp skin, lightly tanned from the hot desert sun, and sharply defined muscles. God, he is unfairly gorgeous. And he’s mine…at least for now.

Oblivious to my perusal, Farren turns away and drops his towel.

“God, you have a great ass,” I blurt out.

While I continue to admire his taut behind, Farren chuckles, making it clear he’s all too aware I’ve been checking him out.

I go to him.

Gently, I touch the scar on his lower back, and he turns to me, magnificent in his nakedness. He raises a questioning eyebrow.

“This isn’t over, is it?” I whisper.

“Not by a long shot,” he admits flatly.

“That was Rick you were talking to, right?”

He nods, and I swallow the lump that rises in my throat. “Whatever you end up having to do, Farren, please, please be careful.”

He cups my cheek. “I’ll be fine, babe. I always am.”

My hand is still wrapped around him, touching his scar. I tap it lightly. “Not always,” I remind him.

He smiles sadly. “Take your shower, Essa. We need to leave tonight.”

“Tonight?” I take a step back. “Why? What’s happening now?”

“Albuquerque is off. We’re heading straight down to Las Cruces, and I’d like to get there before morning.”

My insides are flipping and flopping at what this sudden change in plans might mean. I softly inquire, “Is Haven all right?”

“For now she is.” Farren closes his eyes, pained. When he opens them, there’s true concern in his emerald gaze. “I need to get down there, though. Something was off with the doctor. It wasn’t the original guy I sent. Rick thinks their location may have been divulged.”

“To the bad guys?” I ask shakily.

“Yes,” he replies.

I gasp, and Farren soothes me by placing his hand on my arm. Caressing me gently, he says, “Haven’s been moved to another safe house. She should be fine there, but I can’t take another chance. Not when Rick is the only man there to protect her.”

“What about the team he had assembled?” I ask. “The ones who helped him rescue her.”

“They’ve been dispersed,” Farren explains. “It’s not as if the team hangs out together for a few days after the mission is complete.”

“Oh…” I trail off. And then I say brightly, “Well, at least Rick is still there.”

Farren sighs. “That’s true. And he’s good. But not as good as me.”

His words aren’t uttered in a cocky tone. It just is what it is. When it comes to things like this—protecting people, engaging in ongoing dangerous missions—I’ve already figured out that Farren is the best.

He wraps his arms around me and holds me for a minute, until I say quietly, “I better get cleaned up so we can get going.”

He nods once, and I slip out of his grasp and into the bathroom. It’s still humid and misty in the small space, but the mirror is mostly clear. As I start to undress, I assess my reflection.

Wow
.
I am almost unrecognizable. Not just that, but I also feel as different as I look. I’m no longer the timid, afraid-to-take chances college student I was the day I left Oakwood. And it shows in my confident expression.

But that’s just the start.

I slip the blue tank that Farren thought matched today’s sky over my head. My skin is lightly bronzed from the sun, just like his. My hair is lighter, blonder than usual. Dark blonde has turned to a light golden shade, complete with coppery highlights.

My body is different, too. I’m thinner than I was and firmer in places I wasn’t so very firm before. “It’s all the great sex,” I murmur to my reflection in the mirror.

But there’s something more. There’s a sparkle in my eyes that wasn’t there before.

I feel alive,
really
alive. And I know why. The reason for that not-so-minor change is the man in the next room.

A
s we travel through the night, under a velvet blanket of black that appears covered with a million stars, the temperatures plummet. Relieved that I grabbed a light jacket from my suitcase before I packed everything, I tug the denim fabric tightly around my body. The flimsy tangerine top I’m wearing is no match for the cool nighttime desert air.

Farren, ever observant of my movements and ever-thoughtful of my needs, turns on the heat. “Cold?” he inquires.

“Just a little,” I confirm. I nod to the vents, where warm air is starting to pour out, and add, “Thanks, though.”

“Of course,” he says.

I appreciate that he’s thinking of me, as I know there are far more important things weighing on his mind. Things like getting our butts down to the southern part of the state as quickly as possible. So far, we’ve stuck solely to the interstates, but Farren now hits the turn signal and moves over to the exit lane.

“Are we stopping somewhere?” I inquire.

“No,” he says. “I just think we can make better time on the back roads since it’s so late.”

“Okay,” I say, yawning. It is late, very late, and I can barely keep my eyes open.

Farren pats my knee, his hand sliding up under the black material of my maxi skirt so he can feel my skin. He likes my skin, he likes touching me.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers.

A few minutes later, with Farren’s comforting hand on me, I fall asleep.

Sometime around dawn, I wake with a start. Farren’s hand is gone, as is Farren. I sit up quickly, blinking. I’m still in the Ferrari, which is pulled off, askew, in a gully on the side of a desolate stretch of road. There’s not a soul in sight, just wilderness everywhere I glance.

Staring out at the stretch of black asphalt directly in front of me, the bright yellow line in the center blurs in the dim early morning light. The rising sun blankets the vast desert, the distant mountains, and the sparse vegetation.

“Where are we?” I mutter, even though I’m all by myself.

Where is Farren?

For a second, I panic. And then I spot him out in the desert. Farren is a dark silhouette, standing quietly, shoulders squared. He’s staring out at the mountains in the distance as the rising sun turns the peaks from silt brown to blood red.

I don’t know what’s wrong with Farren, but I sense from his tense stance that something is nagging him.

I get out of the car and go to him. My skirt and top billow wildly, stirred by breezes not yet warmed by the sun. Glad that I tied the jean jacket around my waist last night after the car finally warmed up, I loosen the knot at my middle and work the denim fabric up my arms.

Warmed, I continue walking.

But when I reach Farren, he doesn’t acknowledge me. He just continues to stare pensively at the blood-red mountains.

I touch his forearm. “Farren?”

Snapping out of whatever trance he was in, he turns to me. Smiling sadly, he says my name. And then he reaches out and trails his index finger from my cheek to my lips.

I kiss the tip of his finger, but he drops his hand. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

Sighing, he says, “Remember when I told you about the man named Dawson?”

“Yes, the elderly businessman who’s secretly evil.”

“He’s not elderly, Essa,” Farren says, smiling slightly at my mistaken assumption. But his smile fades quickly when he continues. “Dawson is an older man, yes, but never let his age fool you. He’s not to be underestimated.” He pauses. “You are right about one thing, though.”

“What is that?”

“Dawson is absolutely evil.”

I involuntarily shudder, and not from the chill still hanging in the air. “So, what do you need to tell me about him?” I whisper.

“I have to go meet him.”

My chest tightens. “Why?”

“Many reasons,” Farren says cryptically.

“Oh,” I murmur.

He goes on. “Ideally, I’d prefer to meet him alone”—his gaze goes to me—“but I can’t.”

“Why can’t you meet him alone?”

“He knows I’m in New Mexico, Essa. And, unfortunately, he’s been made aware that I’m not alone. He knows you’re traveling with me.”

Okay, this is not good
, I think.

“So”—my voice cracks—“you’re taking me
with
you to meet him.”

After an audible, frustrated exhale, he says, “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think it’s best if I do. You’ll be safer with me than if you waited somewhere alone.”

I know Farren means there’s a chance I’ll be abducted—like Haven was—if he leaves me alone in some motel somewhere.

“Why do we need to meet him?” I press.

Farren runs his hand down his perfect features, always beautiful, but especially so in this early red-dawn light. “Dawson is under the impression I’ve gone rogue. Contrary to what I first believed, he has no idea I’ve been working for the man I told you about. The man named Mr. Barnes.”

“The man who lost his daughter?”

“Yes, that man.” Farren takes a breath, and then continues. “I was so convinced Dawson must have figured out my true motives for infiltrating his organization. I was sure that was why he abducted my sister. But though he did take Haven as retaliation, it was for a different reason. He thinks I rescued those girls in Venezuela so I could sell them in my own trafficking ring. He thinks I stole what he views as his property.”

“Property?” I scrunch up my face. “God, he really is sick.”

“He’s also very dangerous,” Farren says grimly. “But having him believe I’ve gone rogue is the best-case scenario.”

“For who?”

“For everyone involved,” Farren replies, though that tells me nothing.

“So, what do we do?” I ask.

“We meet with Dawson. I let him think I
was
planning to start my own sex-slave ring.”

I cringe, and Farren reminds me, “It’s just a cover story, Essa.”

“I know. But still…”

Farren ignores my commentary and continues. “I need for him to think I changed my mind. I need him to think that his taking Haven made me reconsider. Let him believe he sent the message not to mess with his business, let him think it was received. He’ll think his plan worked, and he’ll leave Haven alone.” His expression softens as he adds, “It will also ensure that you’ll be safe from here on out, too.”

Farren’s words, though comforting, remind me that my time with him will come to an end, and soon. In response, my heart clenches and a lump forms in my throat. I have all these feelings for Farren. If I just poured my heart out to him here and now, then maybe…

But, no, I can’t say anything. Not when we have this important—and potentially dangerous—meeting to contend with.

Resolving that I’ll talk with Farren later, I lift my chin, my focus renewed on what needs to be done first. “What do you need me to do?” I inquire.

Farren explains the logistics of the meeting. We’re to meet Dawson at a home he owns near the Mexican border. “It’s a point of operations,” Farren says somberly.

“Did he hold Haven there?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No. Rick has spoken with her concerning all that went down. He reported back to me that Haven was almost always with Eric and Vincent. If not, then she was with guards.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “And for as bad as all those men are, they are nothing compared to Dawson. Thankfully, Rick extricated her before she was moved to the house that we’re going to. It’s the last stop before the captured women are sent to Mexico.”

“Where do they go from there?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Central America, South America, all over, Essa.”

“That’s sick,” I say, disgusted.

“That’s why I’ve been trying to help stop it from happening,” he says quietly.

“Have you ever been to this house we’re going to?”

“I have,” Farren replies curtly.

Recalling how Farren told me he’s had to do things he’s not proud of—bad things
—
I decide not to delve for details.

And he doesn’t volunteer any.

Instead, he says, “I can’t give you any weapons prior to the meeting. Dawson will know if you’re armed. But I can’t leave you completely unprotected, either. I’ll tuck a .38 under the passenger seat. It’s easier to handle than the .45.”

“Um, okay… But you’ll be with me, right?” I shakily inquire.

“Yes, but I’ll need to talk with Dawson privately at some point.”

Confused, I say, “Yeah, but if we’re in his house, how will a gun in the car help me?”

“We’re not going into that house,” Farren states, his voice firm. “We’re meeting Dawson at a specified point along the driveway. The damn thing is about a mile long; we’ll rendezvous there. I plan to talk to him in his car. If things start to go badly when I’m with him, I need you to retrieve the gun.” His eyes meet mine. “Don’t be afraid to use it, Essa.”

“Okay,” I croak out.

Farren gently brushes my hair over my shoulder. When it won’t stay put, due to the breeze, he tucks the wayward strands behind my ear. “There’s one more thing,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“When we meet Dawson, I need for you to be completely submissive to me.”

Clarity rushes over me. “Oh my God, he thinks I’m some girl you abducted. Like, for this fake operation of yours.”

“That’s what he thinks,” Farren confirms. “And it’s important that he continues to believe I took you against your will. If we can pull this off, he’ll believe the rogue story.”