The Prize (8 page)

He didn’t budge. His brow was furrowed. “Meagan, this isn’t a fling for me. You mean
something to me.”

I shook my head. “I told you I was never going to be yours. I told you I couldn’t
submit. You wouldn’t listen.”

His voice rose. “This isn’t about submitting, and you know it. You submit fine. In
fact, you’re a natural, and you love it. You’re using that line to avoid something
else.”

I shoved against his chest with my palm to no avail.

“If you have a legitimate reason why you don’t like me, fine. But stop lying about
it. I’m not stupid. You have a problem. I wish you’d let me help you. I have…resources.
I know people.”

I chuckled sardonically. “Your ‘resources’ are half the reason I can’t see you anymore,”
I hedged. “And forgive me, but you don’t know the right people for this problem. So,
please, let me go. Walk away. Forget this ever happened. It’s over, Parker.”

He stepped to one side with a sigh.

Thank God.

I wasn’t sure how long I could continue to fight him.

“This isn’t over.”

“Yes. It is.” I grabbed another bag from my closet and stuffed a few changes of clothes
in it. I would need a few days’ worth. Right? Or did I need a lifetime?

No matter how I looked at it, I’d been in this apartment for too long to not have
been found easily. Hell, my parents’ house was even more dangerous. They’d lived there
for fifteen years. No way in fuck it was safe. But I needed to get to them first and
then reason with them.

Parker slowly finished dressing while I hustled around like a crazy woman—which wasn’t
far off the mark. I knew I was irrational. I didn’t care. I wanted to stay alive.
And I didn’t trust anyone—not even Parker—to ensure that.

I stuffed my feet into my favorite short boots and hefted my bag over my shoulder.

“Please be careful, Meagan. I don’t like this. I’m going to respect your wishes and
let you go for now. But text me. Answer your phone when I call. If you don’t, I’ll
be on your tail in a heartbeat. I’m worried.”

I nodded, my back to him as I headed to my nightstand to grab my phone and then my
gun. I stuffed the Glock in the back of my jeans and lowered my sweater over it.

“Seriously? Meagan, do you even know how to use that thing?”

I turned to face him before leaving the room. “I’ve been shooting since I was five.
I’m good.” And then I left, walking straight out the front door and letting it slowly
close behind me so it didn’t slam shut and wake any of my neighbors.

Ten minutes later, I was in my car, pulling out of the parking garage.

Parker was a big boy. He could see his way out. And I was certain he could manage
to find a ride. He probably had his personal driver on the corner waiting for him.

Chapter Eleven

My mom was waiting for me at the front door when I pulled up. Of course.

She smiled and pulled me in for a hug. “Figured you’d be here any minute. I didn’t
want to call you while you were driving.”

“Thanks, mom.” Of course Detective Branch already called her too.

“I didn’t wake your father.”

I shook my head. “How thoughtful,” I teased.

My mom was the perfect wife. She had made it her mission to ensure Dad and I were
always taken care of and the house was in order and dinner on the table for the last
fifteen years. It was stressful for her when I left for college and then moved downtown.

But I had successfully made a life for myself, pretending to be a regular human being
for years. Until a few weeks ago, I had myself convinced I
was
normal.

“Come in. I’ll make coffee.” She turned around and headed toward the kitchen, tightening
her robe around her waist.

“You can’t stay here, Mom.”

She chuckled as she filled the pot with water. “Meagan, we’re not running. It would
be crazy. What are we supposed to do? Dodge from small town to small town for the
rest of our lives to stay one step ahead of a perceived threat?”

“Yes.”

“We don’t even know if he’s looking for us. There’s very little chance he knows our
names or where we moved to. It’s remote.”

“Except he immediately left Charlotte as soon as he had the chance.” I slid onto a
kitchen bar stool and played with one of the cloth napkins in front of me. My mother
had made them when I was young. They were one of the few things we took from our old
life when we moved to Atlanta to start over.

“It’s been fifteen years. He’s probably more interested in some sort of drug run than
hunting us down.”

“You mean me.
Me
, Mom. Hunting
me
down.”

“Whatever.” She waved a hand through the air in dismissal. “It’s so unlikely, Meagan.”

I didn’t think so. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes when he spoke to me, Mom.
I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“You were so young. A child. He probably doesn’t even remember the incident, let alone
who you were or what happened. Hell, the police said he was higher than a kite.”

I laughed, leaning back in my stool and crossing my arms. “You don’t honestly believe
that, do you?”

She sighed. “Okay fine. Let’s say he spent the last fifteen years planning to hunt
you down. He doesn’t have access to your name or address.”

“He’s a criminal, Mom. He can get access to anything. It’s not like we changed our
last name to something totally foreign. It’s your maiden name, Mom.”

She handed me a cup of coffee and pushed the cream and sugar my direction. “Detective
Branch said they’re questioning the people on his cell block to see if he ever mentioned
anything about you or us.”

I chuckled again and rolled my eyes. “And you think they’ll just fess up?” I added
sarcasm to my next words. “Sure, Officer. Michael spoke of this little girl he intended
to hunt down and kill when he got out.”

My mother glared at me. “Enough. You have to move on with your life. You can’t live
in fear of the unknown.”

“I won’t be living at all if Michael Swarth gets his hands on me.”

****

At ten o’clock sharp I stood next to my father at the shooting range, gun in hand,
earphones in place. I hadn’t done this with him in years. At least once a month I
went to a range near my apartment, but it brought back childhood memories to go shooting
with my dad.

We worked in silence, each in our own worlds beneath the headsets for an hour. When
we were done, my dad opened the conversation. “Your mom’s worried about you.”

I grinned as I tugged my coat on. “Hell,
I’m
worried about me.”

“You realize he can’t find us, right?”

“Nope. I realize he can do anything he wants.”

My dad held the door open for me and led me to his truck. “I’m sorry,” he said as
he opened the passenger side. “I hate that this has taken over your life.”

I slid inside and faced him. “Me too, Dad. But we have to play it safe.”

He shut the door and trudged around the front of the truck as if he were suddenly
older than he was. When he was inside and had the engine running, the heat on high,
he spoke again. “You can’t spend your life running.”

I looked out the window. He was right. But I didn’t know how to fix this. “He’s on
the run, Dad. He said…” I swallowed, fighting back the lump in my throat.

“I know what he said, honey. I heard him from downstairs. I’ll never forget it as
long as I live. But he was scared and high and pissed. We did everything we could
to make you safe. To make all of us safe. I don’t honestly believe he’s thinking about
you as much as you think about him. You’re giving that asshole your energy. He’s stealing
your life.”

“I know.” He sounded like my therapist.

“You were ten.”

“And thank God you trained me to use a gun at a young age, or there’s a good chance
we wouldn’t be sitting here today.” I turned to smile at him.

When we got back to the house, Mom had lunch ready. The three of us ate together,
and then I pulled my phone from my purse reluctantly. So many missed calls and texts.

Amy and Cheyenne had both sent messages inquiring about my night with Parker. I skimmed
through them all and determined he hadn’t said a word to anyone about my fleeing in
the early morning. Kudos to him for that.

Two calls were from Parker, imploring me to call back. And several texts with increasing
urgency. If I didn’t contact him soon, he would probably hire a private investigator
to track me down. I excused myself and went to my childhood bedroom to call him.

“Meagan?”

“I’m here. And I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Right.” He hesitated. “Are you crazy?” His voice rose.

“Probably certifiable, but my therapist is working on it,” I responded.

“Where are you?”

“My parents’ house.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. Right?”

I chuckled. “They aren’t serial killers or anything, so yeah. I think I’m good.”

“When are you coming back?”

“To my apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still there?”

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know, Charlotte?”

“Nope. I’m still here. Waiting on you.”

I flopped onto my back on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
Shit
. “Parker, go home. What we had was fun. I’ve had a great time. But I have a closet
full of skeletons, and you can’t come inside.”

“What if I insist?”

“It’s not your call.”

He paused. “When are you coming home?” he repeated, softer.

“I don’t know. Never is a possibility.” I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. My gut
told me to change my name again and run as far away as I could get. It was a last
resort plan I’d carried with me for years. Even Branch knew. We’d discussed the remote
possibility in the past. My parents were being too laid back about this whole thing.
I worried for their safety. I hoped I could talk them into a cash vacation somewhere
out of the country for a while. Somewhere they couldn’t be traced. That was ideal.

“Listen, I know you’re scared, but whatever’s going on, you don’t have to do this
alone.”

“Yes. Parker. I do.”

“Baby…no.” The strain in his voice made me feel a twinge of sadness for what I was
losing. He really did care about me. I couldn’t deny we had something special between
us. In another dimension it might even be perfect, but the world I lived in didn’t
include people like Parker Darwin.

“I assume Amy knows where your parents live.”

“Of course she does. We’ve been friends for fifteen years. We met when we were ten.
But if you call her and use that to find me, you will seriously piss me off. Let it
go.”

“Does Amy know about whatever’s going on with you?”

“No. And I don’t want her to know. Let. It. Go.”

He was so persistent. It made it harder to put him off by the second. A pressure settled
on my chest. No one had ever cared about me enough to try so hard. It was endearing
in a way. Useless, but endearing.

“Parker, I have to go. Please. Go home.”

He hesitated and then spoke again, a tiredness settling into his voice. “I don’t want
to lose you.”

Did he mean from a sort of breakup or from death? Either way, I shuddered.

“Promise me you’ll stay in contact. You’re putting an enormous burden on my shoulders
forcing me to keep this vague secret to myself. My gut tells me to hang up with you
and call Amy so I can come get you.”

“But you won’t because you know I would never forgive you.”

“Exactly. That’s the only thing holding me back. Are you safe, Meagan?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Because I lied?

“You keep a loaded gun in your apartment. You wake up in fear in the night. You get
calls, from Charlotte I might add, in the early hours of the morning. You’re essentially
on the run. Hon, I don’t like this.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“Why don’t I think I’m going to like your deal?”

He ignored that question. “I’ll do as you ask and go back to Charlotte. I need to
be there by tomorrow, anyway. I’ll make excuses for us about the paintball. I won’t
hound you or show up unexpected. I’ll give you the space you seem to need. But you
have to check in with me twice a day.”

“Parker,” I groaned. I’d never break myself of him if I did that. He would wear me
down.

“That’s the deal. At least a text in the morning and in the evening so I know you’re
safe. A call at least every other day.”

“That’s more than most married couples talk, Parker. You’re being overly dramatic.”

“I sure hope most married couples talk more than that. Jeez. If you were my wife,
I’d contact you six times before lunch just to hear your voice and make sure you knew
how much you meant to me.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t speak over the lump in
my throat. Why did he have to be so fucking perfect?

A long silence passed before he spoke again. “You still with me, hon?” His voice was
soft. Gentle. Kind. Loving…

“Yeah.”

“We clear?”

“Are you dominating me?”

“Probably.”

“I think you’re bullying me.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Fine.”

“Good. I’m going to lock your door handle when I leave here, but that’s not particularly
safe. Although I don’t know why you have this place protected like a fortress.” He
left off the unspoken words I knew were on the tip of his tongue.
Because you don’t have anything in the apartment worth stealing
…

And that was exactly the point.