The Switch (16 page)

CHAPTER 21

Shelby

That’s why I have to leave Chase behind.

WE’VE BEEN CHECKED
into the hotel for less than an hour when Chase eventually returns to me. And when he does, I’m so bent out of shape that I’m terrified he’s going to notice. I know, deep in my heart, I’m making the right choice.

I guess, in a way, it’s not even a choice. The way the last few days have gone only goes to show that when I involve others, they get hurt. And as surreal as it seems, I have fallen in love with Chase over the last few days. If Becca were here
, she’d say I’m being impulsive again. She’d tell me that it’s lust, not love, that I feel for Chase. But I know she’d be wrong. I felt lust for Victor, and this is different.

When Chase is out of my sight
, I’m worried about him. I want him to be safe, and I need him to return to me. When he is in my sight, I just want to touch him and be touched by him. Anything from simply holding my hand to wrapping himself around me, I crave it. Chase has shown me what “good” looks like, and now that I’ve seen it, I want more of it.

Victor was all suave lies and smooth talk. He’s an attractive man who is commanding and knows what he wants. He’d never been cruel to me until we broke up, but I had seen him be cruel to other people many times. I knew he was capable of being awful
—I just wanted to believe he wasn’t capable of being awful to me. As is now too plainly obvious, I was wrong.

The security lock on the hotel room door buzzes
, and then the door swings open. Chase stands in the doorway, arms full of plastic store bags. He strides in and kicks the door closed behind him. When he tosses the bags down on the bed we’re to share, I realize they’re filled with toiletries and clothes from the local Supercenter.

“I hope these fit,” he says as he tosses a plain white unisex T-shirt and exercise pants my way. I catch them midair and inspect the sizes to find that both are a little on the big side, but the pants have a drawstring
, so I’ll be fine.

“Thank you,” I say.

I fidget with the clothes for a moment before setting them down on the bed. It’s nearing midnight, and Victor expects me at the lake in less than six hours. I have to make my time here with Chase count, because once I leave this hotel room, I won’t be coming back. So this is it for us, these few measly hours.

Every fleeting hope I had for our future will never exist. I’m making that choice
—to give up something I love in order to protect it. And even if this ends worse off for me than I can imagine, I know I won’t regret this decision. I’ve spent hours considering the possibilities.

I could run with Chase and our families. But then what becomes of Becca? And we each have more trivial matters in our lives that need attending. I have rent
, and my parents have a mortgage and car payments. We have credit card bills and jobs. Picking up and running isn’t so easy, and it would get my best friend killed.

I could let Chase do it his way and wait it out until we find someone in the department who isn’t dirty who can help us. But how long will that take
, and how long does Becca have? We’ve spent the past three days thinking we had an ally in the department in Sarge, only to find out he’s dirty, too. And unfortunately, my dad’s old buddies on the force are difficult to reach, as half of them spend their days fishing in the bayou and the other half spend them drinking like fish. They’re not what you would call a real motivated bunch. Either way, even under the best of circumstances, Becca’s life is left in limbo—and that’s not okay.

So that brings me to where I am now
—ready to offer myself up in trade. Victor never wanted Becca to begin with. The two had barely even met once while he and I were dating, and aside from Becca’s concerns over the legality of his business ventures, neither had a cross word to say about the other. Becca can’t and won’t offer Victor what he wants. She won’t do the stupid shit I did, like going with him to business meetings and letting him use me to mule. No matter how much he pleads, she won’t be his girl willingly. I want to think he would never force her to do anything, but I also thought he would never have hurt her, and I saw him cut her.

T
hat’s why I have to leave Chase behind. I have to let go of this thing between us that I only barely got to hold on to. So I’m going to make these last few hours really last so that once I’ve given myself up, I’ll have something good to remember.

“Baby?” Chase’s voice breaks through my clouded thoughts. He’s moved. His tall, muscular frame engulfs me in a hug from behind.
Bending, he places his chin on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Knowing how very limited my time is with him, I lose it. Tears spring from my eyes and fall down my cheeks before I even realize I’m crying. I suck in deep, uneasy breaths and shake upon exhale. Chase’s grip around me tightens as he pulls me flush against him.

“I know it’s scary, baby. Just stop thinking about the cabin, okay? Just be here, in this moment with me. In this hotel room, we’re okay. It’s just you and me.”

“Okay,” I say and nod my head.

I calm myself down, knowing that if I cry the whole time I’m going to regret it. I want more than just hours with Chase. I want days and weeks and years. I want anniversaries and birthdays. I want surprises and first words and first days of school. I want all of that and more, and unless it’s with him, I don’t want it at all. And I’m absolutely not willing to let him put himself in any more danger because of me.

Turning around in his tight embrace, I rest my head on his chest. He adjusts his grip around my torso and holds me as closely as possible. I let out several calming breaths and then pull my head back, taking in the sight before me.

“For right now, I just want us. I want you to touch me and to make love to me. Make me forget my own name,
Officer
.”

Chase’s eyes ignite
, but his movements are slow. He leans in and presses his lips against mine. I remove his clothing slowly, making sure he’s aware of my every touch. My hands run the curves of his body, over his smooth, taut skin. Moving to the bed, I fight the urge to rush this. Knowing this is our last time, I’m determined to make it count.

He moves us to the bed where he lays me down. He drags his rough hands up from my ankles to my knees where he pulls them apart and settles in between. The weight of his solid frame settles upon me as we connect. Together, we move our naked bodies, causing a delicious friction. Slick with sweat and drowning in need, my breaths come in heavy waves. Beyond the incredible desire he ignites in my body, what I really crave from Chase is this closeness. Us, together as one. We move as a unit, one single body.

And as we finish, we lie still in one another’s embrace, letting the bliss from the act comfort us in our respite. I long for the after as much as I crave the middle and the before. I give myself this time, watching him and his shallow breaths. The sweat pools at his eyebrow ridge and slowly cascades down his temple to his jaw. He has a wonderfully strong jaw that any son could hope to inherit. Unfortunately, he won’t be my son.

I hum a silly little hymn from my childhood as I lull Chase
to sleep. It takes hours, and the pitch-black of night slowly lifts to purple and eventually pink. I fight to stay awake as the moon fades away, letting the sun claim the day. Exhaustion nearly overtakes me, but I force myself to stay coherent.

I have to go.

CHASE’S CHEST RISES
and falls in a slow and steady pace with the kind of relaxation only sleep can bring. He’s been wrapped around me for nearly an hour now, and slowly but surely I’ve been pulling away from his embrace. It’s the last thing I want to do—to pull away—but I have to be strong.

I’ve pulled away enough now that he grunts and rolls onto his back
. With the movement, he takes the last of his touch from me. I slide to the edge of the bed and stand slowly. Staring down at Chase, sprawled out and snoring, I long to feel his touch one last time. My right hand juts out before I pull it back and clasp it in the firm grip of my left. I don’t want to wake him, and I take a step back so as to avoid touching him.

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. My gut is telling me, I think, that this is a bad idea
, leaving him here. But my heart is telling me I have to protect him. The last thing I want is for my damage to do more damage to Chase’s life. I have the power to make things better, so I have to do this.

I cross the room to where the bag of fresh clothes
from the store is and tiptoe into the bathroom. I don’t shut the door as I fear it will wake Chase up. Inside the bag I find underwear, a sports bra, a pair of socks, drawstring workout pants, and a T-shirt. As I put them on, it becomes obvious that Chase clearly thinks I’m larger on top and smaller on the bottom than I really am. Thankfully the clothes fit without too much issue, though they are incongruently tight and baggy in odd spots. Regardless of fit, I’m just grateful to have clean clothes. Forgetting to ask my father to bring me a travel bag worked out in my favor. The time alone while Chase made his run to the store gave me time to sort out my thoughts and formulate a plan.

There are only a few things I need in order to pull this off. I grab them quickly and pause to find the diamond. We have very few possessions in this temporary space. I poke through Chase’s pile of clothes on the floor. The dirt and grime from the old sleep pants and shirt make me cringe, and
once again I consider that if I stay here with him, our lives might always be like this—spent on the run. That’s no life to have—always terrified of what’s around the corner and who might be hurt next. I can’t live that way, nor can I ask anyone else to live that way. But I can’t just walk out without saying goodbye either. Scanning the room for a pen and paper, I write a quick note to Chase. It isn’t much, but it says exactly what it needs to.

I don’t bother with my boots until I’m out of the room. With my collected items
—boots and the keys to the rental car—I exit the room as quietly as I can. My gut told me to take the gun, but that’s not what I’m doing. I’m turning myself in, not fighting for my freedom.

Down the hallway and in the elevator, I slide into my boots and lace them up. I look a mess, but at least now I’m a clean mess and I’m wearing a bra. Through the hotel lobby and into the parking lot, I keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior.

The parking lot is crowded, and all the rental car key ring says is “Black Honda Civic” which are a dime a dozen. I press the button on the key fob to unlock the car and find that my ride is the one partially hidden from the street by a large hedge. As I cross the parking lot, I realize I should have known that. Chase parked the car and he’s a cop. Even if he is just a rookie, he clearly has this hiding thing down.

Though it’s still dark out
, the warm August weather has heated up the car enough that it’s toasty inside. I start the car, affix my seatbelt, and exit the parking lot for the highway. I’m barely on the street before I burst into tears and wail unabashedly and uncontrollably as I swing the sedan onto the I-10 and head east in my last moments of freedom.

CHAPTER
22

Chase

I eye the blood as it drips down my forearm.

WHEN I WAKE
, the sun is barely up. Though the curtains are drawn in the room, the emerging pink sky streams through the wall of fabric, providing the room with enough light to see everything clearly. Before I even sit up, I know something is wrong.

Shelby’s gone.

I close my eyes for a brief moment and feel for her warm body in the space beside me. As I suspected, the bed is cold and empty. I crawl out of bed and cross the room purposefully but am not surprised when I find the bathroom empty, as well.

A sickness mixed with pure rage rises in my stomach and sends blood rushing to my head. I clench my fists at my sides, raise them
, and wail on the wall. I can’t control the awful fear and anger that’s spilling out as I slam my fists into the wall, one after the other, in a hopeless effort to quell the panic that’s rising.

It doesn’t take long before the ruckus alerts my hotel neighbors
, and there’s heavy knocking at the door. I ignore it, and a moment later, I hear the gruff and irritable sound of my dad’s voice. A few more swings, a few more deep breaths, and a few more contemplative moments, and I realize I’m going to need our families’ help. I’m going to have to let them in, both figuratively and literally.

With my shoulders shaking in anger, I walk to the door and open it just enough that the gathering crowd can enter if any of them choose to do so. My father’s first through the door, shoving me into the wall as he ambles by. Shelby’s father and her mother follow, and bringing up the rear is my mother. Looking around the room
, they each slowly come to realize the same thing I have—Shelby left.

There’s no sign of a struggle and no forced entry. Shelby’s dirty clothes are in a pile on the bathroom floor, and I’d bet anything the diamond that was in my pocket is missing
, as well.

“Oh my God,” my mother says. She’s faced toward me with one hand over her heart and one over her mouth.

Shelby’s mother turns and practically mimics her actions. It’s like the standard for a Southern woman when she’s surprised. Both of our fathers turn, but neither gives much of a reaction in comparison to their wives. My mother moves first, followed by Shelby’s. Their eyes are affixed to my feet. I cast a glance downward only to see blood dripping from my right fist, which is still clenched. Lifting my hand in wonder, I eye the blood as it drips down my forearm. I hadn’t even realized I was bleeding. My knuckles are broken up, cracked and caked with blood.

On the side table
, just feet away from me, is a small note, torn from the hotel stationary. I move in on the table and pick up the treacherous piece of paper. On it, three words are written and nothing else. They could have been “I love you” or even “Don’t leave me”. . . anything but what they actually say.

Let me go.

“She’s gone,” I say. I know she is, even if I don’t want to believe it. She’s just dumb enough to think she can fix everything by going back to Victor. And what does that fix, anyway? If she were my girl and she left me, I’d be gunning for the guy she was with after me. None of us are any safer than we were beforehand.

“We’ll get her back, son,” my father says.

“And how do you suppose we’ll do that?”

“Chase, please,” my mother begs in reaction to my clipped tone.

Shelby’s mother crosses her arms over her chest. It’s as if she’s trying to crawl within herself and disappear. Her father has his hands on his hips, his gut jutting out, and his chin level with the floor as he surveys the room. I’ve already looked—there’s nothing in this room I haven’t seen.

“The gun,” he says.

I fold my bloodied arms over my chest and stare him down. As far as I’m concerned, this is all his fault. The last thing he ought to be doing right now is bringing up weaponry. My nonresponse alerts him, and he turns to face me. His gaze travels over my stance, focusing on my crossed arms.

“Did she take the gun?”

I stride over to the bedside table closest to the window and open the drawer. When I came in last night, I shoved Shelby’s gun in the drawer. Despite the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door, I didn’t want the gun out in the open. As it is, the other weapons are in the trunk of the rental car. Opening the drawer, I see a bible, room service menu, and personalized note paper and a pen. Beside the bible, far in the back, is the gun. I reach in and pull the gun out, showing it to the room.

“Why would she leave without the gun?” my mother asks, puzzled. She stutters, tumbling from one discombobulated word to the next. “If she’s going to make things right, how is she doing that without the gun?”

“Because she’s not trying to stop Victor—she’s giving herself up.” I practically spit the words out. I feel the tension rising in my chest and spilling out to my limbs. I clutch the gun tightly, afraid I’ll throw it across the room if I give myself half the chance. If Shelby’s gone, so is the rental car. I don’t even have to look for the keys to know that.

Mr. Brignac steps away from the group with his cell phone to his ear. Placing his free hand to his other ear, he hunches forward, listening intently.
His lips move in rapid succession, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. Just as quickly as the call began, it ends, and he turns around to look me in the eye. His expression is blank. A knot twists in my stomach, fearing the worst. I only just got her. I can’t lose her already.

Then he nods his head
, and the devastation I’ve been waiting to see on his face doesn’t show. The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, and I know he’s got something.

“That was Lyle—my guy on the force. He’s trustworthy,” he says quickly at my skeptical look. “We got a location on Victor and the girl. Victor left the apartment early this morning with an entire crew and came back with an extra.”

“Shelby was with him,” I finish his thought.

He nods.

I grip the gun even tighter so I don’t chuck it at one of our parents. I lunge forward and grab my travel bag, pulling out a fresh set of clothes. I need that address and I need it now. “Stupid, stupid woman.”

“Hey, kid,” Shelby’s dad says, “Lyle’s got the FBI involved. Don’t go off half-cocked. He wants us to meet him in forty-five at
the command center they’ve set up a few blocks from the location.

THE CAR RIDE
is tense. Shelby’s dad is at the wheel because, in his own words, “the boy can’t be trusted.” My father, who insisted on coming along, is riding shotgun because—in his own words—“Chase used to grab the wheel when he’d get mad at his mama when he was little.” And neither man felt comfortable leaving their wives behind, so here I am wedged between Laverne and Shirley. I don’t know who’s worse—her mom or mine.

“I just adore your Chase,” Shelby’s mother says as she leans in and stares up at me.

I glance down at her large gray eyes—Shelby’s eyes—and try to force a smile to my face. It’s not easy. My own mother leans in and pats my knee like she did when I was a boy.

“My Chase is a good boy,” she says.

I bite back the rage that builds in my chest. I don’t know that I would qualify Shelby as well-behaved, but I really dislike the slight in front of Shelby’s parents.

“He’s going to be good for my Shelby,” her mother says, then repeats the same action my mother did.

My mother’s eyes flicker to Shelby’s mother’s hand on my knee and then back up, her church smile plastered on her face.

Just as a nervous twitch develops in my left eye, we pull up to a squat brick building nestled between two taller plaster buildings. I encourage both women to move quickly, but neither
does. Instead, they amble out of the newly rented car with the speed of a pair of turtles. Once I’m able, I squeeze past my mother—because I’d rather knock into her than Shelby’s—and stride toward the brick building.

As I approach the door, I see the men standing watch inside from behind the curtain-covered windows. I slow my gait and wait in front of the door for it to open. It isn’t until both sets of our parents are tucked into the porch behind me that the door opens
, and I’m greeted by the sight of nearly twenty men in navy blue with black Kevlar vests that say FBI in brilliant white lettering. In the far corner is an older man in a pair of khakis and a ragged polo shirt. I’m guessing that’s Lyle. He just
looks
more fisherman than FBI.

“Agent Brown,” the tall man in the Kevlar says. He doesn’t offer me his hand, nor does he crack a smile. “I’m guessing you’re Officer Guilliot.”

I go to reach out my hand to greet him properly—the last thing I want to do is to piss off the feds—but he turns abruptly and motions over his shoulder for us to follow.

As we file into the already-crowded room, I survey my surroundings. On two walls, on opposite sides of the room, are large whiteboards that take up the better part of the wall. There are notes in black and red marker on nearly every
inch of the whiteboards. I see words like
diamond
and
gun
and even
cabin
.

I turn away and focus on following Agent Brown
. We go down a short hallway into a dimly lit, sparsely furnished office in the far back of the building. From the awkward layout and curious wall colors, I can’t tell if this was once an office building or a residential. There’s really no sense to the floor plan.

Halfway down the hall
, I look behind me to find that our parents are still in the room where we entered. I try to relax the encroaching tension as Agent Brown comes to a halt near a bookcase and rests his elbow on the top shelf. Awkwardly, I stand there and shove my hands in my pockets. I can’t afford to piss this guy off. He might be my one chance to get Shelby back.

“I’ve been tracking Victor Abraham and his dealings for the last eight years. I’ve gone undercover—twice—and have nothing to show for it.” He removes his arm from the shelf and turns to face me, crossing his arms over the bulletproof vest.

“How long have you been on the force, Guilliot?”

“A week, sir,” I say.

“And how did you stumble upon Mr. Abraham’s business associate?”

I shake my head in confusion.

“The girl,” he says in clarification.

Immediately, my muscles tense and an overwhelming fear swells in my gut.
“She’s not a business associate. She was his girlfriend. She broke up with him, and this entire situation is because Abraham’s got a small dick and a bruised ego.”

He smirks. “Yeah, Lyle told me you went and fell for her,” he says.

I keep my expression stoic. “My personal life has nothing to do with this case.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, kid. This entire situation is personal. Abraham has no need or want for that diamond he had your girl steal. This was about revenge
, and you got in the way.”

“Yeah, I figured that out. Now, what can I do to help get her back?”

Agent Brown straightens his back and shoves his large hands into the deep pockets of his slacks. His eyes meet mine. He isn’t much younger than my father, but he’s fit and well-conditioned. If my focus weren’t on getting Shelby back, I might have half a mind to be intimidated by the man before me.

“We’ve got men watching the apartment that both Ms. Brignac and her friend are in. Few men have come and gone in the last three hours since we located the building. One of the men who
was on his way out had a warrant, so we picked him up. He couldn’t wait to plead down. We know Abraham is not in the apartment right now, but he will be back within the next few hours. The informant gave us the girls’ locations—one in the bathroom and one in the back bedroom. Neither have any chance of escape. Abraham has the place well guarded.”

“Then why haven’t you rescued them yet?” I ask, incredulous at their dawdling.

Agent Brown takes a deep breath but shows no further signs of frustration. “You want to get those girls killed? We go in right now, not knowing how many men Abraham’s got in there or what kind of surveillance he has on the place, and we might as well sign their death warrants.”

“But you said it yourself
—this is personal. He’ll want to keep Shelby alive. He wanted her back,” I snap.

The way his eyes drop slightly and his jaw softens, I know there’s something I’m missing. Something about what I’ve just said makes this old hard-ass feel sorry for me.

“Four years ago, I arrived on a case similar to this one. Abraham had the girl tied up in a closet. She broke it off with him, and he didn’t like it. I gave the order, and my men moved in too early. Abraham had his men torch the place before we had a chance to get her out. Had I waited just a few extra minutes, we could have had the jump on him. I’m not losing another one, so just cool it, okay?”

Shelby’s not the first.

Victor has done this before to someone else. And she died. He had to have known that she wouldn’t have gotten out alive. The more I think on it, the sicker the realization is. He didn’t
want
her to get out alive. My mouth goes dry, and blood rushes to my head. He meant to send a message—nobody walks away from Victor Abraham.