Accidental Rebel: A Marriage Mistake Romance Read online

  It’s worse for me, though.

  Because I was trained from an early age to observe the simplest things with intense scrutiny ever since Mom realized I had an interest in her craft. One time, in her pre-millionaire days, she kept me occupied describing the nacho cheese machine at a gas station in such gory orange detail, I’ve never been able to eat the stuff since.

  Add in the fact my mother told me I should write thrillers because it would cure my fear of the dark, and, well, I’m screwed.

  That’s all there is to it. I always imagine the worst, never the best.

  Like whoever’s texting right now just has to be a serial killer or a sicko looking to put some poor lady on an auction block to pay off Manny’s debts.

  Ugh.

  It’s exhausting, I know, but in my hamster wheel brain, it’s too real.

  The phone goes off again three times before I’m done with my salad. The food helps. I’m no longer thinking the absolute worst.

  Well, serial killer is still in the back of my mind, but I’m also pissed at myself for grabbing the damn phone out of Manny’s desk.

  But I made my choice. It’s my responsibility. So now what?

  Grabbing the phone off the counter, I read the messages, all asking if she’ll be there. Before I lose my nerve, I stab back at the keys on the screen.

  I’ll have to confirm that. Hold on.

  Smiling, satisfied I’ve bought some precious time, I set the phone down, rinse my dishes, and put them in the dishwasher. Then I go upstairs, change into a pair of yoga pants and t-shirt, and take my hair out of the tight bun that keeps it halfway manageable most days.

  Another text comes in hot, making the phone jump against the counter as I’m heading back downstairs.

  My eyes suddenly itch. I probably should just ignore it, but, of course, I can’t. There’re three new messages.

  Confirm what?

  What sort of shitshow is SS&A? I don’t have time for this BS.

  You guaranteed your end of this deal. Guaranteed. And I’m paying out the ass.

  Whoa. At least I’ve managed to confirm there’s something majorly hinky here.

  And that’s about the second the air in my lungs locks up.

  I pace the small kitchen area frantically. Oh, God.

  What have I started up? Whether Manny drives me nuts or not, this seems serious.

  He hired me, gave me a chance, a job, when no one else would. If I screw this up, I’m screwed to the place you go where you don’t have good screwing puns anymore.

  Bad news is, I need this stupid job. Even if it comes with a slight risk of major, enigmatic weirdos barking demands through cheap phones.

  I swore I’d never accept another dime from Mom after college. Even if she has enough dimes in her investment account to rebuild the Tower of Babel.

  Mom doesn’t owe me anything. I already owe her a lot. She covered my tuition in full, not to mention she’s letting me live here practically rent free.

  But now I’ve just put my ticket to adulthood in freaking jeopardy.

  Maybe worse.

  Worse, meaning, I could be knocked off or arrested for being involved in...whatever this is.

  Crap, crap, crap, crap. Also, crap.

  I take a deep breath and hold it, contemplating my answer before I start to type carefully.

  Stork, Storkley, and Associates has a sterling reputation.

  Lame, but it’s the best I can come up with right now.

  Within seconds, a new reply buzzes in.

  Fuck your reputation. Can you deliver what I need or not?

  “I don’t know what you need!” I shout at the screen, getting flustered all over again. I know if I could see my own reflection, my face would give my hair a run in the red department.

  I’m mulling over how utterly frustrated I am, mostly with myself for thinking a little fun wouldn’t come back to bite my rump, when it happens.

  The phone rings again. And I almost pee my pants.

  “Crap!” Why the hell did I text Mr. Unknown back? Now I have to answer it. Have to!

  It keeps ringing. There’s no voicemail set up. It would’ve already rolled over to it a long time ago if it were.

  Taking a breath that scalds my lungs, I tap the answer button. “Stork, Storkley, and Associates,” I say.

  The long silence on the other end allows my lungs to empty. For a second, I’m relieved there’s no one there. I start peeling the phone away from my ear, but then there’s thunder.

  A rough, gruff voice.

  “You her?”

  Her? Hell no!

  “Are you her?” The voice grows louder. Angrier. Mr. Unknown sounds even more pissed off than his texts.

  “Excuse me?” I mutter.

  “You deaf? Asked if you’re her?” He snarls again. “Lady, I don’t have time for games. There’s too much at stake. So I ask. You answer. Are. You. Her?”

  I swallow a boulder in my throat. I’m not sure I’d ever know what to say.

  But Unknown cuts in again before I can squeak anything.

  “Look, I’ve been driving for eighteen hours already and still have to make it across North Dakota. I need to know everything’s in place. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

  It’s not just fury in his voice. There’s desperation, too, but that’s not what makes me go stock-still.

  Another voice in the background does.

  A child’s voice, saying they have to go. Anyone who’s ever heard a kid desperate for the nearest bathroom knows the urgency I just heard.

  “It’s in place,” I say. “Confirmed. I’ll talk to Mr. Stork and make sure–”

  The phone goes dead before I even finish.

  Holy hell. Fingers quivering, I set it on the counter again like it’s alive and might bite me.

  What. Is. This?

  I have no idea how long I’ve been pacing the floor, wondering if I should panic call Manny when the phone rings again.

  I stare at it, my eyes ready to crawl right out of my head. Kidnapping crosses my mind. What if that’s what this is? Some soulless creeper rounding up kids for God only knows what?

  But then, I remember the child said Dad. Dad, hurry up, I have to go!

  Unless their dad kidnapped the boy from his mama. That happens all the time in the news.

  He could still be a serial killer, and a kidnapper to boot. Or maybe she’s the big bad wolf, and he’s just trying to get the kid to safety. Or maybe...

  Ugh.

  Maybe that’s why Manny’s side gigs are practically classified. Child custody cases. People will pay big bucks to keep their kids – especially from psycho exes.

  Picking up the phone, I click on the answer icon, and whisper a “Hello?”

  “Sorry,” the gruff voice says. “It’s been a rough trip. I just need to know everything’s set. Finalized. It’s too late to—”

  “It’s set,” I say impulsively. “Everything.”

  “Your law office tomorrow morning?”

  I close my eyes, suddenly sick to my stomach. “Yes.”

  “Nine a.m.?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut harder. “Yup. Nine it is.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.”

  There’s a bleeping sound. The line goes dead again. Cue my entire body turning to mush.

  Then I’m just slinking down on the floor, wondering what I’ve done.

  I always wanted to write thrillers. Not be in one.

  2

  Holding Out (Miller)

  I’ve never been so goddamn tired or so spooled up.

  It’s been over thirty-five hours since the last time I’ve closed my eyes, and we’ve still got several hours on the road till we hit the Twin Cities.

  At least Shane’s feeling better. Christ.

  It must’ve been those ratty nachos from that last gas station in the sticks upsetting his gut. That slimy fake cheese crap is enough to give anyone the shits.

  It rattles me something fierce that I can’t do more for him, like
give him a few hours rest in a decent hotel bed, or a real meal. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

  But time isn’t of the essence.

  It’s fucking essential.

  If I don’t keep flooring it halfway across the country, if we don’t get to our safe house, if I stop for even an hour just to catch our breath, the vultures will come.

  And these are the kind of buzzards that won’t even wait for us to die before tearing us limb from limb.

  That’s why I keep going. Why I keep counting my blessings through this sick ordeal, even when my family’s being hunted. Why I’ll give everything to make sure this hunt doesn’t become a kill.

  I count my blessings where I can. Both my kids have been troopers through this mess, which is far from being over. I couldn’t ask for a better rockstar son than Shane, or a better daughter than my little Lauren.

  I look at my boy now, twisting back into boredom in his seat. He gives me that look like he wants to ask are we there yet? but knows better not to.

  I smile. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather the day they’d been born. Twins.

  Maybe they were born to be rock solid from the second they came into this world. Nothing started easy. They never met their mother, after all.

  Willow died moments after Lauren was born, barely a little while after Shane arrived.

  An aneurysm.

  Undetectable. Unimaginable. Unfair.

  Unforgettable.

  Up till the last couple weeks, I thought that fucked up day would always be the hardest of my life.

  I had no idea.

  “Are we almost there, Dad?” Shane finally cracks, asking the question that’s been gnawing at him from the back seat.

  “Getting there, kiddo. How’re you feeling?” I ask, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror.

  He flashes me a grin and his big blue eyes grow wide. “Better. But after this...I don’t think I’m ever gonna eat nachos again.”

  “I told you it smelled like a skunk,” Lauren says with a yawn from the seat beside him, rubbing her eyes.

  “It tasted funny too,” Shane admits, scrunching up his chipmunk face at the memory. “Blech.”

  “Then why’d you eat it?” Lauren asks.

  “I was hungry!” he says, slapping his knees.

  “I offered you one of my bananas,” she replies.

  He shrugs. “You only had two.”

  Warmth flows through my veins. They really are good kids. Nice kids. Generous to each other and other people.

  Some days, I wonder how they’re turning out as decent as they are. It hasn’t been easy. Raising them alone, all these years, running my ass off for the company that’s put me in this bind.

  Rage flares deep in my gut. It was all going so well, our old lives back in Seattle.

  I’d climbed the proverbial career ladder, securing the life I knew they deserved, despite not having a mother. Money can’t buy everything, but it can make life easier.

  They had toys. Friends. Vacations. A damn nice roof over their heads. Whole weekends with me, where I’d take them camping to Rainier or the Olympic Mountains, or we’d all climb aboard Keith’s sailboat with his family and sail around the Puget Sound.

  Sure, it could be boring. Suburban. Safe.

  There are worse things. Like the utter shitshow we’re starring in now.

  All because I saw something I shouldn’t have and couldn’t keep my yap shut.

  Then all hell broke loose. I think it’s still breaking loose, actually, considering we’re not even to our safe house yet.

  Yeah, I’m taking a big risk trusting this shifty fuck of a lawyer. Beggars can’t be choosers when they’ve got a loaded gun pressed to their family’s head, on the run with two kids.

  Goddammit.

  How had I let this happen?

  I should’ve realized the sky was about to fall before I even looked pure evil square in the face. How good we had it should’ve been fair warning.

  Life isn’t that easy. Not forever. Not for me. Never has been.

  If I’d caught onto what was going on behind the scenes at Mederva sooner, I could’ve extracted us, could’ve made it far, far away from them before sounding the alarm. Before it put our lives in danger.

  Our lives. Shit.

  I can deal with my own, but no one fucks with my kids. Once I get them to safety – us to safety, technically, because they need a father who keeps his own neck intact – I’ll make sure every last bit of info that’ll put an end to Mederva Therapeutics goes global and winds up in the hands of someone who can do something.

  I knew things there didn’t smell quite right for the past year or more, but convinced myself that my past was making mountains out of molehills. I wish I’d listened to my instincts from day zero.

  My gut was never wrong in war zones, and it hadn’t been here.

  It was the coin blunting my faith in myself. Money.

  I was being paid too well to work there, and that salary became the lifeblood of everything. Our nice house with a sweet view of Mount Rainier. Good schools where they excelled. Name-brand clothes. Awesome eats. Fun.

  All the shit I’d craved when I was young but never got. I tried to give my kids the universe, and it might’ve delivered them to the mouth of hell.

  “Hey, Dad, will we be able to eat at a real restaurant today?” Shane asks. “Get some real food?”

  I nod. “Yeah, buddy. Just need to make it through our meeting first.”

  I’ve never lied to them. I had to tell them as much as I could in this situation. Enough to make them accept the fact that I tore them away from their home and friends without any warning for good reason. Enough to make them understand I’m doing this to save our lives.

  I hoped like hell it wouldn’t come to this, but it had, practically overnight. Our options were next to nil. When you’re hunted, you just run.

  Fly like the wind, hoping you’ll be smart enough and careful enough and lucky enough to sort the rest out later.

  It’s a small mercy the school year ended last week. At least I don’t have to worry about the system looking for me and claiming truancy, or worse.

  I remember that from my younger years, how they always caught up with us. I must’ve gone to eight different schools my sixth-grade year. That sucked royally.

  “Daddy...um, is the meeting where we’ll meet her?” Lauren asks.

  My eyes snap to the rear-view mirror, glancing at her. She looks about as nervous asking it as I feel hearing that question. I force down the boulder in my throat.

  Goddamn. How do I even begin to answer?

  Lauren isn’t stupid. She knows what’s up and what the stakes are. We all know what her means, even though we haven’t even met her yet.

  “Right,” I say, clearing my throat. “It’s not much farther. A quick introduction and then we can finally settle in.”

  “Will there be a town?” Shane asks. “Not like Seattle, I know, but...bigger?”

  We’ve been on back roads all the way from the Seattle city limits. Had to be.

  I couldn’t take the slightest chance of being seen on major highways, even though I bought this SUV right before leaving town. If all goes right, we’ll be out of the country before the title change hits the DMV databases. The salesman thought I was a cheapskate because my main concern was how long the license plates were still good for, then looked at me in bewilderment when I paid all cash.

  “A little bigger,” I tell him. “Nothing like home, but I think there’s an ice cream place. Probably a DQ or something.”

  The kids smile, threatening to shear my heart in two. It’s torture knowing they’re grateful for such small favors.

  From what I can tell, Finley Grove, Minnesota, isn’t much. Just another small town an hour or so north of the metro area clustered near two big sister cities. A bedroom community that’s mostly made up of newer middle class housing developments where people do little more than sleep and mow their lawns on weekends.


  For our needs, it’s perfect. Quiet. Secluded. Safe.

  Not that it matters. We won’t be here long enough to smell the roses. The lawyer Keith set me up with, Manny Stork, promised we’d be in and out the door within a week or two. I’m buying efficiency and sweet time.

  On paper, Stork’s a man shady enough to do what I need, but clean enough so no one suspects he’s in on anything.

  In reality, he’d better follow through.

  Because I’m about to pay this weasel out the ass, trusting he’ll be our ticket to a new country and new lives. Our only way out of here.

  I had my doubts last night when no one would answer my calls or respond to my texts. By about the fiftieth attempt, I could feel my eyes going bloodshot in the North Dakota darkness, wondering whether or not I’d have to turn off abruptly toward the Canadian border and take our chances.

  A woman finally picked up, though. She confirmed everything. I’m trusting her and the man who’s got her on payroll.

  “You guys got any snacks left back there to hold you over till after the meeting?” I ask.

  “Yup!” Lauren chirps. “I rationed them, Daddy, just like you said.”

  “No, she’s wrong,” Shane cuts in. “We ate up everything a couple hours ago. Right before we hit Minnesota.”

  “Nuh-uh. I just hid them so you wouldn’t wolf it all down. We’ve got cheese sticks, an apple, and a bottle of water,” Lauren says, digging in the bag beside her, holding up each item as proof.

  “Aw, sis, no more cheese!” Shane groans.

  “This is real cheese.” Lauren taps the cheese stick on the leather seat. “Not that fake goo stuff you ate.” She hands him an apple. “Here, eat this first. You’ll be fine.”

  I pinch my lips together. She’s like a mini-mother. Has been since she was old enough to walk.

  Willow would be proud of her. Of both of our kids, really, for shining through in a time of stress.

  For me, I think pride would be last on her list of stormy emotions. Hell, there isn’t even a silver lining in this mess I’ve created, sending us across the country like we’ve got warrants for our arrest.