then. I’ll send her number to you. Expect a call from your new boss as soon as I end this call.”
Before Hayes finished talking, another call made Rafe’s cellphone vibrate. “I have an incoming call.”
“That must be him now,” Hayes said. “I gotta go. Take care of my sister. She’s the only family I have left. I’m counting on you.”
“Will do,” Rafe said. “Safe travels, my friend. You’re your sister’s only blood relative. But you have a shit-ton of brothers who give a damn, too. So, don’t fuck up.”
Hayes chuckled. “Love you too, bro. Out here.”
As soon as Hayes ended the call, Rafe answered the incoming one from Hank Patterson, the owner and founder of the Brotherhood Protectors security agency based out of Eagle Rock, Montana.
“Donovan, here.” Rafe started the engine, and the call switched to his truck’s speaker.
“You heard?” Hank asked.
“Hayes’s sister. Chicago. Yes, sir,” he answered, keying Chicago into the map on his cellphone.
“Anything you need, you let me know. If you need a safe house to bring her to, I can’t recommend any in Illinois, but I have a couple places here in Montana, if you can get her here.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll let you know what I find when I get to Chicago.” Rafe buckled his seatbelt and pulled out onto the road.
“Anything you require in the way of support, you let me know,” Hank said. “Are you armed?”
“Yes, sir.” He had a 9mm Glock in the console and an AR15 behind the back seat.
“Good. Let me know when you reach Miss Hayes.”
“Yes, sir,” Rafe responded. “Out here.”
Rafe pulled out of the gas station and onto the interstate highway heading northeast toward Chicago. He could be there by early the next morning, if he didn’t run into any construction delays.
A text came through from Hayes with his sister’s cellphone number.
Rafe immediately called.
It rang several times before voicemail picked up.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Briana Hayes. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” Her voice was soft, a little gravely and sexy as hell.
“This is Rafe Donovan, your brother Hayes—” he paused and added, “Ryan, and my boss Hank Patterson said you could use some help. Call me.” He ended the call and waited impatiently to hear back from her.
Fifteen minutes passed. Rafe caught himself pushing faster and faster on the interstate and had to slow down to within five miles an hour of the limit. Getting a ticket would be a stupid waste of time, when he needed to get to Chicago as soon as possible. Seven hours stretched in front of him like an interminable amount of time.
Why hadn’t she called back? Was she in that much trouble that she couldn’t pick up her cellphone and call? Was he too late? Questions rattled around in his mind, and his foot rested heavily on the accelerator. Once again, he had to back off and slow to the limit.
Damn. Why hadn’t she called? Twenty minutes passed.
His cellphone chirped through the truck’s sound system. Her number appeared on the screen.
Rafe hit the talk button. “Donovan, here.”
For a long moment, silence met his greeting. Then that slightly raspy voice sounded through the speakers. “This is Briana.”
Rafe let go of the breath he’d been holding. “I’ve been assigned to protect you, but it’ll take me six and a half hours to get to Chicago from Kansas City. Can you wait that long?”
“Guess I’ll have to,” she said softly. “I’m not in Chicago anymore.”
“No? Then, where are you?”
She laughed softly, the sound almost like a sob. “I don’t know. Give me a minute. I’ll look for a sign.”
“You’re driving?” he asked.
Again, another sobbing laugh. “I have nowhere else to go. The police kicked me out of my apartment.” Her voice hitched. “It’s cordoned off as a crime scene.” She paused. “Joliet. I’m passing through Joliet.”
His chest tightened. The pain in her voice was evident. Apparently, whatever had happened had affected her so much she didn’t know where she was going. “What highway?”
“Interstate 80,” she said. “I’m coming up to Interstate 55.”
“I’m on my way. If you stop, let me know where, and I’ll meet you there.”
“I’m not stopping. I can’t.” Another soft sob sounded. “I’m scared.”
“Okay. Are you on a handsfree device?”
“If you mean, is my phone connected to my car…it is.”
“Good. If you’re going to keep driving, take 55 south,” he said. “I’m coming across on 72 and will hit 55 in Springfield, Missouri.”
When she didn’t respond, he prompted, “Can you do that?”
“Yes.” Silence