long dark hair away from her face and appears small and young. “We’ll set up an air mattress for you in the bedroom tonight.”
“Explain to me where we are and what we’re doing again.” Abby’s voice is cracked as if she hadn’t used it in years. She glances around the small rustic cabin that has no electricity, possibly wondering if last night was a dream. God knows I’m questioning our current reality.
The open area has a deep ceramic sink made before Chris’s grandfather was born, a wood-burning stove that has a top where we can warm things up, one window, wooden floors and the only piece of furniture is the couch Abby slept on last night.
The cabin is tiny now and when Ryan, Chris, Noah, and West arrive, this place will continue to shrink.
“Remember how you wanted to bale hay with us and I said it was a guys-only thing?”
She barely nods.
I spread my fingers. “Welcome.”
“How long are you here for?” How long does she have until she has to figure out her problems?
“A week, but I’m sure you and I can stay here longer if we need.”
Her gaze wanders to the door. “That shouldn’t be necessary. I don’t want to be away from Grams that long.”
The muscles in my back tighten. “You’re going to have to make some big decisions. None of them should be made fast.”
She doesn’t respond and that pisses me off. Abby’s completely closed down—no emotion, no play in her, just a blank sheet. “What if I needed a ride back into town sooner than a week?”
I jerk to my feet, pulling the sleeping bag up with me and ball it up. “Are you going to consider an option that will save your life?”
She rubs at the wound on her head. “You heard Eric last night, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you know that no matter what I do, my life is forfeit.”
Anger rushes through me. “I didn’t hear that at all. Eric took you last night so you could make the choice to save your own life.”
“Eric could be lying,” she says in a deadpan tone.
“You think he is?” I push. “Because I don’t. I think you’re terrified to walk away from this life. I think you’re chicken.”
The first spark of life strikes Abby and it’s in the form of fury. “So let’s say I do choose to walk away—at what cost, Logan? I need the money and have you forgotten I’m trying to protect you?”
“If you walk, then I swear we’ll figure out the money. We pulled together five thousand dollars for Isaiah in a matter of weeks a few months back. If you rely on us, we’ll pull through for you.”
“I made a deal with Linus to protect you. I can’t walk from that.” Abby kneads her eyes. “None of this makes sense, Logan. None of it. If Ricky and Linus wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Linus is the one who found me, not the one who shot me. Even you know that, and if he ordered the hit, he could have finished me off.”
“Maybe he was going to. Maybe when I showed, he stopped.”
“He would have just shot you, too.” The cold hollow look in her eyes chills me from the inside out.
“Then maybe this Tommy was working alone. Tell me where to find him and I’ll confirm if it was him I saw come out of your alley. If it wasn’t, then we know Eric was lying.”
Abby rolls her neck as if she’s stiff. “And then what if Tommy is the shooter? Are you going to keep that information to yourself or are you going to the police?”
I stay silent, but I might as well tell her I’m on the feel-good side of the police. In less than three weeks I’ve held Abby as she bled and then untied her from the back of a car. My patience with this nonsense is gone.
“Ricky’s offering me a promotion,” Abby says. “You don’t offer promotions to people you just tried to kill. My world may be jacked up, but it’s not that insane.”
My mind’s trying to place all the pieces on the chessboard Abby’s in the middle of and I can’t seem to keep up. My hands have a slight shake and a hunger overtakes me. Odds are my blood sugar is low and I need to get sugar in me before I go hypoglycemic. Not what typically happens when I wake up, but it’s noon and I can’t remember the last time I ate. “Then