“No, Gwen, I’m not nuts. You aren’t gettin’ anywhere near Roarke.”
“Neither are you!” I fired back and her body jerked toward me.
“Call Tack, set up the deal,” she ordered.
“No, Ginger, I like the Canada plan,” I returned. “If you won’t do the police station plan, we should explore the Canada plan.”
“Bitch, they got your old man,” she reminded me and my throat started burning again as tears stung my eyes.
“I know,” I whispered, “and they’re not going to get you.”
“They got your old man,” she repeated.
“Stop it, Ginger, I know, okay? And they are not going to get you.”
She slipped her hand in my purse and then the Polaroid was in my face. “Gwen, for f**k’s sake, they’ve got –”
I snatched the picture from her and screamed, “I know!”
Then I closed my eyes tight and looked away.
Ginger was silent as I struggled with tears.
Then I heard her whisper, “Gwennie, call Tack.”
“No,” I whispered back.
Then she did something she hadn’t done in years. So long, I forgot she used to do it but she did it all the time when we were young. She just added a new, sweet, sister nuance.
I felt her hand curl around my neck and then I felt her forehead against the side of my hair as she sang a silly, nonsensical song she made up when she was three, “Gwennie, Gwennie, hennie, fennie, Gwennie, Gwennie, lennie, bennie, love my sissy… Gwennie.”
A sob tore up my throat.
I felt the Polaroid move gently in my hand before Ginger whispered, “You aren’t losin’ that because of me.”
My neck twisted and our eyes, an inch apart, locked.
“I love you, baby,” I whispered.
“I know you do,” she whispered back. “Call Tack.”
I sucked in breath. Then I asked, “You have to do this, don’t you?”
“I’m not supposed to look out the windows, Gwen, they’ve been watchin’ me like…” she closed her eyes then opened them but didn’t finish what she was going to say, “The shift was about to change, they got a guy, he gets sloppy around shift change so I looked. I been lookin’ awhile to find my shot and I couldn’t believe I saw you. So I took it. And I took it because they can’t…” she shook her head. “They’ll get me, Gwen. Eventually, they’ll get me. They can’t keep me safe because, obviously, they can’t keep you safe. I started this and it’s gotta be me who ends it.”
I stared at her. She was right.
Shit.
“I’ll call –” I started but both Ginger and my doors were yanked open.
We separated and my head shot around to see a very good-looking Native American man lean in front of me and nab the keys out of the ignition. He had long hair pulled back into a ponytail and I knew exactly who he was. Vance Crowe, one of Lee Nightingale’s men.
Shit!
He pulled back but his eyes came to me as I heard Ginger cry out and felt her presence leave the car.
“Lee wants a word,” Crowe stated. “You come or I drag you.”