******

Zeth pulls the car up outside the entrance to Marlewood Shopping Mall, ignoring the angry beeping from other motorists that have to filter into another lane to get around the Humvee. Michael doesn’t even wake up. The man can sleep through anything.

I grab my purse—the one I’ve somehow managed to retain throughout this madness—and get ready to open the door. Zeth grabs my wrist and grips hold of me tight. “Wait.”

I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of leaving the car. Saying goodbye, even if only for a few hours, should everything go according to plan, seemed like a bad idea. More tension. More stress to add onto everything else. But I see the indecision in Zeth’s eyes. It wavers, and then it’s no longer indecision but resolve. He leans across the seat and carefully places his palm against the side of my face.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he murmurs. “Don’t make me have to come get you, okay?”

I nod, and Zeth closes the final few inches between us. And he kisses me. Kisses. Me. For as long as I live, for as long as we’re together, I will never be complacent about receiving a kiss from this man. Ever. I waited so long for the first one that now this and every other time he reaches for me and places his lips against mine will be an action to be treasured. His mouth is hot and demanding. The careful touch of his palm against my cheek quickly evolves as he lets go of my wrist so he can hold my face in both his hands. His breathing comes out ragged and fast, but not because the kiss is turning him on. It’s not that kind of kiss. It’s because he means it.

When he lets me go, I experience the biggest wave of doubt. We shouldn’t be doing this. We should honest to goodness be ditching Rebel and heading for the hills. I know Zeth doesn’t think we’ll be safe until Charlie’s out of the way—I refuse to acknowledge the fact he believes the old man needs to be dead—but if we changed our names and bought fake IDs, how hard could it be to run and hide? The reality of it, what running would mean, flashes through my head as I consider it. Not staying in any one place for too long. Working menial jobs. Never finding Lacey. Not being able to put down any roots.

Not being able to be a doctor.

The ship may have already sailed on that one, but the very thought of it still sinks through me like a stone. Fuck. When I look up at Zeth, his forehead pressed against mine, staring intently back at me, I can practically see the same thoughts running through his head. He knows we have no other way out of this. And besides, he’s not a man to turn and run from anything.

“You’ve got to go,” he whispers.

As if to cement that fact, there’s a sharp rap on the passenger window of the Humvee. Fucking Rebel. He’s wearing a grim and distinctly impatient look on his face. I want to castrate the man. Zeth lets me go, and I climb quickly out of the car. I don’t look back. I can’t. For some terrifying reason, it feels as though I’ve just said goodbye to Zeth and won’t be seeing him for a very, very long time.

“Awesome way to fly under the radar, blocking a lane of traffic outside the place you’re supposed to be attending a covert meeting,” Rebel says.

“You want me to do this or what?” I snap back.

“Just saying. Here.” He reaches into the pocket of his black jeans and pulls out a thumb drive; he hands it over to me, using both hands to curl my fingers into a fist around the object like it’s sacred. “Don’t lose that. It’s password protected.”

“What’s the password?”

“Accordia,” he says slowly, as though the word holds meaning to him.

My chest squeezes painfully when the Humvee behind Rebel pulls away from the curb and vanishes from sight. I slip the thumb drive into my purse, frowning at Rebel. “Where’s your bike? Where’s your entourage?” The other Widow Makers are nowhere to be seen.

“Hidden in plain sight. Remember, don’t tell her where to find me until you have the paperwork, and don’t give the password to the drive until she’s held up her end of the deal, either.”

“Okay. Fine.” I turn and make to head into the mall—I’ve had enough of talking about this. I just want to get it over with—but Rebel places a strong hand on my shoulder. “Sloane, you have to go see your sister. Please. Once you’ve got those papers, you need to head to New Mexico. She’s waiting for you. And she won’t…she won’t forgive me for not coming back.”

I feel like telling him I could give two shits about Alexis right now, but I get the feeling that won’t expedite this situation. He’ll only argue the point, and I’m almost late for the meeting. “All right. Shit.” I scrub my hands over my face, trying to keep my cool. “I’ll go and see her. But it’s not on me to fix your relationship bullshit, Rebel. And what the hell kind of name is Rebel anyway?”

The Widow Maker beams at me—not the look you’d expect from a man who’s about to willingly turn himself in to the DEA. “One designed to piss off my father,” he replies. “Tell Soph I’ll be home soon.” And then he’s turning and jogging off up the street.

I am alone.

I haven’t been alone in so long now that the realization comes as a shock. No one watching me. No one guarding me keeping me from harm. And no one preventing me from just walking away. Pins and needles prickle down my arms and backs of my legs. I could just do it. I could walk away. Then the pins and needles turn into a sick, paralyzed feeling. As if that’s an option. Seriously, I wouldn’t be able to if I tried. The man I’m in love with would always pull me back. I enter the mall with a small part of me screaming inside. I think it’s the part that’s in charge of my self-preservation instincts.