Page 28 of Deep (Chicago Underground 8)
Chapter Sixteen
RAIN BEGAN TO fall as the sirens faded behind us. I could tell from the way Adrian twisted and turned through the city that we had a long way to go—evasive maneuvers to shake them off our direction.
Philip got on the phone, more riddles, more lies.
The pitter-patter of raindrops was a dark lullaby, and after hours of driving in circles, after hours of soft threats, I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke, I knew only warmth—the kind of warmth that came from another body, the kind of security that came from being watched over. My eyes blinked rapidly as they focused. I could see the seat in front of me, the one Philip had been in—empty.
And closer, beneath my cheek, black fabric.
I was resting on Philip’s thigh. The knowledge seeped into me like hot chocolate on a cold day, heating me up from the inside. He must have moved to sit by me. He must have moved to cradle me with his body, and after a lifetime of cold shoulders and stiff hugs, it felt incredible.
I let the movement of the vehicle jostle me. I didn’t want to wake up from this. I didn’t want to move.
“I don’t have time for his excuses,” he said on the phone, his voice low, almost blending into the purr of the engine, the rhythm of the rain. “Everything went sideways, and I want to know how.”
There was silence while the person on the other end spoke. I wouldn’t want to be him right now.
Philip growled. “I don’t care who you have to talk to. Kick down a fucking beehive. No one pulls this kind of shit on their own. They have friends, and you’re going to find them.”
Another pause.
“And get that fucking warrant withdrawn. Who signed it?”
My blood ran cold. I’d always known he had cops and lawyers in his pocket.
And judges too, apparently.
I sat up and pushed away from him. My body immediately missed his warmth, his solidity. But my heart needed the space. It especially needed the space when he snapped, “Remind him who he’s dealing with. Pretty sure he doesn’t want the world finding out about his grandson’s little problem.”
Then he hung up.
God, was no one innocent these days?
I wrapped my arms around myself and pressed against the far door, gaze trained on the window. The heavy rain had stopped, leaving the skies a dull gray and a smattering of drops clinging to the glass.
Philip definitely wasn’t innocent. Threatening judges, taking hostages. Really, that just scratched the surface of a man like him. Whatever had happened last night, whatever had led to him getting stabbed. Whatever had propelled him to my door in the middle of the night. They were sitting on top of Pandora’s Box, but if I looked inside, I would find horrible things.
Now that I had some space, there was a burning anger inside me.
It had seemed sweet, almost romantic that he had watched me, wanted me, waited for me. But the truth was that it was basically stalking. And the truth was that if he’d never watched me, he never would have shown up at my door, even in a moment of weakness.
And I wouldn’t have been facing the end of my former life.
“You feeling pissed off, kitten?” He sounded more amused than repentant.
I scowled at the window, refusing to face him. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“You should be raving fucking pissed, yeah. You should punch me in the face.”
“Are you mock
ing me?” He was. He was mocking me. “I could do it, you know.”
He spread his hands wide, which only emphasized the thick bulge of his muscles, the broad plane of his chest. “Come on then. One free punch. I won’t stop you.”
Without meaning to, I moved my body to face him—as if I was really going to do it. As if I was really going to punch him. I wasn’t going to, though…was I? I wasn’t even sure. This felt so topsy-turvy, as if I was in a room full of fun-house mirrors again—or I had never left. I looked like myself but different too. Both scary and afraid.
