Page 120 of Three Steps Behind

“Anything I can help you with?”

“No, but thank you.” Scanning the space, she found they were alone. She lifted on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She longed to spend more time with him, but she needed to work on herself first. And deep down, God was wrestling with her heart. “I’m going to go.”

“Back to your apartment?”

“Just to get my car.” Then where she didn’t know.

“Good idea to stay away from your apartment for a while. Dalton and Miquel are in custody, but I fear Dalton has a long reach.”

She tried not to think about it. “Will do.”

“You’ll be safe. Any sign of trouble, you call me.” He handed her his card. “I’ve got you.”

“Thanks. ‘I’ll see you when I see you.’” She’d always loved that line from one of her favorite movies.

“I hope so,” he said.

So did she, but she was living in a fantasy. Good men like Aubry didn’t end up with women like her. She cringed. Was Dalton right? Was she really the same as him?

The Uber driver pulled up, and she strolled toward the vehicle. Once inside, she kicked her shoes off. They were beautiful but killing her feet.

When the driver dropped her off in front of the apartment building, she didn’t even bother to go inside. She’d been on the run her entire life. There wasn’t anything up there that she couldn’t live without. Her go bag was already in the trunk of her car, and that was all she needed.

She climbed into her VW and turned the ignition. Where to, Lord?

She needed a lot of help and guidance to understand what was happening—her prayers to a God she hadn’t believed in until now, the sense of direction He was giving her.

She shifted the car into drive and pulled out, fear sifting through her now that was all over. Dalton would kill her if he could. He was going to prison for a long time, but there was nothing stopping him from sending someone after her. Or E. M. If she read the ledger right, Dalton worked for him or at the very least paid him a percentage of all his sales, disgusting as the word was when it came to selling women. They needed help. Shelter. A way out. She’d made the right call, giving the money to them rather than letting the FBI find it in the Caymans account. But Dalton knew, and as evil as he’d turned out to be, he wouldn’t let it lie.

She banked right with no idea of where to go—everything roaring through her mind at once. “Where do I go?”

She sensed God whispering where.

She glanced at her purse, knowing every inch of that worn photograph by heart. That couldn’t be right. Yet He whispered again.

Lord, that’s ridiculous. I can’t go there.

She swallowed. She didn’t have any other place to go. At least not for change and help—if they’d even give it.

Hot tears streamed down her face. How could she face them? And why was God talking to her if He could never forgive her?

Snow unexpectedly fell, the cold fogging up the windows. She turned her wipers on. Swish. Swish. Swish. They helped with each pass, but then the windshield immediately fogged up again. Great. Like she wasn’t already having trouble seeing the road through her tears.

What had she been thinking? She banged the steering wheel. She should have checked to make sure Dalton was gone before she went downstairs. Now he knew she’d turned him in, and everything in her said he’d hold true to his promise.

But his other comments sliced even deeper. Was she bound to be a con woman the rest of her life? Couldn’t she change? Aubry’s words about staying on a good path warred with Dalton’s words. Maybe Dalton was right, and she was beyond saving.

Could God forgive her or not?

Tears continued to stream down her cold face in warm rivulets. All she wanted was to go back to Aubry and embrace him without letting go.

She stopped at the edge of the driveway God had brought her to, her body trembling. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she pressed the gas pedal. Please, Lord, grant me grace. I’m terrified.

Forty-Eight

FOLLOWING THE ARREST of Andres Xavier—and that of George Phillips, Randolph Palmer, and Hank Weathers—Deckard and Harper were happy to retire to his house to recuperate after the gala.

The crimes had come down to two men. The first man, Randolph, enraged by what he deemed his wife’s “neglect,” had killed her, and his actions morphed into a lucrative business of killing his friends’ wives when their husbands wanted them out of the picture too. The scheme was smart. Natural-looking deaths, at least a year apart, in different states or precincts, followed by a strict plan for how to handle the aftermath. Apparently, Nick got too greedy too fast, and it had cost him his life. But the rest of them would be spending a very long portion of their lives behind bars.