Page 93 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

“I have my reasons for—”

Suddenly, I was tired. Bone-deep tired. I didn’t want to hear his ‘reasons’ that were, undoubtedly, just excuses wrapped up in fancier paper.

“What is your plan?” I cut him off.

“I need to disappear.”

“Clearly.”

“Caitlin,” he said, voice going sad.

“I know it’s uncomfortable to be called out on the wrong you’ve done, but this was wrong, Dad. While I’m glad you’re alive, I’m having a hard time knowing how much you’ve lied to me about. Not just the past few weeks. But the past several years.”

“I won’t be for long.”

“What?”

“Alive. I won’t be for long. If I can’t disappear. And I mean really drop off the face of the earth. For a few months. Maybe longer. But…”

“But you can’t go home or take money out of your accounts when you’re supposed to be missing.”

“Yes. I forget sometimes how smart you are.”

I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do here.

On the one hand, I loved my father. I wanted to get a chance to mend things with him, to move past this.

But there was no denying that I was also falling for Gavino at the same time.

And in my eyes, both men were wrong. My father for getting involved and deciding not to honor his deal. And Gav because he could easily replace a trucker. There was no reason to hurt my father for wanting to retire.

I needed time.

To sort this out.

To find a way out for everyone involved.

“I have a place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a rental cabin,” I told him. “I have it rented for a few weeks. I can reserve it for longer. The schedule was wide open. It’s in the middle of nowhere. No one could ever find you there.”

Thus, the basis of its appeal when I’d first made my reservation after holding Gav captive.

“You could?” he asked, looking hopeful.

“Yes. And I can loan you my car to take you there. You’re going to need to pick up supplies along the way. There’s bedding and cookware and everything, but you have to get all the food you will need to hold you over for a few weeks. Or months.”

“And you can loan me the money for that?”

I was tempted to tell him that I had his storage unit key, that he could get his own money. But something held me back. There was a little voice in my head begging me to play my cards close to my vest.

Something was going on here.

Something I was having trouble thinking through with my father sitting across from me looking like a wounded animal. I needed to get him safe. Then I needed to sort through the strange, knotted-up feeling in my stomach that said I was missing something.

“Yes. We can stop at the bank on the way to the garage.”