I nod, tracing the script under his arm. Don’t look back in anger. “I’m sure.”
Trick rests his hand on my thigh. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”
Sitting up, I climb out of bed, loving the way he unapologetically stares at my naked figure when the sheet falls from my body. “I’ll go anywhere with you,” I say, walking to the bathroom.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Arriving at O’Hare three hours before our flight, a jittery mix of nerves and excitement churn in my belly. What are we doing? Running away? Starting over?
“I assume you have your passport?” Trick glances over at me as we get out of the cab.
“Yes.” I grin because he still hasn’t told me where we’re going, and I haven’t asked.
We check in and snake our way through the snail-paced security line. I’ve now discovered we’re headed to Los Cabos, but Trick assures me it’s not our final destination.
“Lunch?”
I nod as we walk to a bar and grill down from our terminal. It’s now after noon so the place is packed. We opt to eat at the bar to save time.
“Two lemonades.” Trick orders for us while we look over the menu.
As I glance from the cob salad on one page to the grilled portobello sandwich on the next page, something familiar catches my attention on the TV behind the bar. My eyes flit side to side over the words of the closed caption.
My father.
I grip Trick’s arm and he follows my gaze. My father’s being escorted from the hospital through a crowd of reporters and photographers, arm in a sling and his face banged up. It’s hard to tell to what extent because of the bandages and his sunglasses.
The words on the screen flash across too fast. I can’t make sense of it all.
“… home invasion … Senator Carmichael was assaulted in his sleep … suspicious malfunction in the security recordings … no one knows how the intruder made it past the guards …”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Trick looks back at his menu. “I think I’m going to get the turkey club. What are you getting?”
My breath catches in my throat as I inch my head to the side, eyes wide. His gaze eases from the menu to me. He knows the question, and the longer he stares at me, emotionless, I know the answer. My eyes slip to his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs with a deep swallow, then my eyes go back to his.
“I’m only going to say this once.” He pauses as if to make sure I hear the serious depth of his voice, or maybe to make sure I hear the unwavering tone of it.
I nod once with slow apprehension.
“No one will ever get away with hurting you. Understood?”
My blood turns to ice; my mind reels. I was so out of it last night. That’s how he managed to sneak away without me knowing. My God, he thinks this is tit for tat. He broke into the home of a U.S. senator and assaulted him in his sleep and—
“Darby?”
My eyes focus again. Trick gestures to the bartender waiting to take my order.
“Um … cob salad, Italian dressing.”
He smiles then turns to put our order into the computer.
“Hey,” Trick calls to the bartender. “Can you change the channel?”
The bartender grabs a remote under the counter and flips the channel to some daytime talk show.
“Thanks,” Trick says. Turning toward me, he scoots my stool closer to his and cups the back of my head, bringing my face a breath away from his. “What he did to you is not okay. I don’t even want to know if it was the first time he laid his fucking hands on you. But I can promise you, it was the last.” He presses his lips to my forehead.
“But you could go to jail,” I whisper with a shaky voice.
Trick releases my head and sits back, chuckling. “Did you see my picture on the TV?”
“He probably doesn’t know who did it.”
Trick takes a drink and crushes a piece of ice between his teeth. “Oh, he knows, but he also received a photo of you sleeping last night, with your face looking the way it does.” He looks at my face. “Well, before I covered it up for you this morning.”
“You’re blackmailing my father,” I whisper, looking around us.
Trick rubs the back of his fingers under his chin. “Absolutely not. I just sent him the photo. Whatever conclusions he makes are all his own.”
I pull my phone out of my handbag. The battery went dead last night and I don’t remember turning it back on after charging it. There has to be a message from my father or Nana. But when I turn it on and check, there’s nothing.
“I should call him.”
Trick shakes his head and laughs. “And say what? That you’re sorry someone hit him?”