Long Gone Read Free

her friend. Let’s see if her cell phone rings.”
    What? Jamila would never have given her number to a stranger—oh, yes, she would, if the man resembled Prince Charming. Oh, God, if Skyler’s phone rang and the intruders heard it, they would know that she was still here. She quickly powered it off, shoving it deep into her purse. She put her ear back to the wall.    
    “You hear anything?” 
    “Nah. The bitch must’ve turned her phone off.”
    Sweat filmed Skyler’s upper lip.
    “So what do we do? We can’t stick around. The alarm’s gonna bring the feds.”
    “I guess we try again tomorrow. Don’t touch anything on your way out.”
    As the voices grew fainter, Skyler sagged against the enclosure, her fear draining away. All she could hear now was her own shallow breathing.
    Any minute now, the U.S. Marshals—possibly Higgins himself—would be here to whisk her away. Again. She couldn’t stand this. They’d had their chance to keep her safe and they‘d blown it. How could the mob have found her yet again?
    The two last times, Higgins had blamed it on Skyler , who’d admitted to making phone calls she shouldn’t have. But not this time. She hadn’t called anyone from Myrtle Beach. So maybe she wasn’t the problem; maybe there was a leak in WITSEC. Or maybe Higgins himself had betrayed her location.
    Skyler swallowed hard. As her father used to say, every man had a price.
    The bag of supplies contained a change of clothing, water bottles, trail mix, and a wad of cash—enough to get her through the next few days. Hefting it off the floor, she looped the strap of her purse over her head and released the lock.
    The lights dimmed and the door swept open. As she stepped from her closet, headlights strafed the walls of her bedroom. That would be the hit men leaving or the U.S. Marshals coming to see why her alarm had gone off.
    Either way, she wouldn’t be around to find out.
     
     
    “I’d like a room, please.”
    The motel clerk took Skyler’s wad of cash with a thinning of his lips, but he kept his comments to himself.
    She wore pink plaid pajamas and no shoes. She had lost her flip-flops running through someone’s muddy back yard. Her face was flushed with exertion. Who knew what the man was thinking?
    “Check out’s at eleven,” he intoned, handing her a room key.
    “Thank you.” She rode the elevator to the third floor, found her room, and went straight to the phone beside the king-sized bed. She hadn’t realized when she’d fled her home that her plan involved Drake Donovan, but of course it did. He was the only soul she trusted; the only person capable of helping her now.   
    She dropped on the edge of the bed and pulled the phone closer.
    The last time she’d seen Drake was when he’d stuck his head into the back of the U.S. Marshal’s vehicle where she’d sat with her mother. “Only if it’s life or death,” he’d whispered, scribbling his number onto her palm, his brown eyes brimming with sorrow.   
    She’d memorized his number on the spot. Weeks later, she’d bought a prepaid phone card so she could place that life-or-death call if the need arose.
    Desperation had tempted her to use it twice—once in Omaha the night her mother died and again in Portland on her twenty-sixth birthday. She’d admitted as much to Higgins who’d grilled her after Centurions had found her in both places.
    But I never even spoke , she’d insisted.
    It doesn’ t matter. They’re obviously still watching him. Do you want to put him in harm’s way? Don’t call him again.
    But Higgins had to be wrong. She’d never called Drake from Myrtle Beach, yet the mob had still managed to find her.
    So maybe the Centurions weren’t monitoring Drake’s calls. God, she hoped not because she had to call him. She wouldn’t last a week on her own.
    With hands that shook, she tapped out the numbers on her calling card followed by his number. Her heart suspended its beat as she waited for his phone