Justice (20 page)

“Cocky as ever.”

Dallas chuckled. “Confident.”

“So what now, Dallas? We can’t just hole up here forever. At some point, we need to get back to our lives.”

He scowled.

“Look,” she continued, “If Mona’s behind this, then she’s going to have contingencies. It’s not like you can simply waltz in and arrest her. It won’t stick. This is going to take time.”

“I know that, Macey,” he ground out, and cocked his head. “Why are you so damn calm when ten minutes ago you were ripping Jaxon’s head off?”

“Because I’m drinking wine,” she quipped.

“If only that always worked.”

Macey set her wine on the coffee table and climbed onto his lap. “I’m calm because there’s nothing I can do about this right now and I know that you’ve got me.”

He settled his hands on her waist and shook his head. “You’re killing me.”

She smiled, leaning down to kiss him. “I want to go home. In a couple of days, just to be clear, because I’m loving this break, but we can’t let these people force us to hide.”

“Macey, it’s more complicated than that.”

“Probably. But if I’m out in the open, maybe they’ll think I’m getable. It might make them lower their guard and come after me. We could set a trap.”

“Are you insane?”

“Maybe, but that’s beside the point. They might make a move that you can stop,” she said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Dallas frowned. “Because no one’s asking you to do that, babe.”

“I know, Dallas. I’m offering.”

Dallas shifted her off of him and stood. “No.”

“Is Bruce involved?”

“We’re not having this conversation,” he said, and headed to the kitchen.

“Just answer the question.” She rose to her feet and followed. “Is Bruce involved?”

“We don’t know.” He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer.

“I can find out.”

“Stop it, Macey. It’s not gonna happen.”

“I can help you.”

“No.”

She crossed her arms. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you anywhere near him or his family.”

“You can put a wire on me. Be backup… have me followed,” she continued. “You can make sure I’m safe. I can even carry a gun.”

“Hell, no,” he snapped.

“Dallas!” she ground out. “You’re being an ass.”

“This is not gonna happen, Macey, so just give it up.”

She huffed and stomped back to the bedroom, slamming the door, which took effort because it didn’t close easily.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

M
ACEY PACED THE floor of the bedroom, her anger and frustration intensified, probably due to her current hormonal situation. Regardless, she felt out of control again… like she had no say in which direction her life was taking.

“Honey?” Dallas called, knocking on the door.

“Go away, Dallas.”

“Can we talk?”

“No, because it doesn’t seem to get us anywhere.”

“Mase.” He pushed open the door.

“What, Dallas?” she snapped.

“Put the melodrama aside,” Dallas crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, “and let’s hash this out.”

“No.”

“Babe,” he admonished.

“I hate it when you do that!”

“Call you ‘babe’?”

“Talk to me like you need to calm a feral cat.” She caught his grin which he tried to cover unsuccessfully. “Fuck you, Dallas.”

“Fine!” he bellowed. “I’m trying to keep you safe, Macey, and you’re fucking throwing it in my face! Forget talking about it, then. Because this conversation is over.”

“Shocker… said me never, because it’s always all about you!” She slammed the door again and resumed her pacing. Right now, she wanted out. Out of the house, out of Newport, out of the vicinity of Dallas Stone. She grabbed her burner phone and shut herself in the bathroom, staring at it for several seconds before she dialed Payton’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Macey whispered.

“Macey? Are you okay?” Payton asked.

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Dallas is being a dick. Can you come get me?”

“I don’t even know where you are.”

“Newport.”

“Where are you calling me from?” Payton asked.

“Burner phone.”

“Oh my god, Mase. You’re calling me from the burner? Are you high?”

“Don’t you start, too,” Macey demanded. “I need you to back me up right now.”

“Mase, I’m on your side. Always. But you have a burner for a reason,” Payton said. “I’m hanging up now. We can talk when you get back into town.”

“Payton.”

But she was gone. Macey let out a frustrated growl, sat on the toilet lid, and dropped her face in her hands. She was suddenly feeling really claustrophobic.

Before she could dwell on her current situation, however, the bathroom door flew open.

“You called Payton?” Dallas ground out.

Macey scowled. “So what if I did.”

“Pack your bag.”

“What?”

“Pack your fucking bag, Macey.” He turned away from her. “We’re leaving.”

“Why?” She stood and followed him into the bedroom.

“Because Payton’s phone is tapped. Which is why I gave you a fucking burner.”

“What do you mean?”

Dallas faced her, his face tight with anger. “Payton’s phone is tapped, Macey. As is her parents’ and your grandparents’.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m not a fucking idiot, Macey.”

“Outside of the fact you’re not a fucking idiot, Dallas,” she snapped. “How. Do. You. Know?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. “Hey, Brock. Yeah. No. Ten. Okay.” Dallas sighed. “Fine.” He hung up.

“What’s going on?”

“Pack your bag, Macey.” He grabbed his bag and shoved his clothes into it. It didn’t take long and he left the room before Macey had even opened her suitcase.

She threw everything she’d brought with her into her luggage, closing and dragging their bags out to the front room. Dallas was walking through the house, securing doors and windows, and shutting off lights. He grabbed his keys and their bags and walked into the garage, tossing everything into the back before opening the passenger side door for her without comment.

Macey climbed in and buckled her seatbelt.

“Phone,” Dallas said.

“What?”

“Your burner.” He held his palm out. “Give it to me.”

She sighed and slid the phone from her purse, handing it to him. Dallas pulled the SIM card out and smashed it, then did the same with the phone.

“A little melodramatic, don’t you think?” she grumbled.

He frowned, but didn’t answer as he closed her door and made his way to the driver’s side. Climbing in, he opened the garage, started the car, and pulled out into the driveway. Closing the garage door again, he left the little house behind and drove a block down the street, flipping a U-turn, and parking with the house in sight.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Dallas still didn’t answer her, but he pulled his cell phone out and put it to his ear. “Yeah, we’re out.” He glanced at Macey. “No, we’re gonna wait here for a few. Yeah. Thanks, Brock. ’Bye.”

“Why are we going to wait here for a few?” Macey asked.

Dallas nodded toward the house.

Macey rolled her eyes. “So, you’re not going to talk to me at all?”

“Watch the house, Macey.”

She crossed her arms with a huff.

“Seriously, Dallas, why are we here?” she asked after they’d sat in the car for close to half an hour. “I have to pee.”

“Hold it.”

“Well, that’s helpful. Thank you.”

Dallas shook his head. “Watch the house, Macey.”

“Why? Why are we sitting here watching the house? We’ve been sitting here forever and nothing’s happening!”

He shook his head again and Macey seriously considered murder. Slow and tortuous, with no proof since there would be no body to discover, but murder all the same. Before she could share her thoughts, flickering lights drew her attention. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to see. “What’s that?”

Dallas pulled out his cell phone again. “Brock? They’re here.”

“Who’s here?” Macey asked.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.” Dallas nodded. “Yeah, Jax took care of it yesterday. Okay. We’re leaving in five. ’Bye.”

“What’s going on, Dallas?” Macey asked.

Again, he didn’t answer as he backed the car up and around the corner, out of sight of the house. “Those lights, Macey? They’re in the form of flashlights held by men who found that house because you called Payton.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

He turned to her and his expression scared her. She’d never seen him like this. He’d been irritated or given her his ‘I’m being patient with you’ look, but what she saw right now was unadulterated rage. Albeit contained, but very much present as he took a deep breath.

“I’m going to say this one more time, Macey, and then this conversation is over. None of this is a fucking joke. Someone wants to hurt you. When you called Payton, you set in motion
that
,” he pointed toward the house, “and the reason we are sitting in this fucking car and not already on the road back to Portland is because I need you to see just how fucking serious this is. Someone is trying to shut you up and we don’t know why. So until we know why, you don’t call anyone, you don’t see anyone, and you sure as hell don’t put yourself where you’re ‘getable.’ Got me?”

Macey stared at him. She didn’t really know what to say.

“Do you fucking get me?” he repeated.

She nodded. Dallas slipped the car into gear and drove it slowly away from the house, using side streets instead of the main drag, before finding an alternate on-ramp and heading back toward home.

“I really do have to pee, Dallas. I didn’t go before we left. Can we stop?”

He didn’t answer.

“I get that you’re pissed at me,” she continued. “But I doubt the FBI wants urine on their leather seats.”

Again, nothing. However, he did pull off the freeway and into a McDonald’s parking lot, exiting the car and opening Macey’s door. She climbed out and didn’t miss his hand on his holstered gun as she headed into the fast food bathroom.

After doing her thing, she washed her hands and stared at herself in the mirror. She realized now that she had set in motion things that, had she taken a few minutes to think at the beginning, wouldn’t have happened. This wasn’t like her. She’d known Brock and Dallas long enough to not act so impetuously and she couldn’t logically figure out why she’d called Payton. It was stupid.

A bang on the door made her jump, effectively pulling her from her internal perusal. She dried her hands and pulled open the door to find a frowning Dallas. He jutted his head toward the car and she led him outside where he opened the door for her. She climbed in, he followed, and they were back on the road again.

The hour-and-a-half drive into Portland was torture for Macey. Dallas said nothing. He’d never gone so long without talking to her. He didn’t even grunt. She turned on the radio, he turned it off, so they were stuck with seething silence until his phone buzzed through the speakers.

“You’re on speaker,” Dallas said in greeting.

“Hey, Macey,” Brock said.

“Hi,” she grumbled.

“Head to three,” Brock said.

“Seriously?” Dallas snapped.

“I’ll meet you there,” Brock said.

“Fuck.” Dallas hung up.

“What’s three?” Macey asked.

“Safehouse.”

“We’re not going home?”

He looked at her as though she’d grown three heads.

“What?” she snapped. “It’s a logical question.”

Dallas shook his head, again without answering her question, and continued over the bridge into Vancouver. He guided the car into Orchards and pulled up to a non-descript, run-down house off eighty-fourth.

Brock slipped out of the house and walked toward the car, opening Macey’s door. “Hey, Mase. Come with me. We’ll get your stuff later.”

She slid out of the car and just as she closed the door, Dallas pulled away from the curb and took off. “He’s leaving?”

“Yeah. Come inside.”

Macey nodded and followed him into the house. She was pleasantly surprised by the interior. It was clean with fresh paint, new carpet and an updated kitchen. Nothing fancy like granite or stainless steel appliances, but still, nicer than the outside indicated.

“Mase?”

Macey turned to see Payton walking out from the mouth of the hallway.

“Hi,” Macey said. “What are you doing here?”

She grimaced, glanced at Brock, and then back at Macey. “Your phone call meant I’m here too.”

“Shit,” Macey whispered, and flopped onto the sofa, dropping her face into her hands. “I’m so sorry.”