Resist Me (Change Me Book One - standalone): McCoy Raven Boys (23 page)

“They know your location. I’m sure this phone is tapped. The FBI utilizes the cell phone’s air card to communicate with their surveillance tool.” He explained in a measured tone, which was much worse than if he screamed at me.
 

“So, so… they’re coming here?” My voice went up an octave.
 

“They’re probably already here. When did you call from this phone the first time after arriving at the cabin?”

“Right after we got here. I called Jessica, my lawyer!”

“That was enough time for the FBI to park their stingray close by.” Ethan’s jaws clenched. He swore and took his own phone out. “They’re sweeping data from everyone in the area, so they’ve got my phone too. Put your boots on and get all your stuff. Quick. We’re leaving.”

“What’s stingray? How do you know all this?”
 

“It’s something the FBI uses to mimic a cell phone tower. It grabs the signal from your air card and pinpoints the precise location of your phone.” He put a few things into his knapsack and then grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me to the staircase. “Let’s go.”

“But where are we going? What are we gonna do?” I ran up the stairs with him and to my bedroom. I noticed a bulge on his lower back right above his waistband. The gun.
 

I gathered a few of my items that actually weren’t kept in my backpack, put my socks and boots on, and was ready to go.
 

Ethan closed the window and went to his bedroom. A minute later he returned and said, “I have a two-way radio in the truck. It doesn’t use cell towels, so we should be fine. Jack has a radio too. It’s one of our little firemen quirks. Let’s hope he’ll answer it.”

“Are we going to that other cabin? Your brother’s?”

“Let me check with Jack first,” Ethan said.
 

We went to the garage. Inside the truck, Ethan pulled out a black hand-held radio I saw yesterday in his glove compartment. He pushed some buttons and in a moment spoke to his receiver, “Jack, the feds are possibly in the area. Stingray.”
 

Jack came on the line immediately. He probably had his radio on, waiting. How could they be so well prepared? “Got it. What’s the plan?”
 

“We’re leaving right now. I’ll be in touch. Over.” Immediately after the end of the transmission, Ethan opened the garage door, and we drove out. The tires of his truck crunched over the pine cones and rocks covering the narrow path from the cabin through the woods. At the junction with a bigger road, he stopped, looked both sides, and accelerated to the left.
 

“Where are we going?”

“For now—just around. I wanna make sure Ryley’s place is clear, before we head out that way. There is also a good possibility we have a tail.” He was so calm.

I tried to bite my nails again, but there was nothing left. So I swore under my breath the worse I was capable of and clenched my teeth. I was going to be strong. There will be no panic attacks, no anxiety, no hysteria. I could do that. I had to help Ethan, at least by staying in control of my emotions.
 

We drove for a few minutes. Ethan glanced in the rear-view mirror a few times. In a spot where the road lights weren’t working and the area was pitch black, he killed the headlights and maneuvered the truck into the woods. He turned it around, so the vehicle faced the road, and stopped. The engine was idling softly. For such a big truck, the motor was surprisingly quiet.
 

With my eyes wide open, I looked at Ethan. He glanced at me and smiled. “Doing okay?” he asked.
 

I smiled back and whispered. “Yeah. As good as I can.”
 

The road was empty. Nobody followed us. We waited for over ten minutes before the hand-held radio came to life with Jack’s voice inquiring, “Ethan?”

“Yeah.” Ethan picked up the radio and held it close to his mouth. “What’s going on?”

“I checked the perimeter. Nothing out of ordinary.”

“Good. You wanna company?”
 

“Could use a friendly soul or two.” Jack chuckled.
 

“Will be right there.”
 

“Be careful, bro.”
 

We drove back onto the road.
 

“Ethan,” I said urgently. “What if not only the feds are here?”

Fleetingly, he glanced at me. The light from the roadside lanterns bounced off his dark eyes. They were focused and serious. I knew he was already thinking the same.
 

Ethan looked back at the road. His perfect profile was outlined by the light. I fought the urge to reach out and touch his cheek. Why haven’t we met in better circumstances?
 

“I’m convinced there is a mole in the Bureau. That’s how the gang knew where I was hiding,” I said.

Ethan didn’t answer for a minute. Finally, he commented, “They found you way too fast. It was what? A couple of weeks since the FBI relocated you from Florida to that safe house in Portland? I agree—it makes sense there was a snitch, passing the information to the gang. Or, to whomever the gang is associated with.” He went silent, frowning in thought.
 

“Exactly. That’s why I wouldn’t stay in the protection program. I knew… somehow I felt there was a mole.” I shook my head as in disbelief at my own accusing words. But I strongly believed they were true. Too many horrible things had happened to feel any different.
 

“If that’s what happens, we have a big problem on our hands,” he murmured.
 

I closed my eyes, pressing my head against the headrest. What Ethan meant was this—the gang knew where I was. Again.
 

Ethan radioed Jack, “I’m about to turn into the driveway.”

Jack responded immediately, “All clear. Drive up.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.”

“Sure thing. Over.”

We turned into a long driveway, similar to Ethan’s. A huge log cabin stood at the end of it. It was probably more than four thousand square feet, two-story architectural beauty. Jack waited by the front door. Ethan stopped the truck to the right and turned the ignition off.
 

I lifted my backpack off the floor, opened the passenger door, and got out. Ethan did the same. He brought the two-way radio with him.
 

Jack walked up to meet us by the truck. “Nice night for a ride, eh?” He grinned. “Gloria, pleasure to see you again, as always.”
 

I knew what he was doing. He was trying to lighten the mood for my benefit. I had to appreciate the effort, so I smiled at him and said, “Pleasure is always mine, Jack.” But on the inside I was a mess.
 

He gave me a one-arm hug and then clapped Ethan on the back. “Come on in, you two. We have a few suites to choose from.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Do they come with a masseuse?”

“No, but if you want the job, be my guest.”

“Smartass.” Ethan grinned at him.
 

Ethan as a masseuse was a nice thought. Maybe one day, when this was over… if I lived that long.

We walked inside, and for a moment, I forgot that I was on the run and why. I whistled in appreciation at what I just saw. The place was very spacious, tastefully decorated, and meticulously designed in wood and stone. Heavy wood beams accentuated vaulted ceilings. The far wall was all floor-to-ceiling windows with the view of Devil’s Lake. This place could easily serve as a showcase for the Architectural Digest.
 

“Is this your brother’s cabin?” I asked, astonished. “What does he do for a living?”

“He owns a consulting firm,” Ethan said. He didn’t elaborate, and I wasn’t about to ask any more questions right now.
 

“Ryley and Brooklyn, the twins, started it together while in college. It’s a goldmine, as you can see,” Jack added. Then he turned to Ethan. “Are we staying here? Or do you have a better plan?”

“For now, we stay here. At least until the morning. I don’t want Li… Gloria outside at night.”

“My name isn’t Gloria,” she said, looking at Jack. “It’s Lisbeth.” She smiled at him and stretched her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

She had a sense of humor. I liked that.
A lot.
 

Chapter Twenty Five

LISBETH
 

Jack shook my hand, inclining his head. “It surely
is
nice to properly meet you, Lisbeth. Beautiful name by the way.” There was no surprise in his expression though, only a good-humored indulgence. “I was wondering if I would ever be privy to learn that little secret.”

Huh? How would he suspect?

“Ah, you’re pondering why I’m not shocked, right?” He grinned, leaning on the back of an oversized, expensive-looking recliner. “If someone’s in the feds witness protection program, they better receive a brand new identity, or what’s the point? I doubted you would introduce yourself with your real name to the complete strangers, even such trustworthy as us, firefighters.” Jack chuckled.

I curled in the second recliner, smiling at him. “Good point. Do you stay in here often? It’s a gorgeous place; a showcase really.”

“Nah, my taste isn’t that sophisticated. I’m satisfied with a more mundane style. This,” he gestured around, smirking, “might be a necessity for some people like Ryley, but I’m happy with a simple comfort based on practicality. Gotta have good electronics though. Maybe later, you can see the theater room upstairs.” He went to the window and closed the blinds. Then, he pulled down on a few of them with his fingers and peered outside.

“A theater room? Wow.” I was impressed, although I couldn’t quite concentrate on admiring the amazing interior of the cabin.
 

I was worried sick, even though I attempted to remain positive; upbeat even. That little “introduction” was part of my desperate stab at lessening the tension. Jack was helping as if he knew what I was trying to accomplish. But Ethan remained quiet through our conversation. He rummaged in one of the drawers for something and then turned all the lights off, leaving on only a small table lamp in the corner.
 

The more I watched him, the more agitated I became. He wasn’t the reason for my distress though—all the safeguarding was. Clearly, Ethan and Jack expected trouble. Finally, I stood up and started pacing around the room. Ethan went up the stairs.
 

Jack hollered after him, “I already made sure all the windows are secured.”

“Just double-checking,” Ethan called from somewhere on the second floor.
 

I rubbed my arms up and down.
 

“Are you cold?” Ethan asked, walking downstairs.
 

I turned to look at him. His face was pinched with concern, most likely not for such an ordinary thing as me being cold, but because the threat of the gang guys finding me was real. Too real to ignore. If they did, what would we do? Ethan had a pistol and knew how to use it. He was an ex-Marine. I could only hope that would be enough. I asked Jack, “Do you own a gun too?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I actually brought two. Do you know how to shoot one?”
 

“I can manage.” I nodded, feeling all the blood draining from my face at the distant memory.
 

In truth, I could do much better than just manage, although I didn’t want to touch a firearm ever again. Maybe some things were better left unspoken.
 

But then Jack said, “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’m not gonna make you do it.”

Ethan watched me, a deep frown settled between his brows.
 

My eyes flicked to his face. Something in his eyes made me want to open up a little. If he knew more about my past, he wouldn’t see me as such an emotional mess.
 

“It’s not that. Well, kinda. But not because the guns intimidate me or something.” I hung my head and squeezed my hands together.
 

Ethan came closer to me. “That bad?”

I glanced in his eyes again. The frown disappeared, replaced by something like remorse. For a split second he looked vulnerable. But then the look disappeared, replaced by concern. Suddenly, I wanted him to hold me close to his chiseled chest so I could feel his heartbeat under my cheek and his warmth seep onto me.
 

I quickly dismissed that notion and sat down on the elevated hearth of a large fireplace. Above me, was a massive wood mantel with many framed pictures, just like in Ethan’s cabin. I picked a stray piece of thread off my shirt and began my story, “When I was twelve, I ran from the foster home I lived in then. This was my second occurrence in less than four months, and they kept an eye on me, but, apparently, not close enough. I was helping in the kitchen that day and took off while bringing the trash out. I had everything planned though, including a bag of provisions stolen from the kitchen and my clothes, all secretly stashed away behind the trash container.
 

That night, I traded three cans of sardines and a box of graham crackers with an older girl in exchange for a roof over my head. She belonged to a group of kids living in an old, condemned building downtown. Three days later, she took me to meet up with some of her other friends. They were really cool. Eventually, I joined their group and moved into their hangout—an unfinished warehouse a few blocks over. Two of the older boys were dealing drugs, and I ended up working as one of the couriers for their boss—a rich college dude. They got me a small gun, probably stolen or otherwise illegal, and taught me how to use it. I was told to carry it whenever I went on a delivery.