Constantine did some more listening, and offered a few short, clipped words in reply. Then, he dropped his bomb on Nelson. “Flores is dirty.” He went on to describe the way they had set him up and ended with, “I suggest you deal with him before I get back.” Silence, listening, then he said, “And, Nelson. This doesn’t mean I trust you. It simply means you’re all I got right now. I’ll be in contact soon.”
He hung up. Neither Nicole nor Constantine spoke, the tension in the car as thick as the storm surrounding them. Nicole wanted to lie back and think, to calm the chaos going on in her brain. But that would have been too easy. She should have known there would have been complications to come. Without warning, Constantine whipped the car into a hotel parking lot, drove to the rear and shut off the ignition.
“Carlos knows this car. We have to switch vehicles. Wait here.” Right. No keys to leave since it was hot-wired. His exit came with obvious effort, as he fought a gust of wind and lots of water.
So Nicole waited. Waited while he stole another car. And though she knew the government would cover the expense, it was still stealing. She tried not to think of a family in need, reminding herself they could rent a car. That she and Constantine would be dead without escape. They had no help. Worse, she wanted another car. She wanted to feel safe. If she kept at this a few more days, lived in Constantine’s world, would she justify vigilante acts to save lives, too?
As she’d feared, the right circumstances, the right person—aka Constantine—and she was back to her old self. Or getting there. Suddenly, she didn’t want to claim her darker side. She wanted to blame someone. Anger and frustration over all of that twisted inside her.
The back door opened, more wind, more rain. Constantine grabbed the supplies. “We’re a go.”
Steeling herself for the weather, Nicole reached for the door and pushed it open. Seconds later, she was inside a four-door sedan, a Mercury maybe, basically a perfect match for the car they’d left behind—wet and stolen.
“Where are we going?”
“Houston. They’ll expect us to go farther. We won’t.”
She didn’t comment. Houston. Dallas. Canada. All that mattered was that she got back to Austin, alive and ready for trial. Which would be delayed at this point, but she hoped not too long. Too many things could go wrong with a long delay.
In a matter of minutes, Constantine maneuvered them onto the highway, and into a traffic jam. Great. Trapped in a car, feeling edgy, in a traffic jam. In a storm. If that didn’t trigger her claustrophobia, she didn’t know what would.
She inhaled and let out a breath, focusing on anything but the small space, her gaze sliding to his profile. A strong profile, a grim set to his jaw. A stubborn, hard-ass man. Her anger hadn’t faded. “You shouldn’t have been so rough on that kid.”
He glanced at her, his brows set in a straight line. “I saved his life.” Constantine’s voice was low, unaffected by her attack.
“Today,” she countered. “What about how it affects him? How it will impact his ability to do his job?”
A sound of disbelief slid from his lips. “I can’t believe you’re comparing him to either of us. And don’t deny you are because I know better. The impact of my words on that kid doesn’t even begin to compare to what you and I have been through to get where we are now. In fact, what happened to him today might well save his life, and other lives, many times over. He won’t ever be as careless as he was today.”
“He lost his partner. That’s the part you seem to be forgetting.”
“And he acted irrationally and emotionally, ignoring his training. A good way to get others killed. We could have helped him get the man who killed his partner. Instead, Carlos is free, and he’s going to keep coming. For me. For you. For anyone we care about. So did you think I was going to give him a lollipop and thank him for screwing us?”
She took those harsh words with a stunned blast and fell back in her seat, not even aware she had been sitting up in confrontation mode. Realization dawning, she said, “I thought this was about justice and helping people. Why does it feel like I’m hurting more than I’m helping right now?” Her lashes shut, blocking out nothing, when she wanted to block out everything—at least for a few minutes.
Silence followed before he replied, “You are helping, Nicole. But there is no such thing as that easy black-and-white line that you want to believe exists. Fighting to find that safe middle wears on a person.”