“Uh, no.”
“No shit,” I replied. “But she won’t see it that way. If we’ve got any allies around, I’d love to have someone keeping an eye on her.”
“I’ll see who I can drum up,” he replied. “Maybe call Shade—I know there’s some Devil’s Jacks in town. He could reach out to them for me.”
“Thanks.”
We figured out where to meet and then I hung up the phone, feeling better. I had no doubt I could handle Teeny on my own, but backup was always our friend. Becca needed a babysitter, too. If I’d learned anything, it was that she never did what I expected.
She was still sleeping when I slipped back into the room. I locked the door behind me and wedged a chair up and under the handle. I climbed into the bed and pulled her over my body like a blanket, soft hair feathering around my chest and under my chin.
Yeah, killing Teeny would feel damned good. Just needed to make sure Becca was protected, both from him and herself. If anyone went down for this hit, it wouldn’t be my girl.
Nope. I’d make damned sure of that.
BECCA
We reached Santa Valeria around three in the afternoon. Puck had been quiet for most of the day, his mood almost grim. Made sense to me—I’d never planned out a murder before, but it probably wasn’t something to take lightly, all things considered.
It’d seemed so simple up in Idaho. We’d drive down here, find Teeny, and shoot him. Now that we were here, though? All sorts of logistical questions kept bubbling through my brain.
“How are we going to do this?” I asked Puck as we pulled into a gas station. The building hadn’t been here five years ago, that much I remembered. Just that one change was enough to throw me off, and I realized how much I didn’t know about my hometown, mom, or Teeny these days.
“Don’t know yet,” he replied, reaching for his wallet. I still had my pathetic fourteen bucks and change in my purse. I’d tried to give it to Puck for expenses but he wouldn’t take it.
“I’ll go take a look around this afternoon, after I get you settled at a hotel. We’ll make plans after that.”
He stepped out of the truck, walking toward the station to prepay, since we’d been using cash for everything. In fact, Puck had been incredibly careful about leaving any traces along the way, to the point of confiscating my cell phone and giving me a burner with only one phone number in it—the disposable cell he now carried. The morning we left the Armory, he’d even handed me a fake driver’s license. I assumed he had one, too. He’d also put new plates on his vehicle and when I’d asked him about it, he stared me down silently.
Deciding I wanted to hit the bathroom, I opened my door and stepped out. Looking across to the second set of pumps, my breath caught.
No. No.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I must be losing my mind because that was my mother standing there, gassing up a battered Camaro.
No. No way. This couldn’t be happening, could it? I started toward her, wondering if this was another dream. I’d had a couple of them—dreams where Regina told me none of it was real. Mom was fine and she’d left Teeny and we’d all live happily ever after together.
Then I’d wake up and it hurt like I’d just lost her all over again.
“Mom?” I asked, my voice hesitant. The woman froze, then turned slowly toward me. Her eyes widened in shock and . . . horror? “Mom, is that really you?”
She shook her head, eyes wide. I reached for her and she started trembling.
“Becca . . .” she whispered. “I’m so—I mean, I didn’t think . . . I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Her words sank in and realization flooded me. This wasn’t some kind of miracle. She knew I’d thought she was dead—her entire body radiated guilt. Holy. Shit.
“Is this about money?” I asked, feeling something break deep inside my soul. “Is this really just another of your cons? It is, isn’t it? You thought I’d send you three grand and then what? You’d send up a box of ashes from the fire pit? What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
My voice rose at the end to a shriek. Tears started rolling down her face and she reached for me. I flinched back, realizing I was on the brink of losing it.
“I’m sorry,” Mom said, her eyes darting. We were creating a scene. Too bad. “I have to go.”
Stunned, I watched as she jerked the gas nozzle free. Then she climbed into her car and pulled out with a screeching of tires, gas cap flying. It rolled across the pavement, coming to a stop about six inches from my foot.
What the fuck had just happened?
“Becca, you okay?”
I looked over to find Puck staring at me, confused. No. I wasn’t okay. Tears started to build in my eyes, then I was in his arms, crying.
“Baby, you gotta tell me what’s wrong,” he said after a few seconds. His entire body was tense—ready for a fight. Shit. I needed to pull myself together.
“It was my mom,” I said, forcing myself to stop sniffling. “She’s alive.”
Puck stilled.
“What?”
“I was getting out of the truck to go to the bathroom. Then I looked over there and saw my mom.”
Something crossed his face, a hint of shock tempered with . . . pity?
“Sweetheart, it’s not uncommon for someone to think they’ve seen someone who died.”
“No, it was her, Puck,” I said, my voice forceful. “I talked to her. She called me by name, said she was sorry. Then she got in her car and drove off. That’s her fucking gas cap right there.”