Page 7 of Outlaw
That said, none of them discussed the downfall of being real life turned on by the man you’re trying to seduce into letting you go. My panties are soaked and I’m desperate for more of him.
“You have five minutes,” he groans, readjusting in the chair. He seemed turned on. I wonder if he wants more too.
“I told you. My name is Faith Olivia Landry. I was born in the outskirts of New Orleans, and I lived there until six months ago. I moved to Montana because there’s so much space and I wanted to rob a bank that was in the middle of nowhere. When I got the money, I started laundering it through my Airbnb in Utah.”
“What?”
“It’s the easiest way. There’s not actually an Airbnb, but I list it like one. Then I hired a guy who steals credit cards to book fake nights under various different names. I give him a portion of the money, I keep the rest, and I report it as income as Tilly Scott from Lancaster, PA.”
“Who lives in Lancaster?”
I shrug. “Not sure. The guy that gave me the social security number is pretty professional. I won’t know until tax time if he is any good, but by then what I needed the money for should be handled.”
“What do you need the money for?” His tone is gruff. I can’t tell if he’s empathizing with me or recording everything I’m saying. Either way, I’m probably not getting away.
I look away and back again. “Can I show you something?”
He nods.
I pull out a cell phone. It’s a burner I grabbed out at the Springs. The only person that knows my number is my mom. I pull up a picture of her with my nephew. Tubes string out of his nose and monitors hook to his chest. He’s seven. “This is Danny. He’s my sister’s son.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He was born with a congenital heart defect. This was his last chance.”
“Last chance for what?” he groans.
“A new heart.” I take my phone back. “Do you know how much new hearts cost? Assume we don’t have insurance helping us because we don’t. Between my mom and I, we have next to nothing.”
The giant shrugs. “If you’re about to tell me some sob story about a kid needing a heart transplant, you should assume I’m going to fact check you.”
“I can take you there right now. His surgery cost nearly a million dollars. Doctors wouldn’t even look at us without a down payment. I flew him and my mom out to California a few months ago and now he’s got a heart.” I laugh. “Funny what money can do. That transplant list was two years long. I gave the guy an extra hundred thousand and suddenly… heart.”
“What hospital?” The man clearly doesn’t believe me.
“St. Michael’s Hospital in Sacramento. Second Floor, room two twenty-eight. He’s got brown hair, green eyes, and he loves baseball.” I bite back a tear. “All he likes to eat is chicken nuggets and strawberries. His favorite color is blue and the thing he loves most is drawing pictures. Pictures of me, his grandma, and his dead mom.” Tears fall heavy and my voice raises as I say, “So, if you want to sit there and act like you wouldn’t do the same damn thing, you can, but we both know it’s a lie.”
Outlaw crosses his arm and stares at me. I can’t read him. I doubt anyone can.
“I promised him that when all this was over, we’d go wherever he wanted to.”
“Where’s he want to go?” His tone is so flat and emotionless. This isn’t about getting to know me. This is about gathering information.
Of course it is.
I glance up and laugh under my breath. “I figured he’d pick Disney. All kids like Disney, but he chose Yellowstone. He said he wanted to see the buffalos and watch the water spray.” I wipe away a quick succession of tears that roll off my face. “I have to take him to see the water spray. So… if you need to turn me in, I get it. I did something wrong. I took that money. But I’m begging you, please, let me finish this first. You can do whatever you want to me afterward.”
He drags in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and the silence goes on forever. I don’t expect him to have mercy for me. Why would he? We don’t know each other. I’m a paycheck to him.
“How long do you need?” he groans.
Wait… is he actually having empathy for me?
My heart squeezes. “Hard to say. The transplant just went through so we have to see if his body accepts it before he can travel.”
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through, typing something in before glancing again. “The internet says eight weeks.”
“Okay…”