The letter she left at her apartment wouldn’t be good enough, she knew, but it was the best she could do on short notice. She had even called her agent and editor to let them know her sudden plans in case anyone wanted a turn at sleuthing. It wasn’t like she could wait for Faye to come to her apartment. She would have missed the time of the flight Uncle Henry had booked. Trying to explain to Faye in person would have risked too much. The twins didn’t know about Uncle Henry, or his letters. They didn’t know the “almost mugged before pepper spray” story was a lie. Not yet, that was. Frustration toward her Uncle grew. After all, there wasn’t any getting around, “Remember, talk to no one. Trust no one.”
The trust factor was understandable. Amie barely managed to trust her own agent and editor to get her books out there. Since her parents’ car crash it was a natural inclination for her to be cautious of strangers. But how was she supposed to cross the Atlantic without talking to a single soul? Keeping silent so far had made her feel like more of a foreigner than she already did.
Amie had never gone anywhere on her own in all of the ten years they were a makeshift family. Always one of the twins made themselves her designated chaperone. If Amie had learned not to trust after losing her parents, her best friends learned to be even more paranoid. Nothing could keep them from protecting their little nucleus. Two days ago she would have never left them in the dark, not after everything they had done for her.
The green eyes staring back from her mirror widened as her scar chose to suddenly ache. A chill lay thick on the new skin, piercing through her supernaturally mended heart. Fathomless black eyes hovered in her memory. She could almost still feel the cool blade of the knife and smell the pungent stink of her own blood.
Shoving the compact back in her saddlebag, Amie leaned against the headrest and watched the sun set over a horizon so different than the one she had left. Would she feel safe with her uncle at Silver Hollow?
Whatever twisted place her father came from was bad enough he had reinvented himself just to cut ties. Growing up she had been used to her overprotective parents, though it was generally Dad calling all the shots. He had rarely let her spend time apart from them unless it was with the neighbors.
Her hand crept to absently trace the long white scar hidden beneath her t-shirt.
Uncle Henry’s letter had the tone of a man in fear of his safety. And it wasn’t a white tattoo she had etched across her chest. She knew she was in deep. Whatever mob war she had been swept up in she wanted no part of. But, much like the Godfather, once she was in she had a feeling she wouldn’t slip out. At least not without a bullet through her head.
In the spirit of “truckin’ along,” here’s the next teaser for this week. I’m working on getting last minute things squared off but soon you’ll be seeing in all caps PUBD! lol