I’m not usually a fan of violence—especially not with someone I’ve shared a dinner or two with before—but I can’t let him walk around unpunished.

  I’ll also never understand how he could ever let a woman like Autumn slip through his hands.

  “It won’t happen until half an hour from now,” I tell him. “You’ll need to work fast so this incident doesn’t make it to a detective’s desk.”

  “I can’t cover up a murder, sir.”

  “It’s not a murder,” I say. “The victim will probably wish it was, though.”

  “Sir, please…”

  “Call me when you’ve fixed it, or don’t call me back at all.”

  He takes several deep breaths, hyperventilating as if this is his first day working under me. As if this is the worst case he’s ever handled on my behalf.

  This is child’s play…

  “We’ve reached the part of the conversation where you agree to the job and thank me, so that I can hang up and return to my life,” I say. “I’m not a patient person, as you know.”

  “I, uh…” His breathing sounds even more erratic now. “The job is great, and I agree to thank you, Mr. Rochester.”

  Close enough.

  End of Episode 17

  Episode 18

  Ryder

  Two Hours Later

  Sheets of rain fall over the tarmac, coating the private planes in a fresh shade of Seattle’s wet weather.

  As I park my oldest car directly across from the jet that belongs to me, a policeman approaches my window.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” he yells, tapping on the glass with his baton. “Open the hell up!”

  I roll down the tinted window just enough so that only my eyes show. “Yes, Mr. Officer?”

  “You need to park your car in another spot, sir.” He shakes his head. “Like, literally any other spot.”

  “I like this one,” I say. “Is something wrong with it this evening?”

  “Moving over just one spot won’t hurt you.” He motions with his hand. “Come on.”

  “No, I’m good.” I turn off my engine, and his face pales.

  “Please.” He looks far too young to be a cop, far too fearful. “Just take my word for it. Alright?”

  “Tell me why I need to move first,” I say, confused on whether or not he’s fucking with me. “I didn’t see any new reserved signs.”

  “That’s because the mafia doesn’t typically announce what the fuck belongs to them.” He looks over his shoulder. “And they won’t give a damn about a missing sign if they see you trespassing on their property. Move.”

  “I think I’ll stay.”

  “Fine.” He steps back. “I warned you.”

  “I appreciate it.” I roll up the window as he returns to his patrol car.

  Amused, I watch him speed away until I lose sight of him.

  As I turn my car on again, my second cell phone buzzes against my lap.

  “Yes?” I answer the call.

  “Mr. Rochester, this is Chester speaking. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “I have one.”

  “Okay, well…” He clears his throat. “One of your pilots tells me that he’s handling a new job this evening, so I’m calling to make sure that you’ve hired a new courier. Have you?”

  I tap my fingers against the steering wheel.

  Chester is the oldest person on my staff and by far the most loyal. Although we keep things formal, he’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real father in my life—the only person who has ever caught glimpses of who I really am behind closed doors. And besides Autumn, he’s the only person who is allowed to ask questions.

  Only a few, though.

  “Yes, I have a new courier, Chester.”

  “Have you sewn up the loose ends on the last one?”

  “Weeks ago.”

  “Was it an easy cleanup?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Good to know.” The sound of him lighting a cigar comes over the line. “What’s the new one’s name?”

  “Autumn Jane.”

  “What?”

  “Autumn Jane,” I repeat.

  “The woman from Odette’s?”

  “The very same.”

  “Jesus Christ.” He coughs a few times. “Mr. Rochester, I need our personal record to reflect that I strongly objected to this and suggested that you hire someone else.”

  “Consider your objections written.”

  “I also recall telling you to stay the hell away from her. And you know damn well why.”

  “I guess I forgot,” I say, approaching my question limit for the day. “Any final thoughts?”

  “When does she start?”

  “Tonight at ten forty-five.”

  “That’s minutes from now.”

  “I’m aware.” I end the call and flash my headlights, setting the usual routine for a new job in motion.

  Like a symphony orchestra, the strings play under my command, performing their notes exactly how we’ve always rehearsed.

  A line of black town cars suddenly slide into the open spots around me, the jet’s brightly-lit staircase descends to the ground, and a golden luggage cart glides next to the cargo hold.

  Seconds later, when I flash my lights again, several men rush into the rain and begin loading bags one by one.

  When they’re finished, I steer my car closer to the plane.

  This is the part of the performance when the town car that I sent for Autumn is set to play its solo, the moment when the driver should pull in front of the jet’s steps and wait for me.

  Several minutes pass, but the town car never appears.

  Autumn is nowhere to be found.

  My composition remains unfinished; the notes stalling altogether.

  So, she’s far more defiant than I thought…

  End of Episode 18

  Episode 19

  Autumn

  I can’t do this…

  Seattle’s light rail rattles across the tracks at a breakneck speed, squeaking with every mile.

  It’s hurtling toward the airport, far away from the spot on the highway where I jumped out of Ryder’s assigned town car.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t run to the train station quite fast enough; the driver is standing right across from me, pleading for me to return. Still acting as if he didn’t completely blindside me with an unmentioned element of this “job.”

  “Miss Jane, please.” He grabs a handrail as we round the bend. “I have to deliver you to the location.”

  “Get this goddamn thing off my arm,” I say, lifting my left hand. “Now.”

  He looks at the black briefcase that’s handcuffed to my wrist. The one he locked into place seconds after saying, “Hello.”

  As if that were a perfectly normal thing to do.

  The hairs on the back of my neck are still standing at full attention, and my heart is seconds away from jumping out of my chest.

  I have a feeling it’ll never return.

  Ryder’s recent words—“I’ll never let you go to jail”—are running through my mind, but they’re lagging several laps behind my sanity.

  No matter how much of a dominant pull he has over me when we’re together, no matter how easily he can disarm me with one long gaze from his deep blue eyes, I refuse to ignore this latest warning sign.

  This is the end, Autumn. Walk away this time before it gets any worse.

  As the train zooms past another stop, my phone vibrates with a phone call.

  Ryder.

  I stare at the screen until it goes to voicemail.

  “Miss, Mr. Rochester isn’t the slightest bit understanding when it comes to tardiness.” The driver approaches me with his hands up, like I’m a feral animal. “If you want to remain employed, you need to do as I say from this moment forward.”

  “What happened to the last person who quit this job?” I ask. “Help me by answering that first.”

  “We’re only twenty minutes late.” He’s not on the same page at all. “I’ll tell him that this is all my fault, and he’ll take it out on me. What do you say?”

  “No.” I shake my head and clench the handle of my duffle bag. “I say, hell no.”

  “Miss Jane, if you could just—” The words stall on his lips as my phone vibrates once more.

  Ryder.

  Again.

  Then again.

  I don’t answer.

  The driver’s phone sounds next, and his face immediately pales.

  Unlike me, he doesn’t ignore it. He holds it up to his ear.

  “Yes, Mr. Rochester?” he answers. “Yes, I picked Miss Jane up on time this evening, sir…”

  He presses the phone against his chest, looking at me as if this is a life-and-death situation. “Do you want me to tell him the truth or not, Miss Jane?”

  “You can tell him that being chained to a black briefcase with no details is a no-go for me,” I say. “You can also make him aware that even though I never agreed to it, I would like to make it abundantly clear that I do not work for his estate. I’m done walking around without answers to my questions.”

  “So, you want me to speed up the plans for your funeral?”

  I say nothing. I just stare at him as he returns to the line.

  “She requested to stop because she was feeling slightly ill, sir,” he says. “Yes, I know that I should’ve called you first… Yes, sir. We’ll be there within fifteen minutes.”

  “Now approaching Seattle-Tacoma Airport Station.” A loud voice suddenly sifts through the train’s speakers. “If this is your stop, please follow the signs for ticketing and TSA checkpoints.”

  “I have a backup car in the garage here and it won’t take us long to get there,” the driver says. “Shockingly, Mr. Rochester doesn’t even sound that upset. Will you follow my lead?”

  I mentally calculate how much money I have on all my credit cards, how many weeks it’ll take before I see any settlement money from the divorce, and how many red flags I’ve caught this month.

  Make the right decision, Autumn…

  “Sure.” I nod as the doors suddenly glide open. “I’ll follow your lead.”

  “Oh, great.” He lets out a breath. “Thank you, Miss Jane.”

  “You’re very welcome.” I look at the timer above the doors. “Maybe it’s all in my head and I’m worried about nothing at all.”

  “Glad you’re coming to your senses. We’ll need to stay on the train until the next stop at the garage, so—”

  I rush past him just as the doors start shutting, slipping through the crack before he can finish the rest of that sentence.

  “What the fuck?” His eyes widen. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Thank you for making this easy.”

  “Stop! Stop the train!” He beats against the glass, yelling and cursing as the tram takes off without me. The last of his words, a pained—“You’re signing a death wish!”—echo against the steel walls.

  I’ll take my chances…

  Not wanting to waste another second, I rush toward the terminal.

  The metal handcuffs rub against my wrist with every step, and the briefcase knocks hard against my knees.

  I don’t know what’s inside the briefcase, but whatever it is will soon be abandoned and forgotten. Along with the previous chapters of my life with Nate. Along with the new pages I started to pen with Ryder, despite how promising they seem.

  Well, seemed.

  End of Episode 19

  Episode 20

  Autumn

  The ticketing zone is a ghost town.

  Travelers are rolling their luggage toward clear lanes of security, TSA agents are laughing and passing around a cell phone, and a Whimstery Cafe barista is juggling stuffed coffee beanies.

  Walking from airline to airline, I squint at the overhead screens to see which one is currently offering escapes closest to my hometown.

  Delta…

  I make my way to a kiosk and try to purchase a ticket. As I’m typing in the final destination, my phone sounds with a call from an unknown number.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Hello, Autumn.” Ryder’s deep voice comes over the line.

  I swallow.

  “Are you ignoring me again?” he asks. “I could’ve sworn that not too long ago we discussed how I feel about that.”

  “I must’ve forgotten… Just like you must’ve forgotten to tell me what I’m carrying.”

  “No, I never forget anything.” There’s a smile in his voice. “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m back at home.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Then go there and see for yourself,” I say. “Feel free to tell my neighbor that I need him to check my mail for a few days when you get there. I think I’ll be locked inside for a while.”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” He sounds amused. “You have five seconds to tell me where you really are, or we’re going to have a problem.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Make me wait for longer than five seconds and see.”

  “I only need one,” I say. “I’m back in my right mind. Goodbye, Ryder.”

  I end the call and tap my fingers against the kiosk once more. I need the quickest flight out of here, not one bound for nostalgia.

  “Ma’am?” a soft voice says on my left. “Ma’am?”

  A young girl with frizzy red curls is pointing at my briefcase and smiling.

  “I’ve seen one of those before.” She yanks on her mother’s sleeve. “Are you a spy?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No, I’m not a spy.”

  “Yes, you are.” She smiles and yanks her mother’s sleeve even harder. “Look, Mommy! A spy! She has secrets in there!”

  “Harriet…” Her mother turns around from her kiosk and looks at me. “We don’t talk to strangers.”

  She picks her up and walks over to a different kiosk. The girl winks at me, keeping her eyes on the briefcase once she’s on solid ground again.

  Shit.

  I abandon the machine and head to the closest bathroom.

  The idea of attempting to get through airport security without knowing what’s inside this briefcase is so beyond ludicrous that I can’t believe I didn’t check it first.

  Making sure that all the stalls are empty, I take refuge in the last one and set the briefcase on the changing table.

  Under the fluorescent lighting, its details are far clearer.

  The golden latch requires two keys to unlock it, along with a code, and there are four words engraved on its metal.

  Words I’ve seen before.

  for A.R.

  from E.R.

  Stretching my fingers, I place my hands on its sides and try to pry it open.

  It doesn’t budge at all.

  I shake it to see if I can guess the contents, but nothing moves.

  Is it empty?

  I slam it against the brick wall again and again, but nothing gives.

  As a last resort, I slide my finger under the latch and push it up. To my surprise, it gives way, and the top falls open, revealing… nothing.

  Confused, I stare at the beige interior for several seconds.

  What’s the point in making me carry this around?

  I press my hands into the folder pockets, tapping my fingers against each corner.

  Every space feels hollow until I reach the top left. The fabric there is slightly frayed—as if this was the last part sewn—so I gently tug at the strings.

  Peeling them back, I see hints of hemp-colored paper.

  I continue to pull and my heart pounds louder with every bit that comes into focus.

  This suitcase isn’t empty at all.

  It’s stashed full of hundred-dollar bills.

  As if they’re freshly printed from the treasury, they’re stacked in flat sheets.

  What the hell?

  I start to tear away more fabric but the sound of someone opening the door stops me.

  Quickly smoothing things back into place, I slam the case shut and walk to the sink.

  “Is there a problem, Miss?” A security guard steps next to me. “You’ve been in here for quite a while.”

  “No problem at all.” I shake my head. “I’m just using the bathroom.”

  “Your forehead is sweating bullets.” She narrows her eyes, and then she looks down at the sink. “The basin isn’t even wet.”

  “It’s a personal condition…” I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and hold back a gasp. My hair is tousled all over my head and my face is paler than ever.

  And she’s not lying about the sweat.

  “I was just using the bathroom,” I say, turning on the water. “I’m almost done.”

  “Okay, look.” She picks up a few paper towels and hands them to me. “The window for your jackass boss and his Vegas-obsessed friends is supposed to close long before midnight. Let him know that there will be no more exceptions.”

  Huh? I stare at her blankly.

  “This is a courtesy since you’re flying commercial tonight, but if he keeps pushing it, we’ll start making this far more difficult for him.” She walks over to the door and holds it open, motioning for me to follow. “You’ve got thirty minutes before our shift change, so I suggest you stop wasting time with whatever you’re doing and make your way through.”

  I glance at the checkpoint and notice five other brunettes with black briefcases chained to their wrists.

  They’re dressed in varying grey suits, but from the way that they’re laughing and chatting without a care in the world, I sense their scenarios are far different from mine.

  “Thank you for the reminder,” I say, grateful for her intrusion. “I’ll be sure to tell my boss what you said.”

  “Please do.” She walks away and I wait for her to disappear.

  Returning to the kiosk, I go to purchase a first-class ticket to Buffalo, New York and look away from the sickening total as I swipe my credit card.