Run To You

She shoved her duffel in the seat behind, and her forearm brushed his solid shoulder. “Little?”
    He shrugged and pulled out of the apartment complex. “I’ve used bigger.”
    She didn’t doubt it and turned forward. He struck her as a secretive kind of guy, and she knew better than to even ask where one might get his hands on a “flashbang.” She wouldn’t mind having at least one of her own. “Where we going?”
    “Out of town.” He glanced across the car at her. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but she could feel his gaze on her face. “Initially, I didn’t gather intel on your boss. There was no need, but after our meet and greet in the parking lot, I’ve done a little digging.” He turned his attention back to the street and pulled onto the 112.
    She clicked her seat belt across her lap and dug her sunglasses out of her backpack. “What did you find out?”
    “Ricky De Luca is associated with the mafia out of Newark.” He looked across his left shoulder and merged in front of a BMW. He named the family but it meant nothing to Stella.
    “He’s in the mafia? No way!” She shoved her big black sunglasses on her face and set the pack between her feet. “I thought that was just a rumor because he’s Italian.” Being Italian didn’t mean he was in the mob any more than being Hispanic meant she loved tacos. Although she totally did. “I bet you’re sorry you punched a mobster in the head.”
    “Not at all. Even if I’d had more information on him, I would have punched his head. And technically, he’s not a member of the family. They launder money through his club, and in return Ricky gets protection from the Russian mafia.”
    “There’s a Russian mafia, too?”
    “Sure. There’s the Italians, Mexicans, and Russians all running drugs, prostitution, and extortion in south Florida.” He glanced at the GPS, punched a few buttons, and the screen changed. “The Gallo boys are soldiers for the Italians. They’re in the mob.”
    Stella gasped and looked from Beau’s long fingers fiddling with the GPS to his hard profile. “I smashed a mobster’s bad hand in my door.” The image of that thumbless hand grabbing and pulling the chain like some horror movie played a continual loop in her head. She swallowed hard and felt sick. “Twice.”
    A twitch at the corner of his mouth might have passed for a smile.
    She placed a hand on her chest and drew in a deep breath. “Do you think that’s funny?”
    “Of course not. You smashed a wiseguy’s hand in the door. If I were you, I’d think about relocating.”
    “For how long?”
    He glanced at her, then back at the road. “Indefinitely.”
    “What? Like in the witness protection program?” Oh God!
    He shook his head. “The government isn’t prosecuting the Gallo boys or Ricky and you didn’t witness anything.” He glanced at her again, then back at the road. “Except smashing Lefty’s hand. You witnessed that.”
    If she wasn’t careful, she was going to freak out. “Maybe the Gallos will forget about it in a few weeks.”
    “Doubtful.” He shook his head.
    Would it kill him to lie? “You knocked Ricky out! That’s worse.”
    “They don’t know who I am.”
    She got the feeling he wouldn’t be all that afraid if they did know. She placed a hand on her chest and drew in a shaky breath. Things just kept getting worse. “Oh God. I slammed a gangster’s hand in my door.”
    “Twice.”
    Like she needed the reminder. What if Lefty Lou never got over it? Never forgot? What if he found her? She slid her hand up to her throat. No one would know to look for her. For several months no one would think to file a missing person’s report. By then, she would not only be swimming with the fishes, she’d be chum. To make matters worse, it also occurred to her that she’d jumped into the SUV of a stranger. “Lefty’s hand is probably only bruised.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw stars in her peripheral vision.
    “Probably broke,” provided Mr. Helpful.
    “Oh my God!”
    “Are you going to pass out?”
    “Maybe.” She swallowed hard. “Probably.” He looked like he was gearing up for more of his special brand of compassion and she held up her hand toward him. “Stop. Please. You’re making things worse,” she rambled as she tried not to think that she might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. “I know we don’t know each other at all, but you could try to offer some comfort. Be a little supportive,