Once they got into New York City, Rachel was lost. Her entire life, she'd never made it out of the Hampton Roads area. She'd hardly even made it across the Chesapeake Bay into the next town over. She remembered driving through the underwater tunnel a couple times with her dad when she was really little, before he'd gotten too badly in debt; he'd taken her to the beach, and to get ice cream. But that didn't last long. And after she'd turned thirteen, she'd definitely been stuck. Rafe didn't like anyone to get too far away.

So when Jason started handing out directions rather than her having to frantically search road signs, she'd been grateful—quietly so, at least. For the last three, painstaking hours, exits and turns had been the only conversation that passed between them. Thick clouds loomed outside, and it felt like they'd pressed their way into the car too.

They would have gotten into the city quicker, except for their backroads route and her vehicle hobbling along like a grandmother. She'd considered pressing it harder, if only so the thoughts in her head would stop spinning with the wheels of the car.

She wished she remembered shooting the cop. Or maybe she didn't. But the blank spot nagged at her. As if rising to fill it, all she could see now was the only other time she'd ever shot someone—Rafe, higher than the stars, during a desperate scuffle over what she 'owed' him for taking her in. He'd flirted with her before that—roguishly so, insufferably so—but he'd never touched her. And even as young, and enamored at times, as she'd been, she knew better than to encourage him... too much. He was only a few years older, but he was trouble with a capital T. She felt that in her bones, even as he brought her presents and smiled at her like the sun and made sure none of his Lost Boys ever bothered her.

But that night, he'd come into her makeshift infirmary, with its fold-up card table for surgeries and her little cot in the corner. That night, he'd wanted something she wouldn't give. And so she'd shot him. And then she'd sewn him up. He didn't touch her after that.

But the cop on the road... Her hands tightened on the wheel. That man didn't have anyone to sew him up. She'd run and left him to bleed. Her stomach churned like the ocean.

She slammed on the breaks at a redlight. Buildings towered around her, the bright windows leering, the advertisements painting moving lines on everything. The streets were clogged like an obese man's arteries. Rain, which had misted over them for the last several hours, fell in earnest now.

She very suddenly did not want to be here. This was not home. It was not the magical escape she had conjured in her mind. And it was definitely—she honked at the mass of sluggish cars in front of her—not freedom. "Got a place in mind?" she snapped. "Or am I just kicking you out on the curb?"

"Flatbush Gardens Apartments. In Sunset Park."

Right. Because she knew where that was. She could just tell him that, take her money, and wish him well. One of the half dozen taxis in front of her could take him easy. But her lungs twisted in her chest, and she took a breath to unknot them. Her ten-thousand dollars could buy her a cushy room and a hot meal, but the room would be empty and dinner would be for one.

Wimp, she scolded herself. You have to leave eventually. But she didn't have to leave yet. Psycho Boy might not be great company, but he at least knew what had happened today. She wasn't sure she could bear to face a world full of strangers who looked at her and just saw a normal, innocent girl. When traffic finally dislodged itself, she found a gas station to turn into.

"Pay up," she said, turning around and holding out her hand. "I'll take you to Sunset Park, but I want my money now."

"Of course. You've earned it." He nodded at her with an expression hard to read. She frowned. She had earned it. She'd played nurse and put up with his creepy sister and hauled his butt up the coast. She'd helped him lose a tail and shot a man to keep them both from going to jail. So why did she feel vaguely guilty as he counted it into her hand?

"And there's an extra two thousand," Jason said as he put the last of it into her hands. "For fifteen total."

She frowned down at the stack. "What happened to 'breaking your word' and 'thirteen is the best I can do'?"

"You deserve it," he said. There was something warm and solid in his eyes, something that made him feel like he saw her, that no matter what she'd threatened him with in the motel, that he knew that hurting someone was never what she'd wanted. Been willing to do? Maybe. Apparently yes, even though she didn't remember it. But it wasn't what she'd wanted.

"You can't buy me, you know." The words fell softly out of her mouth, landing in the air with a splash. It was a ridiculous thing to say; he had bought and paid for her services. She obviously could be bought.

But all he said, as if it made the most sense in the world, was, "I know."

The sentiment warmed something inside her that she hadn't realized was cold. But instead of thawing, she narrowed her eyes and drew back. "You're just saying that."

He shook his head subtly, dirty blond bangs falling over one eye. "Money might be able to borrow you for a time." His lightning blue eyes flicked over her face, roving like a storm, landing in tiny jolts. "But I don't think there's a thing in the world that could buy you."

The warmth of a blush crept up her neck. She exited the car to keep him from seeing. Hurriedly, she stuffed the almost forgotten cash into her hoodie pocket. Feeling jittery, she flipped her hood up, hair frizzing around its edges. "Fill up with gas. I'll be back."

Hands buried in the pocket with her newly-acquired fortune, she shouldered into the convenience store. The bored teen behind the counter barely looked up as the door dinged. She light-fingered a city map. Then she collected three Sprites from the coolers, dodged a few drunks to get to a carousel of greasy pizza, and plonked her prizes down on the counter. A toy bear dressed as the Statue of Liberty hovered at eye level. On impulse, she threw that into the pile.

The cashier slid himself off the counter to check her out. "Thirty-five thirty-nine," he sighed.

"That's highway robbery."

"Welcome to New York."

With a scowl, she took her items out to the car, which Jason had helpfully pulled into a slot by the door. "Here," she said, thrusting the two of the slices and cold drinks at him. "New York pizza."

"I think this is just gas station pizza," he corrected, eyeing it dubiously.

"We're in New York. That makes it New York pizza." She took a bite, letting the warm cheese slide down her throat. Not terrible.

"You haven't traveled much, have you?" he asked.

"I got you here, didn't I?" She tossed the little bear into the backseat, and he caught it. "And that's for your sister."

"Oh." He looked at it for a long moment as if it were a foreign object instead of a cheap souvenir. "You didn't have to do that."

"If you're worried about the Feds tracking the money," she said around a bite of pizza, "don't be. We won't be in this neighborhood long, and New York is huge, right? They won't get notified at least until tomorrow, if not next week. But we do need to find a way to clean it."

"We do?" he said, putting very slight emphasis on the first word.

She nodded as if it were no big thing, as if she hadn't just temporarily thrown her lot in with his. Then she washed her food down with a bit of Sprite. "I'm hoping your long-lost uncle or whoever it is your mom sent us to can help with that. But if not, maybe we can wash it in a casino." She glanced back at him only to see him eyeing her with the wide-eyed confusion of the new recruits. She sighed. "You said the money was dirty, right? Then it can be tracked, which means we need to clean it."

He handed the teddy bear down to Ana, who was still in the floor. Rachel didn't think he noticed that she hadn't taken it because his eyes were on her instead. "And you can do that?"

She shrugged. "Easier than you can. You done eating?"

He'd barely taken a bite, but he nodded—eager, she supposed, to get to where they were going.

She tossed the map she'd stolen at him. "Directions."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured, setting his pizza in the spare seat to chart out a course. She pulled out. The traffic, she was fairly sure, had a warrant for her death, but Jason was a good GPS. In under an hour, they made it from the outskirts of the city to Sunset Park in Brooklyn.

The apartment building sat on a corner, all hard edges and angles. Windows dotted the upper floors of the brick structure while the bottom floor was taken up entirely by a glass front. Inside, globe lights illuminated what seemed to be half lobby, half book store. A mom with an umbrella ushered her kids inside. Techies with beanies and coffee leaned over counters of laptops.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "This is where your mom's mob friend lives?"

Jason shrugged. "Could be my long-lost-uncle, remember?" Despite his flippant tone, his lips pursed thoughtfully, and his finger tapped his leg. "Would you be willing to stay here with Ana?" he asked. "While I go up?"

"Not a chance." The words were out of her mouth before she realized, and Jason cocked his head at her. She cleared her throat. "I mean, you hired me as security, right? I can't just let you meet this guy alone."

His eyebrows crept up. "I hired you to drive me. Which you already did."

"Details." She waved it away. She may have bought the kid a teddy bear, but no way was she getting stuck here babysitting her. "Let's go."

Lips twisting, Jason tried to coax Ana out of the floor. She hit at his hands, then buried her head in her knees again. When he tried to pull her up again, she hissed at him. Rachel looked away, uncomfortable.

"Please, Ana," Jason murmured to her. "We're almost there. Here. Look." Rachel snuck a glance back. He had picked up the discarded bear and held it out to her as a peace offering. Her head slowly came up. Reaching out with trembling fingers, she snatched the bear to her chest. "There you go," Jason said, relief coating his voice. "Come on."

He started to pull her up again, and this time she came. Ready to be out of the suffocating air of the car, Rachel popped her door. She was about to climb out when Jason said, "Hey." She looked back. "What do you think we should do with the stuff?"

She eyed the blue duffel of dirty money, then the green one of fake IDs and equally incriminating things. "I don't think your long-lost-uncle needs to know about it. And your mom's mob boss definitely doesn't—not yet, at least."

He didn't look pleased by the assessment, but he must have agreed because he started stuffing them under a ledge in the back seat, out of sight. She didn't like the idea of being parted with her windfall either, but while he was distracted with his bags, she emptied her pockets too. A bit went in the old CD player, a little under her seat, and then as much of it as she could, she hid in the crack between her seat and the console. There was still a chunk left in her pockets, but it was a much, much smaller chunk. Then Jason was climbing out of the car, arm wrapped protectively around his sister, and she climbed out with him.

As he stood on the sidewalk, he surveyed the battered car as if he were trying to decide whether he could trust it. He sighed. "Well, I don't suppose anyone's going to steal our clunker, so there's that at least."

"My clunker," she corrected. The rain slid through her curls, and she pulled her hood up. With the storm at their backs, the three of them hurried into the glass lobby.

When its warmth wrapped around her, she glanced back out through the rain to the stolen car, spent on the curb. It might be able to go a little farther. But just a little.

She folded her arms over herself. Would it be so bad, she thought, sucking on her lip, if Jason really did have a long-lost-uncle? She looked around the store slash lobby slash hipster coffee bar. The people who lived here wore new clothes and shared easy laughs. And would it be so impossible, she asked herself, that he has an extra bed? Or even just a couch? Rachel had slept on the floor in much worse places.

She couldn't stay here forever; she knew that. But maybe she could stay long enough to... figure out... something. She wasn't sure what. But the hope of it was dangerously tantalizing, swirling in her stomach like too much alcohol, and she let it sit there for a moment, warm and heady.

"Over here," Jason called from the elevators. She blinked, startled that she'd let him and his sister get so far away without noticing. Irritated with herself, a dozen quick strides pushed her across the faux-marble floor. Her intoxicating hope dried up with sober reality.

What happened in the long run didn't matter if someone buried them tonight.