Dirty Damage: Chapter 56

My passport.

Fifty dollars.

And my phone.

That’s all I have to my name—and if I’m gonna be smart about all this, I need to ditch the phone the first chance I get.

I’ve turned off the tracker and deleted all the other apps. But considering Oleg works in surveillance and has the best and most efficient tools in the literal world at his disposal, I don’t trust that I’ve done enough to cover my trail.

Still, once I ditch this phone, I’m essentially off the grid.

Isolated and alone.

With nothing but fifty dollars to get me… where?

I can get as far as Miami, maybe. So why the hell did I blow thirty bucks on a cab to the airport? It’s not as though I can afford a plane ticket. And using Oleg’s credit cards isn’t an option.

Which is how I find myself sitting on the floor outside a bathroom at Palm Beach International Airport, dialing in my sister’s number.

“Please answer, please answer, please answer, please⁠—”

Finally, on the third ring, the call picks up. Sydney’s voice comes through but it’s far-off, distant. The connection isn’t clear.

“Syd?”

“—utt—?” I hear her cry. “Is that you? What’s going—? … Are you⁠—?”

Pressing my free ear down, I try to concentrate on my sister’s voice. “Syd, can you hear me? This is important. I really need to talk to you.”

“… call you back⁠—”

The line goes dead. I pick myself up off the floor and try to find a quieter corner to hole myself up in.

When Sydney calls back, the line is a whole lot clearer.

“Okay,” she breathes. “I’m in the bathroom. But fair warning, Paul is right outside so I can’t take too long.”

My stomach drops. “Syd, you can’t mention me to him, okay? He can’t know about this call.”

“Somehow, I figured,” she sighs. “What’s going on?”

“Long story short: Oleg and I are over.” God, does that hurt to admit. My throat is burning from the bitterness of those words. “I fucked up and I need help.”

“You need money.”

I wince. “Y-yes… I need money. I’m sorry to ask but⁠—”

“What happened between you two?”

“Drew happened,” I admit. “He’s still in the picture and refusing to leave. That’s why you can’t tell Paul about me. Drew’s working for him now and I don’t want information getting around. I need to get out of Palm Beach, Syd. But I don’t want to come to Vegas.”

“No, you’re right. Vegas is not an option. But it would be easier for me to get you money…”

I bite my lip, waiting for her to come up with a solution. My brain feels like it’s slowly turning to mush.

“Okay, I’ll figure something out,” she decides. “But it might take some time. You’ll need to keep in touch with me so that I can let you know what I’ve come up with.”

“I will.”

“What are you going to do in the meantime?”

That’s a great question. But before I can pull an answer out of my ass, I hear banging on Sydney’s side of the call.

I hear the deep grate of a man’s voice, but it’s too muffled for me to distinguish the words.

“Coming, darling!” Sydney chirps, her voice going all high and girlish. “Just washing up.” I hear the sound of running water. Then Sydney’s voice again, except this time, it’s low, barely a whisper. “Gotta go. Keep in touch. Stay safe.”

Click.

My heart hammers hard against my chest as I stare down at the black screen, contemplating Sydney’s last question.

Where do I lie low in the meantime?

I don’t have the money for a motel. I can’t go back to Mara’s. The whole city is unsafe with Drew on the prowl.

And if he makes good on his threat and releases our alleged sex tapes, then the last traces of my anonymity are going to fly out the window faster than my pride already has.

Where can I go that’s safe?

The question unlocks something. A recent memory.

Oleg and I, sprawled out across the deck of one of his yachts, staring up at the stars as Oleg explained his surveillance systems to me.

“My surveillance system has made my yachts the safest places to be on earth,” he told me proudly. “They can’t be tracked… not by satellite, radar or sonar. You want to disappear? Hide out on one of my boats. It’s the closest thing to vanishing a person can pull in this day and age where everything and everyone can be tracked.”

His voice echoes in my ear, as soft and as comforting as a lullaby. Maybe that’s where I need to go: the Pavlov Boatyard.

The very idea is laughable. But the more I think about it, the better it seems.

Hide in plain sight, you know? Maybe I can stow away on one of his unused boats until Sydney can find a way to get me some money.

Then I can buy myself a plane ticket out of this city and away from all my skeletons.

As my resolve hardens, I start moving towards the airport’s exit. I’m standing right in front of the big Departures sign when it strikes me: I can leave some breadcrumbs for Drew. Hopefully, they’ll lead him in the wrong direction and buy me a little extra time.

I take my phone out and flip the camera around. Then I make sure to center myself under the Departures board.

I take a quick picture and send it to Drew.

Along with one final word that I hope will be my last contact with him.

Bye.