“Business I need to handle.” The lie comes easier than it should. The truth is I need to meet with my FBI contact away from Roman’s watchful eyes. Need to finalize the details beforethe consummation ceremony. Unfortunately, she can’t know any of these things yet. “The family has an apartment there. It’s private. Secure.”
“You want me to come with you?” Disbelief colors her tone.
“Better than leaving you alone after . . .” I don’t finish. After you killed Wayne. After we lied to the whole town. After Emma Porter looked at you like she could see the brand beneath your clothes.
“When would we leave?”
“Now.” I check the time. “We could be there around lunchtime.”
“What about Roman?”
“He’s in Missoula.” The timing is perfect, a rare stroke of luck in this impossible situation. “He won’t even know we’re gone.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, weighing her options, calculating risks the way life has taught her by now. Then she nods once, decision made. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes.” Something shifts in her expression, determination replacing caution. “I need this, Calder. After today . . . after everything. I need to remember there’s a world beyond Black Hollow Creek.”
I understand that more than she knows.
“Calder?” Her voice is hesitant now. “Is this—is this a good thing? Us going to Billings?”
I’m not sure how to answer. Is it good that I’m using this trip to meet with the FBI, to finalize a plan that might get us both killed?
Is it good that I’m keeping her in the dark to protect her?
“Yes,” I say finally, because it’s what she needs to hear. “It’s a good thing.”
The lie tastes like ash on my tongue.
Saint sleeps beside me for most of the drive, her head resting against the window, breath fogging the glass. The mountains roll by in shades of green and gray, and I find myself glancing at her more than the road. She seems younger in sleep, the worry lines smoothed from her face, and I’m reminded again how fucking young she really is. How much I’ve taken from her.
She stirs as we hit the outskirts of Billings, the city rising before us with its mixture of old brick buildings and newer high-rises. Her eyes flutter open, blue as a storm at sea, and find mine. The drive only takes a couple of hours.
“We’re almost there,” I tell her.
She sits up, running a hand through sleep-tousled hair. “It’s bigger than I expected.”
“You’ve never been to Billings?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve barely left Black Hollow Creek. Dad took me to Helena once for a church conference, but that’s it.”
The admission twists something in my chest. Another reminder of how sheltered she was. How utterly unprepared for the life I’ve dragged her into.
The Bishop apartment sits in a renovated warehouse near the river, industrial chic that Sawyer picked out years ago when our business interests expanded beyond Black Hollow Creek. I pull into the secure underground parking and cut the engine.
“Home sweet home. For the night, at least.”
Saint follows me to the private elevator, and I punch in the code, and the doors slide open silently.
The apartment is exactly as I remember it, with exposed brick walls, polished concrete floors, and sleek furniture in blacks and grays. The floor-to-ceiling windows face the river, flooding the space with natural light.
“This is…” Saint’s eyes are wide as she takes in the space. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect? Cattle skulls and branding irons?” The joke falls flat, and I wince at my own poor choice of words. Branding is still too raw, too fresh.
“Something less modern, I guess.” She moves to the window, looking out at the view. “It’s beautiful.”
