“You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think.”
Without realizing it, I was on my feet and in his space. “You don’t understand shit!”
He stared at me wordlessly for a moment before placing both hands on my cheeks. He held me still while he bent to place a kiss on my forehead. “Then make me understand. Because I want to help you, but I can’t when you tie my hands behind my back.”
Reaching up, I grabbed his wrists and closed my eyes. “It’s easier for me to tell a stranger than a friend,” I said. “Let alone one as close as Shiloh. We take on each other’s pain, Brodie. She hurts, I hurt. I don’t want her to know how I feel, to feel it also.”
At that moment the phone I’d dropped to the couch rang. Brodie released me and bent, picking it up. “Twig.” I heard her voice, tinny and faraway, before he switched her to speaker.
“Brodie, what in the hell are you into? I can’t find anything about this Michael guy’s death. Nothing. No obituary, even. He was cremated the day after his body was found, with a death certificate that looks to have been pushed through extremely fast. The only thing I have been able to find is a sixty thousand dollar deposit into his wife’s account two weeks ago. Anonymous.”
I sat down, almost missing the couch and landing on my ass. “They gave Gina...” I paused, my brain firing. “It couldn’t have been insurance?”
“Who is that? Cotton, is that you?”
“It’s me.”
“Well, what the hell? You just disappeared! Everybody’s losing their freaking minds, Cotton.”
“I’m sorry, Twig. It’s complicated.”
Brodie sat down beside me, the weight of his body pulling me toward him. He tucked me into the crook of his arm like it was second nature, no fanfare, no fuss. “Twig.”
She stopped ranting at the quiet command in his voice. “What?”
“What about the money? Was it insurance?”
“No, not insurance. It was done through an untraceable account.”
“Okay. That’s good. Keep pushing on that, see if you can figure out the depositor. But keep it discreet, yeah?”
“Will do.” Her sigh was heavy through the line. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Em needs your help with something personal. She hasn’t had a chance to talk to Shiloh yet, though. Can I trust you to keep whatever you’re told between us?”
Waves of outrage filtering over the connection, she spluttered her response. “Yes! God. You know I’m not a blabber mouth.”
Brodie squeezed my arm, letting me know it was my turn. “Thank you, Twiggy. And I do know, it’s just...I haven’t told anyone what I’m about to tell you. If Shiloh found out I told you first, she’d be destroyed.”
“I get it. If anything happens, we’ll just blame it on Brodie.”
“Right. Okay. Well, here goes.”
“Cotton, you’re scaring me a little.”
Ignoring her interjection, I pushed the words out. Quickly, until they lay, ugly and desolate between us. “I was raped back in November.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “He was my ranking officer, and the son of a decorated general. It’s part of the reason I’m home.” Licking my lips, I continued. Brodie’s arm around me was a solid weight anchoring me to the present, to the now. It held the panic at bay, reminded me I was safe. “I didn’t report it. Couldn’t. The general threatened me, and when I started having panic attacks and went to a psychiatrist friend—Michael—”
“He wound up dead.” Twiggy’s voice was grim.
“Yes. So I’ve done everything I was supposed to. Left the military. Left the area. Left all my friends. I haven’t spoken to anyone. And yet here I am, with a hit out on me.”
“A hit! He’s trying to kill you? Cotton—” She broke off, choking on her own words. “That’s why the sudden disappearance.”
I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me. “Yes. Brodie has been helping me.”
“Okay. Let me think.” Twiggy fell silent. Brodie was starting to fidget beside me when she returned. “So I’m guessing you need me to help you make the connection between this general, or his slime bag son, and the contract. Bonus if there’s proof of bad behavior where Michael is concerned, or anything that can put the son away for rape.”
