Ohmygod-ohmygod-ohmygod.
Dr. Herman chuckles.“Play with fire, expect to be—”
“Shut up.” While I spiral down the rabbit hole of self-analysis, my soon-to-be ex-lover answers the call.
White-knuckling his device, his neck muscles pulse as his scowl deepens. Once he hangs up, he drops behind the wheel, then slams the door. His grim expression says this whole mess is my fault.
“Where should I drop you off?” His clipped, tight voice tells me he’s pissed.
Fine. So am I.
“My brother’s hotel.” Hopefully, my chauffeur knows where Pol is staying—because I sure as hell am not going to ask.
He starts the truck, muttering under his breath. Soon, it’s much louder. “Know who that was? The FBI. They gave me twenty-four hours to prove you’re innocent. You just blew it.”
“No, you did. We could’ve stayed in the woods—tracked the guy together.”
“Sue me. I wanted to keep you safe.” His words melt the softer part of my psyche.
The warrior, however, bristles. “Safe?” A bitter laugh bursts from me. “From whom? The killer—or you? In case your intel missed it, I have Olympic-level shooting skills. He was a dead man walking.”
Leaning in, I pitch my plea deeper. “It’s not too late. We can go back.”
“There is nowe, Briana.” Voice flat and final, he flicks a glance over the cupholder. “Stay out of these woods. I mean it.”
Of all the fucking…Rather than unleash my fury, I purse my lips until they hurt.
The silence between us thickens as he pulls into the hotel lot. In response to his hard yank on the parking brake, I slam the door behind me.
As he drives off without a backward glance, my ribcage constricts.
Fuck it. Throat raw, tears welling, I pace in front of the sliding glass. Inhale. Exhale. It’s a shame humiliation doesn’t come with enough ketchup to choke down my pride. I lower my lids, leaving my knapsack at my feet, then tap Pol’s contact number.
“Put down your weapon!”
What the—My arms snap up as my eyes pop open.
Turning ever-so-slowly, I count a dozen Vermont State Police troopers. They crouch behind cruisers, weapons trained on me.
“Jesus. It’s a phone.” Shouting, I pivot my elbows so they can identify the device. “Don’t shoot.”
“Bree? What the hell’s going on?” My brother’s voice crackles from the balcony above my head.
While I stare down the barrels, Apollo gasps. “I see them. Don’t move—I’m coming down.”
“K.” Holding my breath, sweat dripping down my face, I dare not twitch.
Contradictory orders ricochet off the building.
“Take the shot!”
“Don’t move!”
“On your knees!”
“Drop the gun now!”
My every instinct screams run, speak,do something—but those choices could get me killed.
