Yeah, pal. I know. I need to calm the fuck down.
“I called him an asshole.” Hope’s shoulders curl inward, and she stares down at her plate. “That’s when he backhanded me. I didn’t even realize what had happened. One minute I was yelling at him, the next, I was on the floor tasting blood.”
If I thought she’d let me, I’d take her in my arms. But she’s trapped in her memories, and I know better than most the only way out is through.
“Simon apologized, tucked me into bed, and told me he loved me. He was so sweet, it confused the hell out of me. It was late. I couldn’t leave. The next morning, I walked out to the main road with just my purse and hailed a cab to the airport. But when I got there…” Hope’s eyes fill with tears, and she swallows hard. “None of my credit cards worked.”
“Goddamn asshole.” The urge to pace, to escape into the darkness, to take my aggressions out on the logs waiting to be split is strong, but Hope looks over at me like my presence is the only tether she has to sanity.
“A week before, he’d convinced me to let his financial advisor manage my portfolio. I didn’t think twice about handing over all of my account information. I had almost a hundred and twenty-thousand tied up in investments. Maybe ten thousand liquid cash. He took everything.” Her tears spill over, and I barely manage to move her plate out of the way in time.
Sliding closer, I wrap my arms around her and let her cry. “You didn’t do anything wrong, darlin’.”
“Bullshit,” she whispers, her lips close to my ear. “I let him take everything from me. I should have called one of my friends from the airport. Or one of my former coworkers. Or even the police back in L.A.” After a sniffle, she draws back. “Instead, when he showed up all ‘knight-in-shining-armor’ and told me it had to be some sort of mistake—that we’d sort it out—I believed him.”
Hope wraps her arms around herself and sniffles. Exhaustion darkens circles under her eyes, and I don’t think she has much left in her. “How long were you…with him?”
Her little huff is oddly reassuring. “I was only with him for maybe three weeks after that. But that’s all the time he needed to trap me. Before yesterday, I hadn’t left his compound in thirty months, two weeks, and five days.”
Fuck. I’m going to end the shitstain. Painfully.
“Hope, look at me.” Cupping her cheek, I dash away one last tear. “He can’t hurt you here. You were heading to Seattle, right?” She nods, and I try for a reassuring smile. Not sure if I’m doing it right since I haven’t had the need for that particular expression since I moved up here. “I know people there. They can protect you.”
Her shoulders tense. “You don’t understand. Maybe if I’d left right away, he’d have let me go. But after he knew I couldn’t run—after he took all my money—he told me I had to ‘earn my keep.’ I used to manage tax accounts for multi-million dollar corporations. So I started doing his books. That’s when he knew he owned me and stopped hiding what he did for a living.”
Every new revelation ratchets my anger another dozen notches. “So you can put him away. Testify.”
“Worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it.” Hope fumbles for the belt on my robe. What the hell is she doing? With her good arm, she reaches down her shirt and winces. “I knew no one would believe me if I walked into a police station and claimed Simon Arrens was a criminal.” She holds out her hand, and resting in her palm is a memory card.
“You have proof.”
“Bank records, emails, his electronic ledgers…all of it. And he probably knows it. His laptop will have a record of the files I copied. The type of man he is? He’ll be livid that I dared to leave him. But there’s no way he’ll let anyone with this data live free. He wants this back, and he’ll kill anyone standing in his way.”
7
Wyatt
For the first time since I turned my back on society, I regret it. Up here in the middle of nowhere, without a laptop or a cell phone—or any service—we can’t call for help. Can’t access what’s on the memory card or find out if it even still works.
“I hid it in my bra,” Hope says softly. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to get out after I copied his ledgers. I thought…that would be one of the few places he wouldn’t look. Even if he…punished me.”
Fuck me. I don’t want to know what the asshat did to punish her. The memory of her scarred back flashes through my mind, and I dig my fingers into my palms so hard I’m going to leave bruises. He whipped her. Used her as a punching bag. Maybe worse.
“That’s why you wanted your bra earlier.” Regret leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I was so short with her over the damn thing. “To make sure the card was still there.”
She nods, then glances back toward the couch. Her lower lip wobbles slightly. “I didn’t want to tell you. Not any of it. But the SUV…I’m sure Simon knows where it is. It was brand new.”
“With GPS.” Shit. “I found you two miles from here. But the car fell to the bottom of the ravine when the tree gave way. That’s at least another half a mile. Unless this guy is the Abominable Fucking Snowman, there’s no way he can get here until the snow melts. And that won’t be for at least a day.”
Hope doesn’t respond. Her gaze is fixed on the memory card in my hand.
“Come with me, darlin’.” I help her up and keep my arm around her waist as I lead her into the bedroom. “We’re going to put this somewhere safe so you can relax.”
She gives me the side eye. “I’m not just leaving it in your nightstand drawer, Wyatt.”
“Not what I was suggesting.” Pulling a painting of snow-covered mountains off the wall, I show her the safe, then press my index finger to the sensor. The door pops open, revealing two shelves, perfectly organized. My Glock 19, along with ammunition, a small stack of velvet boxes with all the medals and awards I’ll never wear again, my Trident, and a folder of government papers one needs, but never actually uses.
Keying in the long sequence of numbers that lets me add a new print to the lock, I gesture to the sensor. “Right index finger.”
