Her eyebrow arched. “Are you going to make this whole process difficult, or are you going to get it done?”
He tucked his chin, the clacking of keys evidence he was doing as told though his hard-set jaw warned he was not happy about defying his boss.
Who was this woman? She clearly knew Stone. Brighton just wanted to crawl into a hole as she looked in the direction Stone had vanished. It’d stolen her breath to turn around and see him relaxed and smiling at his friend. Her shocked brain had frozen her, made it impossible to do anything other than being a punching bag for his angry words.
She’d never forget those first few seconds when he didn’t realize a traitor was in his midst. Glorious. He was still breathtaking and gorgeous. Muscular and?—bearded! What was that about? The hat??—he’d started wearing those when they were dating. To hide his identity, but she’d tried to explain that a man like him in a cowboy hat did anything but blend in. He drew the eye, the heart, the will??—everything! The stinging cuts and throbbing headache fell away. She was enraptured in those blue eyes.
Then, that moment snapped like a sonic boom when he’d seen her. His expression had morphed. He recoiled as if he’d been burned by acid. It’d ripped out what little she had left of her soul.
Wanting to shoot Cord for this fiasco, Brighton jerked toward Lowell. “Did he know?” she hissed at the towering oaf. “Did Cord know about this?—him?”
“Later,” he said in a low voice.
“No, there will be no later. I want to leave.” Brighton shoved loose strands from her face and shifted, looking toward the revolving door. “I can’t do this. It’s … I can’t be here. Please.” Her pulse pounded like war drums, which was exactly what she’d stepped into. A war. With Stone.
“Just hang on,” Lowell said.
“This was stupid-cruel,” she hissed around stinging eyes. “I cannot believe?—”
“Here we are.” Ms. Holloway was at their side, handing over keycards. “Two rooms.”
Brighton ducked and tried to hide her tears and humiliation.
Lowell hovered protectively at her side. “Thank you.”
Ms. Holloway faced Brighton with a discerning gaze. “You’re in a safe place,” she said firmly, directly. “Do you understand me?”
Safe place? There was no such thing. Still, Brighton hesitated, glanced at Lowell, who seemed just as confused that this woman could possibly know …
“Do you understand that you’re safe?”
The question felt like a trap. Brighton tried to smile. Tried to think of something to say, but her mind could not remove itself from Stone’s fury. It hurt. Like an oil driller burrowing down past the concrete reinforcements around her heart.
“Since she’s too scared to talk,” the woman snapped, “how about you explain her bruises and cuts, the butterfly stitch on her cheek? Is this your doing?”
Lowell twitched. “No, ma’am.”
“No!” Brighton yelped. “He—they …” She couldn’t say they’d rescued her, because the woman would want to know from what. “They’re good men. They’re—”
“Good men do not do that to a woman,” she said, pointing to Brighton’s injuries.
“You’re right,” she said, her throat feeling swollen and raw. “And they didn’t.”
“Brooke?” An older woman came toward them, lifting her hands in bewilderment. She was petite with silver-blond hair styled into a chic cut as she glanced toward the large fireplace at the far end of the lobby. “What on earth was that all about? I’ve never seen him in an uproar like that.”
“I know. It’s okay.” Ms. Holloway focused on Brighton. “Management will take care of you, and if they do not, I’m in room 109. Please let me know if I can help you.” With one more long look at Brighton, then a glower to Lowell, she hooked her arm through the older lady’s and moved into a side corridor.
“C’mon.” Lowell headed toward a wing of rooms in the opposite direction.
“I want to leave.”
“We stay here tonight. No other options.” He gave her a sheepish look. “Besides, we can’t do anything until Cord returns. It’s not smart to stay in the open with all the attention we’ve drawn.”
Awareness spread through her as she noticed an older man with a Vietnam Veteran hat sitting by the fire with his wife, both giving her disapproving glares. She felt like the hoodie she wore didn’t sport a team logo but rather the letter A for Adulteress.
How in the name of all that was holy had she ended up here?
Breathe … Breathe … Breathe …
