Her heart sank?—she’d paid for Aston to attend his favorite band at Central Park. “Oh no.”
The angle shifted and unbeknownst to Aston, a man stood behind him with a gun pointed at his back.
“No!” Brighton whipped to Ladomer. Saw Leon. “You swore you’d leave him alone. You promised if I stayed??—you can’t do this!”
. . . . .
Bexar-Wolfe Lodge, Northern Virginia
“Hey.” Cord crouched at her knees, drawing her back to the present. “You have to put that behind you, okay? I know, he knows. It’s done. Over.”
“It’ll never be over.” Her eyes burned as she fought the tumult eating at her soul. “I can’t believe you brought me here.”
“It’s a waystation,” he said. “For now, bide your time and you’re home free.”
“I have no home.” Besides, this wasn’t a waystation. It was torture.
“You will. It starts here, now. Remember when we first talked about pulling you out?” His tone was soft, encouraging. “I warned the first few months would be rough. You’ll make it.” He stepped toward the door. “I need to get moving. You have the burner?—my number is in there. Use it only when absolutely necessary and only once. I’ve told Stone I’ll cover any costs, so get whatever necessities you need. You’ll have supplies coming from Aftercare soon.”
She shrugged. “I don’t need anything.” Clothes were the least of her worries.
“We should have your paperwork soon, and I think you’d like to know that Mari has been returned to her family.”
Relief washed through her, yet??— “She has guards, still. Right?”
He nodded. “Plain-clothes operators will watch her for a while.” He flicked open the door and Lowell was there waiting. “Close and lock the door. Take care.”
Considering them with wide eyes, Brighton did as instructed, then glanced around the room, reality crashing in on her. For now, she was free of Horvath and had nothing to her name except too-big clothes, a bag of convenience store toiletries … and loneliness. Isolation. Holed up in a hotel with the one man who didn’t want her.
Hugging herself, she felt lost, unsure what she was supposed to do all day. For the last six years, she’d been tied to a phone, told where to go, what to wear, and who to meet. Before that?—the same with her agent and modeling gigs. Today? She sat on a lumpy chair watching TV. Flipped through channels for a bit. Already felt bored, so she wandered to the large window, slid open the sliding glass door, and stepped onto the small concrete patio. Brisk air wafted around her as the morning sun climbed into the sky. Eying the sloping mountain in the distance and the trees and lush vegetation, she could almost believe a fresh start was possible.
But … why here?
To face my accuser.
They hadn’t spoken since Ladomer sent the photos. Warned they’d go public if he didn’t immediately resign. She’d tried to stop Ladomer, begged him not to do that to her or Stone. He’d been shrewd, though, protecting her??—his property. Though nothing happened???—well, not in the truest sense, which had both angered and shamed her??—he’d taken down the most honorable man she’d ever known. A set-up that destroyed his career, publicly humiliated him, and ruined him.
It’d gutted her that she’d been part of it. All her life, she’d been full of fanciful ideas and dreams. Gifted with beauty?—that’s how Mama had put it?—Brighton had bought into the measuring tape everyone used to assess her life and sought a modeling career. She quickly realized it gave her control of her life, something she’d never really had as pastor’s kid. She was on the cusp of going international when one stupid choice dismantled all control, or illusion thereof.
Then years later … God blessedly dropped Stone Metcalfe into her life. She’d tried to hide their connection, afraid Ladomer would find out and do exactly what he’d done. Stone had so stood out like a beacon, a lighthouse in the dark storm that had seized her life. He was strong, powerful?—not just in position but his physical strength. He wasn’t handsome in a rakish way, but refined. Distinguished. A man who belonged in a suit. And his character said he was a man who also belonged in power.
That night, when he’d turned those blue eyes in her direction, she hadn’t believed her fortune. They’d played the coy game, stealing glances at each other. She’d intercepted trouble from him three times that night, and he’d noticed. Said she’d rescued him … But really, he’d rescued her?—from despair. From believing nothing good would ever come her way. Believing there was no hope.
A whistle snapped her gaze to the left, down the sidewalk to the pool and rear doors of the great foyer. And there he was in all his six-two glory. That black cowboy hat, jeans, a button-down … So much like the day they met in the capitol. She’d been struck mute at the sight of him, and her heart?—well, he did things to her heart that shouldn’t be allowed.
And wouldn’t.
Because he hated her.
Before he spotted her, Brighton slipped inside. Silently, heart thumping, she locked the sliding door and turned.
Pounding assaulted the door to her room.
No way that could be him. He couldn’t reach that door in that short of time. Could he? Then who was knocking at her door? Had Cord come back?
What if Ladomer had already found her?
Terrorized by the thought, she could not move. She jolted when the knock repeated. Whoever it was, they weren’t going away. Which meant they knew she was in here. Quietly, she crossed the room and slid up to the peep hole, her mind wreaking havoc and pointing out that someone with a gun could kill her right now. She braved a glance.
