Page 10 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

Two minutes to three minutes—I throw a few random toiletries and clothes into a duffel bag and then empty out the contents of my mini-safe.And I’m out.

Out and gone.

In my gut, I know I’ll never be back.

I gun the car and drive out of Las Vegas, putting some distance between everything I just witnessed and wherever the hell it is I’m heading.An hour out of town, I looked down at myself to find I’m still wearing the low-cut red cocktail dress and stilettos I’d selected for my dinner date that night.

Great.

Two hours in, I stop at a twenty-four-hour Walmart off the highway to get some cat food, a sleeping bag, a roadmap, an axe, and a few food staples.It takes hours more to reach what Ithinkis the general area, and then hours more after that to find what I can only hope is the location.

I get lost more than once and turn around on the endless series of dirt roads until I finally have to admit that I have no idea what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into.All I can see in the headlights is tall trees and black nothingness.

So I pull off the road and crawl into the back of the Toyota, curling up in the sleeping bag with Pussy.I don’t sleep.Pussy doesn’t either.Of course, we don’t.We’re on the edge of a dirt road in the middle of nothing.It’s cold.

I don’t cry.I’m too numb to cry.Too stunned to feel anything at all.

And when the sun finally shows itself, I sit up and look around.I scrabble to the front seat and grab the envelope, take out the folded papers, and laugh out loud at the predicament I find myself in.

I’m pretty sure that was the last time I laughed.I may never laugh again.

With Pussy clutched to me, I stare at the darkness inside this strange little shack.I wonder who built it, how long it’s been here, and how it ended up in Karl’s name.

And instead of sheep, I count the many things I forgot to pick up at Walmart that would make life easier up here.

Warmer clothes and sneakers to start.A flashlight and batteries.Fire starters and charcoal.A bottle of bourbon, for fuck’s sake.

But I can’t be too hard on myself.I was in shock wandering the Walmart aisles in my sexy dinner-date dress.I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t piece together all the items I might need while hiding in a mountain cabin.

It’s not like I’ve ever done this before.

I went camping exactly once in my life, when Dad took me to Crater Lake National Park about a four-hour drive from our tiny town of Pine Haven on the Oregon Coast.I hated that trip.I hated it so much that after one endless night of my bitching and complaining, Dad packed us up and drove us home.

He wasn’t mad at me—but hewasdisappointed.

I didn’t like the forest back then and I sure as hell don’t like it now.

The wilderness isn’t exactly my regular habitat.This girl’s got exactly two speeds—the Pacific Ocean or the concrete jungle.That’s it.I’m only interested in nature when a beach or craggy ocean-view cliffs are involved.Otherwise, I prefer traffic and neon lights and coffee shops and late-night dining and shopping.

But what I prefer doesn’t matter anymore, does it?Not after what went down in Vegas.

My comfort zone is irrelevant.The only thing that matters now is doing what I have to do in order to survive, and though I may not like being up here in the middle of Bumfuck, Nevada, I’m glad to be here.

It means I’m still breathing when I’m fairly sure I should be dead.I think I was supposed to die in that bloodbath.

As arranged by the coward and criminal I called my boyfriend.

CHAPTER 5

Special K

It’s four in the morning, a time when most decent people are asleep.Not me.I’m not asleep.And since it’s been quite a few years since I considered myself a decent person, I guess I’m right on point.

I’m walking under a pitch-black sky alive with stars, so bright that they light my way along the ranch lane as I stroll north.

In the profound darkness and silence, it’s easy for me to imagine what life was like for my ancestor, the one with enough stubbornness to make his way from Scotland’s Isle of Mull to America, volunteer to fight in the Civil War, and buy up a large chunk of the Nevada Territory.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Fergus MacLaine walked this very path on a similarly dark night, trying to imagine what the future held for his family, so far from home.I bet he tried to picture the people who would come after him.He probably asked himself if his descendants would be willing to build upon his sweat and sacrifice.