by Kris Norris
He heard her swallow, the sound thick. Shaky. “Bridgette? Are you crying? Shit, are you hurt? Pull—”
“No. You don’t get to ask me that after what you said. You don’t get to say shit.”
He pulled the phone away, looking at it as if it might give him the answers because he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “After what I said? What the hell did I say that made you ditch me? Just hours after nearly getting killed?”
A sniff. Damn. She was crying.
He tamped down his anger. This wasn’t like her. Something was wrong. “Darling, please—”
“Don’t call me that. Just… I’m fine. Thank you for everything you did, everything your friends did. I know I can never repay you or them. Never say thank you enough, but it’s over. I’ll ask for police protection once I’m back, just to be safe. But your job is done.”
Job? Did she seriously think she was nothing but a job to him? Hadn’t he told her he cared? That he more than cared?
“Is this about last night? Was it too much? Did I scare you? You could have told me.”
“Too much?” She snorted, but he heard the thickness in her voice. The wavering pitch. “I trusted you. I let you hold me down. You knew what that meant to me. You should have just come clean, then.”
Sam glanced at Ice, arching a brow, wondering if Bridgette was talking in a different language. “I don’t understand what you mean by coming clean. Of course, I know what holding you like that meant to you. It meant just as much to me.”
Silence. Dead silence.
“Bridgette?”
“Extreme measures, huh?”
He froze. Again. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. And I heard you. I guess I was wrong before. You do understand women. Whatever they taught you in Army Ranger school…you aced it. Because I believed every word. Congratulations, soldier. Mission accomplished.”
Shit. “Bridgette. It’s not like that. I didn’t—”
The line went dead.
“Bridgette!”
He called her back, cursing when it went to voicemail, again. This couldn’t be happening.
“Midnight.”
He stared at the phone, watching the dot move closer to her home. Closer to leaving him for good. He could follow her, but once she got back to Seattle—once she arranged for police protection and didn’t need him, anymore—he’d be hard pressed to win her back. Hell, he’d be hard pressed, now, but at least he might have a shot. A chance to explain in private.
“Sam!”
He glanced over at Ice. Had he just called him Sam? The guys never did that unless it was during introductions.
Ice shook his head. “Snap the fuck out of it. We’ll explain everything to her. Fuck, it’s my fault. If I hadn’t teased you…” He glanced over at Sam. “I didn’t know she was listening. That she’d heard.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
“I was the one who brought up you sleeping with other clients. Christ, I’m an idiot. She obviously didn’t hear anything after that or she would have realized it was a joke.”
“I didn’t tell her.”
Ice frowned, glancing quickly at him before concentrating on the road. “Tell her what?”
Sam just stared at him.
“Oh. You didn’t tell her that you love her.”
“The night she was attacked. It left some lingering issues. Intimacy issues. But, last night…” He slammed his fist on his thigh, wishing it hurt a lot more than it did. “She took a risk. A huge risk. I knew it. I knew it meant more than her trusting me. She was telling me she loved me. Not with words. With her actions—fuck, they were screaming it at me. And what did I do? I told her I cared.”
He slammed his hand against the window, this time, embracing the sting that shot up his arm. “I actually used that word. I said I ‘cared’ about her. Then, I pounded into her as if my fucking life depended on it, instead of showing her I’d gotten the message.”
He hung his head. “This is all on me. Like that jump. I saw Gray stumble. Saw his hand twitching. He even said he felt invincible. I knew something was up. But, then, the PT tech said Gray was fine, and I just let it go.” He closed his eyes. “Let him step out into the dark. I could have stopped him. I was standing right there.”
Ice remained quiet, nothing but the rumble of the tires on the snow sounding inside the vehicle. The roads were getting worse, slowing them down. At this rate, Bridgette would be long gone before they made it to Livingston.
A few minutes passed before his buddy shook his head. “So, that’s what this is really about.” He slowed a bit in order to gaze over at Sam for more than just a second before turning back to the road and picking up speed. “You gotta let that go, Midnight. Gray’s death wasn’t your fault.”
He held up his hand, cutting off Sam’s reply. “He was a fucking Army Ranger. He’d made a hundred HAHO jumps, just like that one. He had to know something was off, but he chose to jump. To ignore the symptoms and put everyone else at risk. Probably not consciously. But that doesn’t change the fact that he did. And you did everything you could to save his ass. But, sometimes…shit just happens. Time to bury it. Send his ghost to the other side for good.”
Sam stared at him. Fuck, when had he become this open book?
Ice chuckled. “Close your mouth before your face gets stuck that way. I’m not blind. Been on almost as many missions with you as the rest of your unit. Not sure why I seemed to get stuck with your sorry ass all the time, but I know that look in your eyes. See it in the mirror, myself. But there comes a time when we gotta move forward. Bridgette’s your new mission.” He punched Sam in the shoulder. “So, suit up, and let’s go get the little minx before she makes me drive all the way to fucking Seattle.” He winked at Sam. “I hate Seattle. All that rain.”
Some of the tension eased. Not much, but enough that Sam was able to breathe. “Well, if you’d stop driving like a pussy, we’d be in Livingston, already.”
Ice smiled. “You know I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
“Then, you’ll go apeshit when I tell you to—”
A blast of music drowned out his voice. He looked at his phone, frowning at the unknown number. “Montgomery.”
A throat cleared on the other end. “Is this Sam Montgomery? First Lieutenant Samuel Montgomery?”
“Used to be. Who’s this?”
“Jack Taylor. Special Agent Jack Taylor. George Hayward gave me your number.”
Sam glanced at Ice then put the call on speaker, even though Ice had seemed to hear every word between him and Bridgette. “You’re Bridg’s FBI friend. She…mentioned you a few times.”
“That sounds perfectly ominous.”
“You seem to be one of the few people she trusts. That says a lot. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been trying to reach Bridgette, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. It’s vital I speak with her. Immediately.”
The hairs on Sam’s neck stood up. He knew that tone. It meant trouble. “She’s driving back to Livingston to pick up some of her belongings. I’m with Russel Foster. He’s an Air Force PJ. Tough as nails. Trustworthy. I’ve got you on speaker, just so you know. We’re not too far behind her. Had a couple of loose ends to tie up. Just took down a squad of Stevens’ men during an attempt on Bridgette’s life. Looks like the worst is over.”
Silence. Again.
“Jack? You still there?”
“There’s been a…development. One I’m concerned about.” The man’s sigh echoed through the cab. “How much do you know about a guy named Brock Worthington?”
The name nearly set Sam off, and he had to consciously clench his muscles to keep from slamming his fist against the dash. “He’s Senator Worthington’s son, and also happens to be the sick son of a bitch who put Bridg in the hospital.” Dead man walking if Sam had his way.
“I see she told you. Then, you’re aware I’ve been keeping tabs on him. On the family. Just in case
anything developed that might give Bridgette a chance at nailing his ass for what he did. Or if he decided there needed to be a round two.”
Not as long as Sam was able to breathe. “She mentioned that, which I appreciate. Bridgette has a hard time asking for help. Seems to think she has to do everything herself to prove she’s strong.”
“Agreed. Which is why I dug a bit deeper after the incident in her building. The way she described the guy who’d followed her—it didn’t sound like a gang member to me. Creeped me the hell out, to be honest.”
A dull roar sounded in Sam’s ears, and he had to focus on each finger in order to release his death grip on his phone. “What did you say?”
Another length of silence. “Shit. She didn’t tell you about it. About being followed. Hunted, really. How the guy had been masked. Had a big gun with a suppressor. That he’d shot up her Jeep.”
A mix of white-hot anger and fear scorched through Sam’s body, making it hard to breathe. To sit there without punching everything in sight. Suppressors weren’t standard fair for drug dealers and gang members. “I read the report on the Jeep. It didn’t mention any bullets.”
“They never found any inside, so they marked it down as vandalism. Fucking rookies. Thankfully, she gave half of the photos and the note the bastard had left on her desk to me before heading home to Montana. She’s smart. Thought my department might have more resources to unearth some evidence. ID the prick.”
Christ, this just got worse the more Jack talked. “He’d left her photos? And a note? What the fuck did it say?”
“I’m coming for you.”
“Damn it. I knew she was hiding stuff from me, but I thought she’d come clean. No wonder she’s been distant the past twenty-four hours. She’s feeling guilty about not telling me. About how it might have influenced a few important decisions.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “You think Worthington’s the guy behind the mask?”
“The fact she can still press charges makes him a suspect in my books every time she gets threatened.” Jack mumbled under his breath. “She needs to find a new vocation. But…so far, my suspicions have never panned out.”
“That implies they’ve panned out this time.”
“The day she got those photos, a Bureau task force raided a health club in the posher side of town. It was being used as a waylay point for drugs, weapons, sex trade workers. Anything and everything that makes your skin crawl. The club is owned by a shell company that leads back to—”
“The Worthingtons.”
“You got it. We’ve suspected for years that Senator Worthington was involved in arms dealings, human trafficking, and money laundering. But haven’t been able to connect him to anything. This bust—it’s huge. Not only does it implicate the senator in illegal undertakings, the drugs they found tie him back to Alex Stevens. With Stevens’ trial on the horizon, the team bagged and tagged everything. Every toothpick, every damn condom in the machines. It’s taken a month to catalogue everything and connect the dots, which is why it only popped up on my radar a couple of days ago. When I saw the report, I pulled a few strings. Finally got a list of their inventory. There’s a knife listed on there with a photo.”
Sam’s blood turned to ice. Froze him from the inside out. He tried to form a sentence but only managed to repeat the word, “Knife.”
Jack sighed, again. “I know how you feel. When I saw the photo with the tip of the blade broken off—the same fucking type that had disappeared from the hospital… It took me ten minutes to remember how to breathe. I got clearance to retrieve the knife this morning, since it’s not really vital to either case. It had been packed away in an old toolbox in a safe. Probably been there since that night. It’s the one. I’ll bet my life on it.”
Sam swallowed in the hopes of getting his damn throat to work. “Bridgette doesn’t know, yet, does she?”
“No way she could have. The team organizing Stevens’ case didn’t have all the information from the new bust that’s relevant to her case until a few hours ago when it got put into evidence. They were going to walk her through everything once she’d returned. Which means—”
“Only Brock knew the significance of it before Stevens’ lawyers would have gotten notice of the new evidence this morning. Only he and his father knew it could tie them to Stevens’ drug cartel, not to mention linking Brock back to Bridgette’s assault. No way to avoid it, this time. It all would have come out during the trial.”
“Unless someone kills the only person that can substantiate the claims. Make the connections. But…I don’t see Stevens caring if Worthington goes down. Not if he’s already neck deep. Why not take a big political figure down with him?”
Ice cleared his throat. “But, then, why did Stevens send all those men after her? A couple already admitted they were sent here by that bastard. Are hoping to cut deals.”
Jack breathed into the phone. “I have no doubts Stevens sent most of the threats. Tried to get her to throw the case. But who’s to say Stevens was the one who sent this last batch? If he’s in bed with Worthington the way we think he is, the good senator could have been behind the latest contract. Made it appear like Alex Stevens had sent the orders. Bridgette hasn’t sought the death penalty for him, yet. But, if an assistant US Attorney ends up dead at the hands of his known associates…”
Sam growled. “It’d be the first thing her successor does. And, if they don’t have enough to charge Worthington, to actually prove he’s a partner, Stevens dies, and Worthington’s in the clear. That might explain why the previous threats were mostly for show. Those were the ones that actually came from Stevens.”
Fuck. He’d had that hunch all along. That there might be more to this than a drug lord trying to intimidate an attorney. That it would be the perfect time to piggyback another agenda.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Worthington has some ace up his sleeve that’s going to put his association with Stevens in question. The guy had deep pockets and enormous connections. The only thing he can’t control is what Brock did to Bridgette. It’s on record. We all know Dwayne Worthington bought his son’s freedom. That knife will prove they lied. It’s the proverbial smoking gun.”
Sam glanced at the dot. It had stopped. She was home.
He bit back another curse. “Hey, Jack? I don’t suppose you know what kind of car Brock drives?”
Jack snorted. “Funny you should ask. He drives a Stingray. Black. Kitted out. Reeks of blood money. Why?”
“Shit. We’re almost in Livingston. Call whoever you trust that’s close. Tell them to head to Bridgette’s house. I’ll call Hank. Get him to get his ass there any way he can. This isn’t over.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It meant just as much to me.
The words repeated in her head as Bridgette opened the door then stumbled inside. Bone weary. Wishing she could curl up in her bed for a week. Shut out the rest of the world. Shut out Sam’s voice.
A shrill tone caught her off-guard, and she shrieked before she realized it was the damn alarm Sam had installed. She punched in the code, staring at the faceplate. Christ. He was everywhere. She’d inhaled his scent the entire drive back. She hadn’t realized his cologne had been infused into her Jeep. That the air seemed saturated with a mix of male spice and cottonwood. That she’d be forced to breathe him in for the hour-long drive. Or that he’d left his station programmed into her radio. There was even a pair of his gloves on the backseat.
Just another reminder of how foolish she’d been. How easily she’d played into his hand. While she’d initially admired his mission-oriented way of thinking, now, it left her feeling flat. Hollow. As if he’d taken part of her with him—stolen it in the night without her even realizing it. Maybe he had. Like all those missions he’d performed overseas where no one ever knew he’d been in and out.
The thought burned hot beneath her skin. She’d prided herself on being able to see through lines. Though flowery bullshit. Yet, she’d let Sam trick her. And not just
once. Twice. All that talk about what had happened when they were teenagers—most likely just more lies. Fabrications designed to pull at her heartstrings. To make her trust him.
And she had. Like a freaking fish grabbing for a worm and not seeing the hook. She’d just latched on and let him reel her all the way in.
Only, it had been real for her. Other than not telling him about the incident in her building, she’d been completely honest with him. Bared a part of her soul she hadn’t shown anyone. Ever. Confided secrets she’d never uttered aloud. And he’d made her feel…
That was her problem. She’d let herself feel. Had leaped blindly ahead, oblivious to the traps he’d set. She’d been reckless. Uninhibited. And, now, she’d have to learn the lesson Brock had beaten into her all over, again.
Pain tightened her chest. Had it always been this hard to breathe? To focus? She knew Sam would follow. He was a soldier, and watching over her was his mission. Logic dictated that he wouldn’t stop until she was back in Seattle, a token cop in tow. Which meant grabbing the few things she needed then heading out.
She probably could have done without the files. Without her running shoes or boxing gloves. She could have bought new ones. But she’d driven here instinctively. Maybe it was because she wanted to say goodbye. See her grandmother’s house one last time. Because after today, she wouldn’t be coming back.
Montana would be nothing but memories. A view of snow-capped mountains and sprawling ranches reflected in her rearview mirror. She’d let her father decide what to do with the house. As much as she’d hoped that, one day, she might be able to make it her home, it wouldn’t shock him when she didn’t. She’d been gone for a dozen years. She’d been foolish to think she could have come back to stay. That her time here would offer her more than what it had—a place to hide.
It struck her that, somewhere deep inside, she’d been secretly hoping for some kind of epiphany. That the pictures or the landscape would offer a solution that would ease the emptiness that had taken root inside her. That she’d find another path that didn’t leave her feeling…
