by Skye Jordan
She shook her head, her gaze distant, her voice soft, as if she were reliving those years. “I still wonder how I missed this coming with Hank. It’s humiliating, really. I escaped one cult just to land in another. I fell in love with the idea of the opportunity to make his family my own. I was starving to belong. The ironic thing is that, looking back, I think my experience in Scientology made me more susceptible to Hank’s manipulation and Lyle’s intimidation.”
“Sounds like it might help you escape again.”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I was young then, immortal. And I didn’t have a little boy to think about. Once I had Jamison, all my priorities changed. It took a few times of Hank crossing the line before I realized Jamison and I weren’t safe with him. It’s been a long road, but leaving is the best damn decision I’ve ever made.”
He squeezed her hand. “That explains a lot.”
“Like what?”
“All your strength. I see it every time I’m with you. It’s palpable. I bet that pisses Hank off too. Bullies rarely take well to confrontation.”
“I don’t know how strong I am. I try. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes my fear still wins out. He’s a hard force to outmaneuver day after day, week after week…”
Her words trailed off. Her gaze drifted out the window.
Just when Ian was going to ask her to go on, a reflective surface caught his eye. The door of a cop’s car. A sheriff’s department four-by-four, parked off the road. The vehicle’s headlights were turned off, but the parking lights still glowed.
Savannah saw it too. She released Ian’s hand and turned to look out the back window. A tense silence filled the cab. Ian found her hand again and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. Holding her gaze, he let their joined hands rest on her thigh again. “We’re fine.”
She didn’t respond, but he could read the doubt in her expression. The same doubt filling his chest. Half a mile back, the cruiser’s lights flipped on, and the car glided onto the highway.
Ian bit back a sigh. Confrontation was inevitable. “Do you have something on Hank?”
“Have something?” she asked.
“Something that would hurt him if it got out. He wouldn’t be the first dirty small-town sheriff, and he’s obviously got something going on with those passports.”
“What do you mean?”
“Small towns are notorious for their backwoods justice.” He split his attention between the approaching cruiser and the dark, snowy road stretching ahead. “They have little to no supervision and maintain handshake oaths among politicians to keep the dirt under the rug. Often they aren’t held accountable for unethical or illegal action until it reaches the media. And even then, the boys’ club of law enforcement usually creates an impenetrable blue wall of silence.”
As if the cop knew Ian was bad-mouthing him, the car’s blue and red lights flashed on.
“Damn,” Ian muttered, not exactly surprised, but still annoyed that the rumors were true.
“Shit,” Savannah whispered, sinking back in the seat. “How did they know?”
The impatient, intermittent trill of the cop’s siren cut through the night, but Ian took his time slowing to pull over. He gave her knee another reassuring squeeze. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“I’m so sorry.” Savannah eased to the far side of the bench seat and buckled up again. “I should have known this wouldn’t work.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, searching for a reassuring tone when he was royally pissed these pricks made her life so miserable. “And it doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
He put the car into Park and rested both hands on the steering wheel. Ian followed the cop’s progress in the side mirror.
When he recognized the man, Ian’s stomach sizzled: Hank Bishop.
This ought to be fun.
Hank paused beside Ian’s door and tapped one knuckle on the window. “Open up.”
Ian rolled down the window with an overly solicitous “Good evening, Officer.”
The freezing night air swept in, chilling his face.
Hank put both hands on the window ledge and bent to look through the cab, scowling at Savannah. “What have we got here?”
She jackknifed forward in her seat, twisting to get a better view of Hank. “What—?” Her question never made it out before anger took over. “You said you had a city council meeting tonight. Did you seriously cancel on your son just to harass me?”
“Did you seriously send our son to a friend’s house for the night just so you could whore it up with this—”
“Whoa,” Ian told Hank. “Don’t go there.”
“Don’t tell me how to talk to my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” he corrected.
Hank’s frustration transitioned into arrogance, his grin all-knowing and condescending. “You two going to Smoke, huh?” His gaze jumped back to Savannah and hardened. “We used to go there all the time, didn’t we, sugar?”
“Don’t, Hank—” she started.
“But that’s way out of bounds now, and you know it.” He stepped back, one hand on his duty belt, one on the butt of his weapon. “Out of the car, Heller.”
“Hank, stop—”
“Step. Out.” Hank demanded, cutting off Savannah’s warning.
Common sense told Ian to turn on the humility and let this asshole think he’d intimidated him. And while that might be the best thing for the mission, it would go against all his beliefs, all his values, all his training.
Military Manhunters didn’t back down. Period.
But he was a civilian Manhunter now. He should be evaluating every shade of gray between black and white.
He reached for the door handle.
Savannah slapped a hand to Ian’s arm. “No,” she told him, then looked at Hank. “We’re going home.”
“Not until Heller and I have a little come-to-Jesus meeting,” Hank said. “Get out of the car, or I’ll drag you out.”
“Chill, man.” Ian pulled on the door handle. “I’m getting out.”
“No.” Savannah’s nails dug into Ian’s forearm. Her eyes were wide and terrified. She looked past Ian to plead with her ex-husband. “Leave him out of this, Hank.”
“Too late for that, isn’t it?”
Ian closed his free hand around Savannah’s wrist and pulled her hand away, meeting her eyes. “I’ll be fine.” He lowered his voice. “Stay here.”
“He’s…” she whispered.
“I know,” he assured her. “Believe me, I know.”
Ian stood from the truck. The icy air sliced through his jacket.
The driver’s door hadn’t even closed behind Ian when Bishop threw the first punch. Ian had seen it coming, could have avoided it, but he forced himself not to react.
The bastard’s fist smashed against his cheek. Pain cut through the left side of his face, but in all honesty, it was hardly anything to write home about. The guy didn’t have the strength or technique to do much damage.
Savannah’s scream sounded muffled amid the low thrum of blood in Ian’s ears.
He easily remained on his feet, but fake-stumbled a couple of feet away to put a little distance between them.
“You must not be using your dash camera tonight.” Straightening, he wiped the back of his hand over the corner of his mouth and chuckled. “Bullies always operate in the dark.”
Fury replaced the smug look on Bishop’s face. He hauled his arm back for another punch. Ian ducked, spun, and stepped back. Hank’s momentum turned him in an arc, and he fell against the truck’s fender.
Ian’s blood gushed hot. His reflexes tingled to life, but inner conflict raged between could and should. He put his hands up, palms out. “Man, let’s talk this out. It really doesn’t have to be—”
Bishop came at him again, and this time his reflexes overrode the shoulds in his head. He leaned away, dodging Bishop’s fist and planting his own in Bishop’s gut. He added an uppercut to Bishop’s jaw, snapping the man’s head back,
then retreated to a safe distance.
At least safe for hand-to-hand combat.
But Bishop drew his weapon.
Ian wanted to roll his eyes, because now he was going to have to get serious.
“Hank, don’t!” Savannah yelled, her voice edged with shrill panic. “Jesus, stop this.”
“Shut up,” he yelled back, then told Ian, “Jail or hell? You decide.”
“Great line. But I’m not interested in either.”
In his peripheral vision, the passenger’s door swung open. Savannah boldly strode right toward Bishop.
“Get back in the truck.”
Ian and Hank yelled it in stereo. Ian was sure he’d look back on this moment and laugh. But probably not for a long time.
He grabbed her arm and stepped in front of her, still facing Hank.
“Put your gun away.” Savannah’s icy order matched the weather.
“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do,” he bit out.
“Do it.” Her voice shook a little. “Or I’ll break out the pictures from Halloween three years ago.”
Both Hank and Ian looked at her.
“What fuckin’ pictures?” Hank said just as the same thought crossed Ian’s mind. “You’re full of—”
“And I’ll circulate them all over town. All over the media. No one will ever look at you the same again.” She was trembling, her arm shivering in Ian’s grip. “Your deputies, the mayor, the city council, the entire community—”
“You crazy bitch,” Hank yelled. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Ian wanted to pick up Savannah and carry her back to the truck, but he let the confrontation draw out a little longer, curious about these pictures.
“I’m talking about an emergency room visit Halloween night,” she yelled, her eyes bright with anger. “I’m talking about twenty-six stitches and bruises in five different shades of purple. I’m talking about medical records documenting your drunken rampage. I’m talking about the reason I walked out on you.”
Bishop’s expression shifted from fury to concern. “You don’t have any fucking pictures.”
“Want to test that theory?” she spat at him. “Go ahead. Take Ian to jail.”
“Whoa now, hold on,” Ian tried to add a little levity to the moment. “I’d really rather just go home—”
“I hoped I’d never have to expose you as the bastard you are and myself as the pathetic idiot who gave up everything for you,” Savannah spoke over Ian and stepped out from behind him. “Hoped you’d somehow snap out of this violent, narcissistic streak. But you’ve pushed me too far, Hank. You’re not going to hurt Ian just because you can, and you’ll never take Jamison from me.” Her hands fisted as she leaned closer to Bishop, clearly unintimidated by the Glock still pointed their direction. “Try and watch how fast the news and the photos spread. Watch all the hero worship you enjoy around this town dry up. And before you think of just getting rid of me, know Audrey has everything. She’s been begging to use it against you for years.”
Holy shit. This woman wasn’t just smart, she had balls.
The next few moments seemed to stretch into an eternity. An eternity with the fuse to a bomb burning shorter and shorter. Ian shifted to put his body between the two again, but kept his mouth shut. Savannah had this handled on an emotional and intellectual level. But he kept his muscles coiled tight, ready to take over on a physical level if Bishop didn’t holster his weapon in the next five seconds.
Four. Three. Two.
Bishop lowered his arms.
Ian turned to Savannah and met her gaze deliberately. “In the truck. Please.”
She hesitated. Cut another look at Bishop.
“You heard him.” Bishop holstered his weapon and stabbed his finger toward the truck. “Get back where you belong.”
Savannah’s heart hammered against her ribs like she’d just finished a snowball fight with Jamison. Only without the happy high that fun left behind. Now, all she felt was scared. Scared and embarrassed and guilty.
She let Ian walk her to the passenger’s side of the truck, but never took her gaze off Hank. Before she got in, she cautioned Ian, “Watch your back with him.”
He nodded. “No doubt.”
Once Ian made it back to the driver’s side, Hank said, “Your days are numbered, Heller.”
“Everyone’s days are numbered, Sheriff. Some of us just get more than others.”
The way he stood up to Hank was so…shocking. So unexpected. Confrontational in the most respectful way. Savannah never dreamed something like that could be so sexy on a man.
Ian slid behind the wheel. Then, while Hank stood in the deserted road, hands on hips, glaring at them, Ian swung the truck in a U-turn and started back toward town.
Goodbye, Smoke.
Goodbye, freedom.
Goodbye, hope.
Savannah couldn’t stop wondering how Hank could use what she’d just told him against her. He’d find a way. She just had to figure it out first if she was going to protect herself and Jamison.
Thoughts of Jamison had Savannah pulling out her phone.
Just checking in. Is everything okay? she wrote.
“Texting Misty?”
She looked up from her phone. “You always seem to be one thought ahead of me.”
“It’s a gift.”
She would have laughed if her stomach wasn’t knotted. If his jaw wasn’t ratcheted tight, his lips pressed into a grim line. Savannah worried about Ian’s safety now that Hank had seen them together. And she hated to think of how Ian viewed her now that her dirty laundry was strung out right in front of him.
“What kind of phone is that?” he asked. “I thought you had an iPhone.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the cheap device. “It’s one of those pay-as-you-go phones.”
His gaze drilled into hers. “A burner?”
She was starting to feel boxed in again. “I guess some people call it that.”
“Why do you have two phones?”
She heaved a sigh. Man, she really didn’t want to get into this right now. “Can we talk about this another—”
“He’s got your phone bugged?”
“No,” she answered in a knee-jerk reaction. “I mean, I don’t see how he could. I always have it with me.”
“Where is it now?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s at home. I meant I always know where it is. I don’t just leave it out where someone could get to it.”
“Why did you leave it home and take a burner with you tonight?” he pressed. “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, Savannah.”
She stared out the windshield, considering. She wanted to confide in him—really bad. But she’d stopped trusting anyone but Misty and Audrey years ago.
“Misty told me there’s a way to remotely tap into your phone so someone can listen to your calls. I’ve snuck out on my own before. They don’t watch the back of the house because my car’s always out front, and there are only so many men Hank can spare from regular duty. Besides, I can’t exactly get very far on foot this time of year, so they’re more concerned with my use of the car. I coordinated with Misty to take Jamison to Splash Montana in Missoula. But somehow, they still knew where I was. Every time I’d reach the county line, one of his deputies would be there to turn me around. Every time I’d buy something off Amazon aimed at keeping my privacy, the orders vanished before they reached my porch or they were canceled, but I didn’t cancel them.”
She heaved a sigh, her expression frustrated and lost. “I changed all my passwords, but that didn’t help. Misty said he was probably tracking me with my phone and my computer. She ordered the disposable cells to her home and brought them to me. She also bought something that scrambles my computer activity. I don’t know how it works, but it keeps Hank from interfering with my purchases and internet searches.” She shook her head, furious. “But he’s obviously found another way to track me, because there was no way he knew about
tonight. I’m starting to think he implanted a damn GPS chip into me while I was sleeping or something.”
“He’s not that sophisticated,” Ian said. “I think he’s just listening in on your plans.”
She tossed her hands up. “How?”
“Do you really have those pictures?” he asked.
The change of subject threw her for a second. “Of course I do. I’d never risk your safety with a lie.”
He cut a look at her, but Savannah couldn’t read it. “Why haven’t you used them before this? Long before this. To get him to leave you alone or get yourself out of town?”
His voice was level, making it hard to read his emotions. “Because something that happened years ago, with no witnesses to prove Hank was the person who hit me, will not stand up in a Hazard County court. I need more. I was saving it in the hope it would work as a last-ditch effort, as an emergency get-out-of-Hazard-free card, hoping his reputation in town means more to him than his need for revenge and control.”
“Then why’d you use it tonight?”
“Because he was pointing a gun at you,” she said, her voice rising with frustration. “Maybe you’re used to that after being in the military, but my heart just about jumped out of my chest.”
He stared at her for another moment, then returned his gaze to the road with a soft “Fuck” under his breath.
“Are you mad?” she asked, then quickly followed with “I mean, it would be totally reasonable if you were. I am, and if I were in your place, I’d be really—”
“No,” he cut her off. “I’m not mad. Not at you. At him, yeah. At this situation, you’re damn right. I can’t stand the way he’s got you cornered in this little town, trapped between Canada, the Blackfeet Reservation, and the Rockies with your only way out through him. And I’m royally pissed off that you had to use your ace in the hole to save my sorry ass.”
He exhaled hard, as if he had more to say but wouldn’t let himself. With his elbow on the window ledge, Ian wiped his hand across his mouth and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a soft rumble now, filled with apology and compassion. “Like I said, I’m not angry with you. I’m angry for you.”
Savannah experienced a quick, deep tug of connection. The way he’d cut to the heart of the biggest obstacle in her life validated her in a way she’d never experienced. She felt…seen. She hadn’t realized—until that very moment—how minimized she’d felt all these years. How she could see so many people day in and day out, but not one acknowledged her struggle. Yet, Ian had been in town two weeks, and he’d not only recognized her problem but was incensed over the injustice of it.
