Rosie needed it, too.
My skin prickled.
Something felt wrong. Something felt off. It was too still in here. Too quiet. Behind the counter, a tiny television droned on and on, the only sound in the tiny store. The woman’s hands trembled as she fiddled with some papers, and I frowned. My gaze flicked to her face. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, and her skin was pale.
Words from the television cut through my thoughts. “Garrett Butler is a dangerous man. He’s wanted in connection to the murder of several individuals we are unable to name at this time.”
My head swivelled to the TV. There, on the grainy screen, an old image of my previous identity was plastered for all the world to see. My entire body tensed, and I sucked a breath of air through my nostrils, slow and steady.
I needed to stay calm. This didn’t matter. Garrett Butler had been one of my previous identities, and I hadn’t been known as that in years. When I’d first gone on the run, the news had been overrun by these images. It wasn’t anything new. I should have known this would happen again now that they had a lead on my location.
The man in that picture didn’t even look like me anymore.
“At the present time, authorities believe that Garrett Butler is going by another name and has made slight alternations to his appearance. A witness has provided a sketch for comparison.”
A black and white drawing smacked up on the screen right by the old photo of me. Unease and fear skittered along my skin. The drawing matched me perfectly. Whoever this witness was had made the connection, and the FBI knew exactly what I looked like now.
And so did everyone else in the world.
Fuck. I needed to get out of here.
I began to back away toward the door.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” The woman’s voice wobbled as she pointed up at the television.
Fuck.
I stared hard at her. She was so young. So stupid. If I were anyone else, she’d be dead in a heartbeat. Realization dawned on her face, and she widened her eyes, slowly backing up until she smacked into the rack of ammo behind her.
“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I won’t call the cops. I promise.” Her voice shook hard, her eyes darted around her. No one else was in the shop but us.
And she was lying her goddamn ass off. I could read it in the way her veins thrummed in her neck. She’d call the cops just as soon as I walked out that door, and the FBI would swoop in on this place faster than I could blink. Rosie would be taken back to witness protection, and her son would be stuck with Scooter Stone until the agency finally made a move. And that could take years.
I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath. What the fuck was I going to do now?
Chapter Twenty-One
Rosie
Franklin had been gone over an hour. I paced across the hardwood floor in the living room, my eyes darting toward the windows every time I heard the slightest of creaks. Rain poured down outside, making it impossible to see further than the front steps and the porch swing that was rattling in the heavy wind.
I hugged my arms to my chest and moved away from the windows. I needed a distraction, something to keep my frantic mind occupied until Franklin got back. Even though he said this place was safe—and even though I believed him—I felt on edge without him by my side.
After perching on the couch, I flicked on the TV. A large screen had been mounted on the wall, stretching across almost the entire surface, like a home movie theater. I scanned through the channels, but nothing was on but soaps, game shows, and the news.
Maybe there would be something on the news about what was happening in Carlsville. It wasn’t every day that the FBI swarmed such a small Tennessee town. I turned up the volume and tried to relax into the couch cushions, but what I saw next shook me to my bones.
“We believe that Garrett Butler is somewhere in the East Tennessee region, though sources say he is currently on the move. He’s driving a black Porsche and has a female in her early twenties with him.”
I leaned forward, my heart beating so hard I could barely breathe. There was both a photo and a drawing on the screen, displayed side by side. The photo was of a man who looked vaguely familiar, arms covered by intricate tattoos I’d been admiring only hours before. And the drawing? It looked just like Franklin.
“Authorities believe that he may have kidnapped this woman.” The pictures flicked away to reveal a dark-haired news reporter shuffling papers at a curving desk. “If anyone has any information about this man, please call the number displayed below. We must repeat the severity of the situation. This is a dangerous man who is wanted for multiple murders. Be safe.”
I held myself frozen to the couch, staring at the screen. The report about Garrett Butler was quickly replaced by a weather update, but I barely saw what was before me. The images were blurred as the tears filled my eyes. Tears of both fear and pain.
They were talking about Franklin. A fugitive. A murderer.
My whole body shook as I clutched the soft fabric of the couch between my palms. I had to get out of here. I needed to get away. I had to go now before it was too late.
A murderer had taken me into the middle of nowhere. To a hidden cabin in the woods. And I’d been sleeping in the same bed with him for a week.
And I’d had just sex with him.
Vomit bubbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Now wasn’t the time to be weak. He might have left me here without a car, but I had two legs that could run. Before I could think things through, I jumped up from the couch and ran out of the cabin. Overhead, the sky shook and rumbled, and all around me puddles were forming as the rain seized control of the ground.
I took a deep breath and splashed down the steps until the pouring rain consumed every inch of my skin. Shivering, I whirled around, eyeing up my surroundings. Trees rose high on every side, and the only sign of humanity was the thin muddy drive stretching down to the road half a mile away.
I couldn’t go down that drive. Franklin or Garrett or whatever his name was would be back at any moment, and I couldn’t risk him catching me on the run. I wouldn’t stand a chance if I met him face to face.
Instead, I rushed around the side of the cabin and toward a steep hill that led into the trees. I could make my way out of here by following the road from the safety of the forest, hidden in case Franklin drove by. My shoes slipped as I climbed up the side of the hill, and my knees sunk into the muddy ground. Gasping, I clutched at branches and limbs, smearing dirt into my clothes along with the rain that was soaking me with every second that passed.
I finally made it to the top of the hill and ducked into the forest. The sky darkened even more, and the rain broke through the trees, plopping heavily onto my arms and head. I shivered and continued to drive my feet forward, my heart rocketing hard in my chest.
Sobs threatened to choke my throat as I thought back to all the moments I’d spent wrapped in Franklin’s arms. I had to do whatever it took to get out of here. He was a murderer, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d be his next victim.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Franklin
I flexed my arms and stepped closer to the counter, throwing back my shoulders and glaring down at the woman. It was a move I didn’t like to make, but it came in handy during times like this, when I needed to show someone exactly who they were dealing with. And it worked every goddamn time. She cowered and fell silent, her eyes wide.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I repeated. “But I can’t risk you calling the cops before I get out of here.”
“I swear I won’t do it,” she said, her eyes flicking to the phone on the wall and betraying her intentions. “You have to believe me.”
“If I were in your shoes, I would do the same,” I said, though I was careful to keep my voice hard and firm. “Now, turn around.”
Shivering, the girl obeyed, turning her back toward me. I yanked her arms behind her back and pressed her wrists together before taking a lon
g chord I’d snatched from a package on the wall and tying it tight around them. She continued to shake as I secured her to a pole behind the counter, but she didn’t make a sound.
There. I stood back and observed my handy work. These cables wouldn’t hold long if she struggled—or if an unsuspecting Good Samaritan came through the door—but it would keep her from calling the cops long enough for me and Rosie to get the hell out of this place.
I grabbed a rifle and some ammo before I turned and strode out the door, pausing only when the woman’s voice came out in a weak whisper. “You aren’t a very good man.”
And didn’t I fucking know it.
After sloshing back through the rain, I threw all the supplies into the passenger side of the truck. I had no idea where Rosie and I would go now, but at least we’d have some protection in case we ran into trouble. I didn’t have a tent or sleeping bags or anything to keep us dry and warm if we had to camp out in the wild, but a night spent out in the mud was better than one spent in a windowless cell.
An hour later, I pulled up in front of the cabin and frowned when I saw the screen door swinging in the heavy wind. A new wave of paranoia rocked through my body. There was no way the FBI or Scooter could have found Rosie that fast. Even if the girl in the shop had made the call, it could take hours for anyone to find this cabin, if they even did.
But why the fuck was the door open?
Something was wrong. I eased quietly out of the truck, careful not to slam the door behind me. My fingers itched by my side as I stalked toward the cabin, my eyes darting around me for any sign of an intrusion while I’d been gone. There were several small footprints in the mud around the porch, leading around to the side of the house.
I crouched down and ran my fingers along the edges of the prints. It was just one set, stamped all around me as if whoever had left them had been running in circles. Someone small. Someone the size of Rosie. I frowned and continued to scan the ground. Hers were the only prints.
“What were you doing out here, sweetheart?” I murmured softly to myself.
Slowly, I stood and walked quietly up the stairs to the front porch, the wood creaking underneath my heavy boots. I caught the swinging door in my hand and peered inside. All the lights were out, save for the flickering glow cast by the large television mounted on the wall. It was set to the same news station that the woman in the store had been watching.
Fuck.
I stormed into the cabin, no longer caring about the volume of my steps. My shoes slipped along the sleek wood, but I didn’t slow down. She’d been watching the goddamn news, and she’d seen my fucking face plastered across the screen. It was even still there, the word murderer highlighted underneath it in a big red font.
“Rosie?” I bellowed out as I spun in my steps and began throwing open door after door of the cabin. Maybe she was hiding somewhere, I tried to tell myself. Though I knew it wasn’t true. Rosie Smith was nowhere in this house. She’d run outside in the rain and disappeared.
She wouldn’t be safe out there all alone in the woods.
I went to the bedroom in the back and yanked open the chest of drawers, digging through the sheets and blankets I found carefully piled inside. At the bottom, my hands slid across something slick and smooth, and I pulled out a parka in a dark mint green. On my way back to the front of the house, I stopped in the kitchen to grab the flashlight stowed away underneath the sink.
I took a deep breath and stepped back out in the rain. Rosie’s footprints led away from the porch, up a steep hill, and into the woods. My feet sinking in the mud, I followed after them. I didn’t know what the hell she’d been thinking to run off in a storm like this. No, that wasn’t true. I knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
Get the hell away from the murderer as fast as possible.
Anger and pain stormed inside my gut as I trudged up the hill, the rain splatting hard on the top of my head. This was all the goddamn agency’s fault and whoever had been behind getting me burned in the first place. For a long time, they’d been ruining my life, but now they were ruining more than just mine.
If Rosie got lost—or worse—in the woods, someone would have to fucking pay.
At the top of the hill, the trees closed in tight around me, blotting out any remaining light from the charcoal sky. I flicked on the flashlight and crouched to scan the forest floor. Rosie’s footsteps continued through the trees, a clear path in the thick mud.
I began to follow them, my heart hammering hard in my chest. Her footsteps were beginning to fade as the rain kept pounding down from the sky, and I had to move fast if I didn’t want to lose her trail. Every few steps, I broke off a limb so we could find our way back to the cabin, though I had a sinking feeling that she’d never go with me even if I found her in this storm.
She thought I was a murderer.
Images of her wide and innocent eyes flashed through my mind. The way she’d looked when she’d opened herself to me, begging me to take her into my arms. My heart squeezed and pain flashed through my gut. She’d never look at me like that again.
I continued to trudge on, the mud caking to my boots. Rain splashed all around me, freezing my skin along with my heart. This was hopeless. Rosie was long gone. Maybe she’d moved to the road just beyond the trees and had caught a ride with someone driving by.
Through the downpour, a soft whimper met my ears. I froze in place, cocking my head to listen. The whimper came again, the unmistakable sound of a woman in pain.
Heart trapped in my throat, I rushed ahead, shoving aside limbs and thorns and leaves. Through the trees, I finally spotted her. Rosie was sprawled on the forest floor, soaking wet and covered in dirt. Her legs were twisted underneath her at an odd angle, and her face was contorted in pain.
“Rosie!” I yelled out as I rushed toward her, my shout caught up in the wind.
She twisted toward me when she heard my voice. And then she screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rosie
Oh god, he’d found me. Adrenaline shot through my tired, cold body, and I dug my elbows into the dirt, trying to wriggle up onto my legs. Pain shot through my knee, and I cried out in pain. Come on, Rosie. Stand the fuck up. He was coming at me, rushing through the trees with his eyes full of fire.
Panting, he dropped to my side. I opened my mouth to scream, but he clamped his hand over my lips. He smelled of manly cologne, of dirt, of sweat. Panic swept through me, and I tried to scramble away, but my stupid leg shot another bullet of pain into my knee.
“Rosie,” he whispered, eyes frantically flickering over every inch of me. “Don’t scream. Someone might hear you.”
Good, I thought, but I couldn’t speak the word with his palm still pressed against my lips. Instead, I shot daggers with my eyes.
“You’re hurt,” he said, eyes moving down to my twisted leg. I’d slipped on a pile of wet leaves when I’d heard him thrashing through the forest behind me, and my knee had twisted with a sharp snap as I fell to the ground.
I tried to pull away but he shook his head. “I’m not what you think I am.”
My heartbeat thrummed in my neck, and tears welled in my eyes. I wanted to believe him. I didn’t want to think Franklin was capable of murdering a bunch of innocent people, but I knew what I’d seen on the news. It hadn’t been difficult to piece things together. His intense need for secrecy. His insistence I had no idea who he was. This was what he’d been hiding from me, and now that I’d found out, there was no telling what he would do to keep me quiet.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Please don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do what they said I did.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?” I mumbled into his hand.
Sighing, he stared hard into my eyes. Something in them made the fear and doubt ease up just enough for me to wonder if I’d been wrong.
He looked worried, but more about me than about him. He wasn’t acting at all like I’d expected a murderer to act. Franklin, or Garrett
, or whoever he was…he was still being kind to me. Just like he’d always been.
“If I take away my hand, do you promise not to scream?” he asked.
I nodded, and a second later, his hand was gone. “How am I supposed to believe you?”
“Have I done anything at all that says I’m that kind of man?” he said, pulling a green package from his pocket. As he unwrapped it, I saw what it was. A parka. He draped it over my shoulders and took my cold and trembling hands in his. I flinched, a part of me desperate to pull away. But I couldn’t shake the look on his face. Soft, caring, gentle.
“The news said you were on the run from the FBI.” I shivered and wrapped the parka tighter around my shoulders, the cold suddenly descending upon me like a bucket of ice. My arms even looked a little blue. I’d been in such a frenzy to escape, I hadn’t noticed how cold I’d gotten in the storm.
“That part is true.” Franklin stood and held out a hand for me to grab. I could only stare up at him, my mind and heart and body split as to what to do. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you, Rosie. And I promise I’d never do anything to hurt you. Just let me get you back inside where it’s warm and where we can check out that knee of yours.”
Nodding, I took his hand.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Franklin
I hauled Rosie into my arms and carried her back to the cabin, rain pouring all around us. She was shivering, skin blue and hair plastered to her cheeks. I wrapped my arms tighter around her and made my way through the thick trees, my heart thumping hard with every step. I would carry her all the way to Canada if that’s what I had to do in order to keep her safe.
We didn’t have much time, but I couldn’t ask her to rush away from this place until she was warm and dry. Her knee didn’t look quite right either, twisted and swollen. And she still looked at me with fear.
Taken: Saved by the Billionaire Bad Boy Page 8
