by Tiffani Lynn
“My head’s pounding. Can I lie down for a minute?”
“Don’t pass out. If this guy decides to come in after you it could get hairy.”
“Hairy?” I’m way more drunk than I thought I was; I can’t figure out what he’s talking about.
“The guy in the parking lot. You know you’re being watched, right?”
My stomach rolls over. I thought I got away free and clear. How did they find me?
“You might as well leave me here and go. I can’t escape it and I don’t care anymore.” I fall back and close my eyes to avoid watching the room spin and allow myself to drift off. I’ve got nothing left to live for anyway. I’ve cut off contact with virtually everyone I know, except my parents, because I was afraid for their lives. I’m lonely, I’m tired of being scared, and I hate what my life has become. Dying doesn’t sound too bad right now.
3
Elias
How the hell did I stumble on the only woman in the state of Montana with serious drama? Whatever is going on isn’t your run-of-the-mill trouble either. The guy in the truck outside has the look of a street thug. You don’t find any of those around these parts. I wish she were feeling a little more talkative so I could figure out what’s going on and decide what to do. Being passed out, she’s about to lose her choice in the matter. If Swede gets here and she’s still out cold, she’s going over my shoulder and back to my place. I have a state-of-the-art alarm system and plenty of firepower to take out anyone who comes sniffing around her until I can figure out what the hell is going on.
I knew when I laid eyes on her in the bar that I should’ve stayed away from her. I have a feeling I’m going to end up regretting this, but after losing my little sister like I did, I can’t walk away from a woman in need. There are so many nights I lie awake wishing someone would’ve been man enough to step in and help her. Of course, I was over in Afghanistan and she was in college, so there was nothing I could do. But even seven years later I can’t come to terms with the fact that she died helpless and alone.
It’s only 10 minutes later when Swede shows up with Hank. Swede shoves Reya’s stuff in her suitcase and drags it to the car while I throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my truck. Hank covers us, eyes on the watcher in the truck the whole time. Once we’re all loaded up, Hank and Swede escort us to the property where I rent a room. The black truck follows at a distance. The gate to the property is electric and takes a remote or code to open it. Although it’s not impossible to breach without the remote or code, it’s much more difficult than driving right up to a house. I have no idea what this lady’s done, but I know it’s serious. When she’s safe and tucked away in my bed I’ll do a little digging.
No one came looking last night, but I don’t expect it to be that easy tonight. If you aren’t coming through the main gate you either have to approach on foot, horseback or ATV, and out here you have to know the lay of the land or there’s no telling where you’ll end up. I sent a text to the owner of the property about the make, model and driver of the truck and started my background check. She’ll be pissed when she realizes I went through her purse to get her identification, but I don’t care. I needed answers and I couldn’t wait for her to come out of her drunken stupor.
The information was easy to locate and her behavior tonight made a lot more sense once I got all the information. Reya Spencer is an RN from Florida who was severely injured in a motorcycle accident that claimed the life of her husband a year ago yesterday. According to her social media sites, she just got back from a European vacation her parents encouraged her to take after getting out of the physical therapy rehab facility a couple of months ago.
I glance over at the dark-haired beauty passed out on my bed and wonder what she’s been through. I’ve experienced my own set of troubles over the last year and can’t help but feel protective of her. It’s stupid, considering I don’t know anything about her that I haven’t read online. She could be a raging bitch or a spoiled, uppity, money-grubber. There may not be an ounce of good in her and I might change my mind and want to turn her out to face that guy alone in a few hours when she wakes. For now, though, her history is enough to fire up all of my protective instincts.
For a few minutes, I study her. The clothing she’s wearing isn’t expensive. It’s not cheap either, but it doesn’t look as if she has a shopping problem. Even her suitcase had a minimal amount of clothing, all of it from middle-class retailers. Her limbs are long and a little too lean, not enough to make you turn away, but enough to make you realize she’s had a rough year. There’s a dark pink raised scar running from her collarbone up into her hairline. A couple of lighter scars under her chin are visible and one larger one on her cheek that I didn’t notice last night. After reading the police report on the accident, I’m certain there are more to be found under her clothing.
Dark, thick eyelashes lie against her olive skin. One of her ears is exposed and has a slight point at the tip, almost like an elf. It’s kind of cute. I know from last night that when those lashes lift they’ll expose striking green eyes that have probably been making men stupid since she hit puberty. What could she have done in the little bit of time that she’s been out of the hospital to have serious trouble following her from Florida to Montana?
An hour later Reya wakes, startled and a little freaked out. With no recollection of the events of last night, I wonder if she was drugged. It would explain why the guy was waiting outside. He thought she’d leave the bar ready to pass out and make his job a piece of cake.
“Easy, doll. I ain’t gonna hurt you. I brought you here to protect you. Whatever trouble you’re running from caught up to you last night and we had to get an escort out here to keep you safe. Tonight, I’ll have to keep a closer watch on the property, but for now, you’re okay. You wanna tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
“It’s not safe for you to have me here. I need you to take me back to my car. I’m on my own with this. Alex left me in a mess I can’t seem to escape.”
“Alex? Your husband?” Her eyes narrow on me and she takes a few cautious steps backward.
“Don’t freak out. I pulled your driver’s license from your purse and did a background check. I wasn’t sure who I was protecting and thought it best to have a clue.”
“You went through my stuff?”
“No, only your wallet so I could get your name for a background check. My buddy piled your stuff in your suitcase, but he didn’t go through it, and we brought it with us. You need to call to check out of the motel and probably refold your clothes, judging by the way Swede was shoving them in there.”
“Swede?” she asks, obviously confused.
“Swede is my buddy. He’s a member of Brotherhood Protectors—an elite protection agency—so I called him for help.”
“Oh, that makes sense. Why are you helping me though? You don’t know me. It seems a little weird.”
“Where I come from, you always protect a lady. Doesn’t matter if she’s yours or not. Man’s not a man if he walks away from a woman in need, and last night you were definitely classified as such.”
“I remember doing a few shots, but I don’t remember drinking enough to black out. I haven’t done that since college.”
“I think you had some help in that department. In fact, I’m sending one of the guys to the bar to talk to the bartender today to find out who else had access to your drinks. I bet if we ran a blood test we’d find out you had some sort of date-rape drug in your system.”
Her eyes flash with a moment of fear.
“I didn’t touch you except to carry you in, Scout’s honor.” I hold my hands up.
“I think I would be able to tell if I’d been violated. For some reason I trust you. It’s what you said about the date-rape drug that has me freaked out.” She plops down on the edge of the bed, resting her elbows on her knees and gripping her hair as it hangs down. “There’s a long story here, one you don’t want to be involved in. I can’
t go to my friends or family in Florida and put them in harm’s way. This whole thing is a mess and I can’t drag you into it.”
I can hear the tears in her voice as she continues with her head down. “My house was ransacked while I was in rehab, so my family cleaned it up, thinking it was a random break-in. After I got out of rehab my family paid for me to take a trip across Europe, hoping to snap me out of my depression. While I was there my house was torn up again with the focus on the boxes from Alex’s office. Nothing appeared to be missing, but everything was destroyed. This time they even tore up the canvas wedding picture that hung on the wall behind the couch. I’m lucky all my clothes weren’t shredded, though his were.
“What they were looking for, though, I had with me on my vacation. It was amongst Alex’s personal belongings from the accident. I requested they be released to Alex’s father, who brought them to me at the rehab facility.”
“How did the accident happen?” I don’t tell her I’ve read the police report version.
“We were running from the guys who wanted what I have. Alex was driving like a crazy man, weaving in and out of traffic. He crossed a double yellow line while going around a curve and almost went head-on with a semi. Alex and the truck swerved, and we hit a tree. I don’t remember any of that, it’s like a big black hole in my memory. I only remember the conversation at the old gas station when he told me we were being followed. Someone we passed gave a report to the police about what they saw.”
Dropping her hands, elbows still on her knees, she lifts her face and the tears are back. They’re running so steadily down her face that they’re dripping off her chin. I can’t stand to see a woman cry so I cross the room and stand in front of her with my hand out. “Come on, doll,” I urge.
She doesn’t move, instead she studies me. I flick my fingers at her to come to me and she still doesn’t move so I bend down and grip her wrist, pulling her as gently as I can to stand, allowing me to wrap my arms around her. She’s stiff at first and I can’t blame her; I am a complete stranger. I have some background information on her, but she doesn’t even know my name yet. I smooth her hair down with my palm while she finally relaxes against me and cries harder. I’m certain there will be tears and snot all over my shirt, but I couldn’t care less.
When she begins to quiet down, I say, “My name’s Elias Covington. I’m from a little town in Alabama, but I live here now and work on this ranch with Bill Ivy. If you want, I’ll give you access to my computer and you can check me out. I was in the Army for 10 years and when I got out I wasn’t ready to go home.”
“The guys that are after me are bad news. I’ll only bring you trouble if I stay here. If you can take me to my car, I’ll be on my way.”
“You think you’re safer out there on your own than you are here with me, behind the protection of the fences and my security system?”
“No, but if something happened to you because of me I’d never forgive myself.”
I can’t help the laughter that boils out of me. It’s loud and long and I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this. “Doll, look at me. I forgot to mention an obviously big piece of information. I was Special Ops in the Army. A Green Beret. I’ve survived shit a lot worse than this so don’t worry about me. My friend Hank owns Brotherhood Protectors and he’s agreed to help. It would be easier for us to do that, though, if we knew what you have that they want.”
She cringes and lowers her eyes. “I still don’t know how he got it, but I have a thumb drive that contains proof of these guys holding women captive and selling them off. When Alex died, we were on our way to meet with an FBI agent to turn it over.”
“I’m guessing you never made it to meet the FBI agent?”
“No. After the accident, once I was lucid again, I wanted Alex’s watch, so the Florida Highway Patrol released Alex’s belongings to his father who brought the bag of stuff to me in the hospital. That thumb drive was in his pocket with 37 cents and a wrapped peppermint candy. No one else knew what it was for so they just passed it over to me in the bag that held his stuff.
“My house was torn apart twice because these guys wanted this thing. I took it with me to Europe, trying to decide what to do. I don’t know what happened to the FBI agent. He didn’t approach me while I was in the hospital so I don’t know if he’s dead or involved or maybe never existed. I was scared to find out and unsure of whom I could contact with this information. I’m scared and I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“Did Alex work with anyone?”
“Yes, his cousin and a secretary. They were tortured and killed while I was in Europe. My family didn’t tell me because they thought it was a random case, and they knew I’d come home. They all wanted me to relax after what I’d been through. Those two moved to Miami together right after Alex died, and the city is rough in areas so everyone chalked it up to city violence. As soon as they told me, I knew what happened and I freaked out. It’s part of what sent me on the run.”
“This is going to seem like an asshole question, but I have to ask. Is there any chance that Alex was involved in any of this?”
A single tear slips down Reya’s face, but she wipes it away quickly. “No, Alex liked adventure and even had a small-time gambling business on the side, but he hated violence against women. I really think this is something he stumbled on and was just trying to do the right thing. I could be wrong, but I doubt it. I knew his shortcomings better than anyone, and he’d never take part in any kind of human trafficking.”
For her sake, I hope she’s right that her husband wasn’t involved in something as sinister as this. Until I do some digging, I won’t know.
4
Reya
Normally I wouldn’t trust a stranger to look after me. In fact, if it were a friend telling me this story, I’d tell her she was crazy if she didn’t leave Elias and this town in the dust pronto. But there’s something about him that makes me want to trust him. I don’t know if it’s his good-ole-boy southern charm or the fact that he probably saved my life last night. He could have done anything to me, as messed up as I was, but he didn’t. Instead he chose the gentleman’s route.
I sit on the love seat in his studio apartment and study him as he clicks away on his computer. Elias looks like he should be perched atop a horse on a cattle drive, with a little sweat on his brow and work gloves on his hands. The dirty white cowboy hat that hangs on the hook by the door matches the faded Wrangler jeans that hug his thighs and butt just right. I don’t know the last time I noticed a man’s butt that wasn’t Alex’s, but I can’t help it, it’s damn near perfect.
Worn brown cowboy boots sit over by the front door under his hat and I wonder if the leather is as soft as it looks. The navy blue plaid shirt he’s wearing is ironed to perfection and tucked into his jeans. If I didn’t know from our conversation that he was in the military, the ironing alone would probably have given him away, but the tucking in of his shirt screams military regimen. The blond day-old scruff growing on his face reminds me a little of Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy, a favorite series of mine. I sigh and stand to stretch, ready to get more water. I can’t seem to get enough of it after my night of hard drinking. Elias seems to think I was drugged, but I’m not sure. It’s possible I just drank way too much.
As I’m filling my cup I think about the fact that I haven’t called my family in two weeks. I’ve texted them so they wouldn’t call the cops and file a missing persons report, but I’m sure they’re still worried. Considering I haven’t been the same since the accident, I think they’re giving me more room to figure things out than they normally would, but it won’t be long before they run out of patience. I guess I’d better call my mom at least. I move over to where my suitcase is sitting against the wall and unzip it. I dig the phone out of the compartment that I usually use for panties and socks, and power it on.
For the first time since I left Florida for Montana my phone lights up and immediately shows that I have over 20 unanswered text
messages and an equal number of missed phone calls.
Finally, I dial my parents’ number. My mom picks up and she sounds out of breath.
“Oh my God! Reya! I’ve been so worried. When your dad went by to check on your house there was a man inside going through your stuff. This is the third time since the accident. What’s going on? It’s obviously not a random break-in!”
“Mama, calm down. I’m fine. I can’t tell you anything about this because I don’t want you and Daddy in danger. I’m getting help and hopefully this will be over soon.”
“Reya, where are you? What the hell is going on? You can’t just tell me something like this and expect I’ll say okay.” I can hear her crying now and it’s getting louder. I can’t deal with the emotional side of her.
“Mama, if Daddy’s home, please pass the phone to him. I love you, but I need to talk to him.” There’s a rustling on the other end of the line and my dad picks up.
“Sweet pea, where are you? What in Sam Hill is going on? We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two days.”
“All I can tell you is that I’m fine. I’m in a safe place with people who are going to help me. I can’t tell you more or you’ll be in more danger. Just trust me, Daddy.”
“That’s not a good enough answer for me. Your house has been broken into three times since Alex died and you took off out of here like a bat out of hell, with a shitty explanation. At first I chalked it up to you not coping well, but we’re past that.”
“Dad, I can’t tell you any more than I have. This is bad, though. Bad enough that I know Derrick and Tory’s murders weren’t just city violence. All this ties into the same thing. I promise I’ll explain, but not until I know this is done. I need to get off the phone. I love you and Mama and I’ll call as soon as I can.”
