by Lynn Cooper
I feel him smile. “Every inch of you belongs to me, woman. I love you, and I’m in love with you. I need you to know that before you drift off to sleep.”
It takes a lot of courage for me to tell him this, but I’m determined to be as open and honest with him as he has been with me. “All the men I’ve loved in my life—from my father to my fiancé—have lied to me and betrayed me. I swore never to risk my heart again.”
He hugs me tighter. “I can understand that, Winter. But I promise never to hurt you like they have. Do you believe me?”
“I do.”
“Then give us a chance.”
I shiver under the weight of what he’s asking me to do. “I’m scared.”
“Me, too,” he says, kissing my shoulder. “Do you know why I’ve never fallen in love?”
I roll over and face him. I need to look into his eyes when he shares something this important.
“Why?” I asks, waiting with bated breath for his answer.
“Because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone I love again.”
“Like you lost your mom and brother.”
“Yes,” he says, tucking a wayward curl behind my ear. “I figured the only love greater than a child has for a parent or a brother has for a brother is the love a man has for a woman. I can’t imagine enduring that kind of heartache. So, I never let myself get involved with any woman where that could become a possibility. Until you. You’re worth the risk, Winter Primrose.”
I smile and plant a soft kiss on his cheek then say, “You’re worth the risk, too, Torin. Earlier tonight, in your study, I—I—”
“You what?”
“I knew I was falling for you, but I was too afraid to tell you.”
“How about now? Can you tell me?”
“I’m falling in love with you, Mr. Stoke.”
His eyes are sparkling with pure joy. “Let’s fall together.”
“I’d like that. Can we also fall asleep together because I am absolutely bushed?”
“You bet we can. Sweet dreams, sugar.”
THE NEXT MORNING TORIN is snoring softly when I hear my phone buzzing on the dresser. Carefully, I slip out from under the warmth and comfort of his arm and off the bed. Answering the call in a whisper, I tiptoe to the bathroom and close the door. I’m dying to pee, so I sit down on the toilet and say, “What’s up, Casey?”
“What’s up is you need to get your ass out of that madman’s house and now!” Her voice is way more intense than normal, and the edgy warning tone is scaring and confusing me.
Wiping one-handed and flushing, I ask, “What the devil are you talking about?”
“I’ll tell you everything when you get outside.”
“Where are you?”
“Parked near the curb out front, waiting to drive you the hell away from here.”
“I can’t just run away without telling Torin bye, without any explanation.”
“Right. It’s best not to upset him. Just tell the psycho you have a family emergency or, better yet, your best friend needs you.”
“Fine. Let me get some clothes on, and I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Oh, crap! Tell me you didn’t sleep with him, Winter.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
Finding my overnight bag where I left it last night, I pull out a pair of yoga pants and a V-neck T-shirt and dress as quickly and quietly as possible. Just as I’m about to drop my phone inside and zip up the bag, Torin stirs and sits up.
God, he looks even sexier with his thick, black hair all ruffled. His voice holds a sultry, sleepy quality, and damn if it isn’t turning me on all over again.
“What are you doing?” he asks, smiling lazily. “Didn’t I give you a good enough workout last night or rather in the wee hours of this morning?”
I look down at my attire, realizing he thinks I’m getting ready to do some morning yoga.
I return his smile. “You sure did.” In keeping with the yoga theme, I say, “Unfortunately, I can’t Namaste here any longer.”
Now he looks wide-ass awake. “Why the hell not?”
“I just got a call from my bestie. She’s really upset and needs me right now. In fact, she’s waiting for me out front.”
“In that case, invite her in. We can at least have breakfast before you go.”
“That’s not a good idea, Torin. Honestly, she’s in a real bad way this morning. I don’t think she would be up to meeting anyone new. I really need to run, but I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?”
“I understand,” he says. “You go be a good friend. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
“Thanks for being so cool about this,” I say, grabbing my bag, dashing out the door and down the stairs. I feel bad for not kissing him goodbye, but if I don’t get outside soon, Casey is likely to charge in here, guns blazing.
I JERK OPEN THE passenger side door of Casey’s patrol car. Tossing my bag in the back, I say in an irritated tone, “What’s your problem with Torin? I was having the time of my life this weekend before you barged over here.”
She put the cruiser in gear and says, “I don’t know anyone by the name of Torin Stoke, but I have a huge problem with Tagon Stokes.”
“Who?”
“Your boyfriend. That’s his real name.”
“So? There’s no law against a person changing their name.”
“There is if the reason they changed it was to escape a criminal past.”
“I can’t believe Torin is capable of committing any kind of crimes.”
“It’s Tagon, and you better believe it because he did. He was arrested thirteen years ago for the human trafficking of young Hispanic women.”
“No,” I say, feeling sick to my stomach. “There must be some sort of mistake.”
“I have his arrest report, mug shot and conviction. He was a skinny, seventeen-year-old back then, but it’s definitely him, Winter.”
Casey has never lied to me, but I’m having a hard time believing what she’s saying. “This doesn’t make any sense; how does a teenager even know anything about pulling off that kind of crime? He couldn’t have had the means to transport these women.”
She shrugs. “All I know is the report says he was taken into custody after a tip was called in.”
“What kind of tip?”
“The authorities found Tagon—or Torin as you know him—at an old farm out on Highway 11. His foster father was supposedly renting the fields to grow soybeans. Anyway, a nearby hay farmer heard what sounded like feminine crying and screaming coming from the property. So he called the law and reported it.”
I take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off a headache. “Maybe it was a case of Torin being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“The officers caught him red handed. He literally had his hands on the lock of an old storage metal container where the fifteen women were being held.”
Remembering what Torin said when I asked him how many women he had had, I swallow down the baby throw-up bubbling in my mouth. Fifteen, but I’m clean. I always practice safe sex, making sure the women I’m with also have clean bills of health.
I’ve seen enough Dateline episodes to know that women who have been abducted for human trafficking rings and sold as sex slaves often come with medical records, proof of being healthy and clean. Rich men won’t pay for women who are carrying STD’s or other diseases. Oh, God! What if Casey is right about Torin or Tagon or whatever the hell his name is?
I feel Casey’s hand on my arm. “Are you okay, hon? You’re white as a sheet. I know it’s a lot take in. I’m just glad you found out before you fell in love with that whack job.”
I feel the tears burning my eyes and inwardly curse myself for being so stupid. For allowing myself to be duped by yet another lowdown, scum-sucking, lying asshole.
I give my bestie’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks for letting me know and for coming to my rescue. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while. Can
you drop me off at my house?”
“You bet. But wouldn’t you rather go by the theatre and pick up your car?”
“No, my blood sugar’s a little low. I haven’t had breakfast yet. I think I best get on home and grab a bowl of cereal.”
“Okay. I’d take you out for a doughnut or something, but I still have a few hours left on my shift. I just wanted to get you away from that creep and make sure you were safe.”
A few minutes later, Casey pulls into my driveway. She reaches over and gives me a quick hug before I get out. “Thanks for everything,” I say.
“Anytime. I’ll check on you later tonight after I’ve caught some Z’s.”
“Sounds good.”
When my best friend drives away, I drag myself through my front door and into the kitchen.
The second I finish a bowl of sugary cereal, I fall onto the couch and into a deep, depression-induced sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Torin Stoke
IT’S NEARLY EIGHT O’CLOCK at night, and I haven’t heard a peep out of Winter since she left early this morning. Even though there was a hint of truth in the story about her best friend calling, something about it didn’t ring entirely true. No pun intended. And the whole situation is pissing me off. After what she and I shared, I thought she trusted me. I thought she was past all of her insecurities and ready to be totally honest with me.
Trying not to seethe while giving her the benefit of the doubt, I pour myself a drink and then offer James one. “No thank you, sir,” he says, looking at me with worry in his eyes. “You might want me to drive you somewhere tonight.”
“Like where?” I ask, pacing the living room for the hundredth time.
“To Miss Primrose’s place, of course. Don’t you think you should check on her?”
“She said she’d call.”
“After what you told me earlier, sir, I think we both know that’s not going to happen.”
James is right, and it makes me sick. The second Winter walked out of my bedroom without kissing me bye, I felt the heavy anvil of doom fall on my chest. When I sprinted to the window and saw her getting into a cop car, I knew my past had come back to bite me in the ass.
No-good, ignorant, hick cops should mind their own fucking business. The fury swells anew in my chest when I think about how those bastards treated me thirteen years ago. Hurling my glass against the hearth of the fireplace, shattering into a million pieces, I look at James and say, “Let’s go. It’s time for me to straighten Miss Primrose out on a few things.”
“As you wish, sir.”
WHEN WE PULL INTO Winter’s driveway, the house is dark. Her car isn’t here. I knew it wouldn’t be. James and I drove past the theatre and saw it still sitting in the parking lot. This means my girl is home alone or she’s crashing at the cop’s house. Either way, I’m going to see her tonight.
Before getting out of the Hummer, I hit the intercom button—the same one I used last night to tell James to pick up Miss Primrose’s favorite pizza. Now, I say, “Stay in the car, James. I won’t be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
Making my way up the walk leading to Winter’s front porch and door, I wonder if it would be best to let her go for good. I was crazy to think this thing between us could actually work out. Love in romantic relationships is too complicated, not to mention a whole lot of work with a good chance of things ending in heartache. But I meant what I told her earlier. She’s worth the risk.
Taking a deep breath and wishing I had finished off the scotch in my glass instead of busting it all to hell, I knock on Winter’s door.
I can hear a faint shuffling then the shadow of a small light appears through the curtain. Probably a lamp. Her muted footsteps get closer. I’m picturing her pretty, bare feet with those stubby toes and perfectly-pink, polished nails padding across the floor and can’t suppress a smile.
Although I can’t see her, I can feel her looking at me through the peephole. Her door jamb is off-center and there’s a crack at the bottom big enough to throw a cat through. I clear my throat and in my most commanding voice say, “Let me in, Winter. We need to talk.”
Her voice is small and frightened. The sound is like a knife twisting in my gut. “Go away, Torin. I mean, Tagon. We have nothing to talk about.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Beg all you want. I don’t have any use for a man who holds women hostage with the intention of selling them as sex slaves.”
“I don’t either. My foster father was a real bastard.”
“What has he got to do with this? No, wait. Let me guess.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm. “After your mom and brother died, you ended up in foster care, right?”
“Right.”
“And your foster dad was a big bad man who treated you like shit, so you took it out on innocent, young, Hispanic women. Fifteen of them to be exact. Right?”
“Wrong. Can I come inside? Please. You’re neighbors are starting to gawk through the windows. I’d rather not do this in front of them.”
“I’m not letting some monster convicted of human trafficking, abusing women and God only knows what else into my house.”
“So I’m a monster now? Not the man who donated a million dollars to help save children with cancer. Not the man who fed you good and fucked you even better, fulfilling your naughtiest fantasies. Not the man who declared his love for you, asked you to move in and put his fucking heart on the goddamn line for you. Am I not that man, Miss Primrose?” My voice grows hoarse with the strain of emotional pain. “Answer me, damn it!” I scream, slamming my fist against the door again. It’s so fucking flimsy and rotten I could probably blow it down.
She doesn’t answer with words but with the click of a deadbolt being unlocked and the creak of a door opening.
I step over the threshold without touching her even though I’m dying to take her in my arms and kiss the fear right out of her.
When she speaks, her voice is barely a whisper. “You have five minutes, then I’m calling the police.”
I can see how red and swollen her eyes are from crying, and it makes me hate that fucking cop friend of hers even more than I already did. I despise anyone who causes Winter pain.
Gesturing toward her ratty, threadbare couch, I say, “Could we sit down and talk? Actually, maybe you should just listen.”
She nods and says, “You feed me all the lies you want to, but I won’t swallow any of them.”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Winter. There’s no room for deceit inside this weekend. Remember when we stood at the counter in my kitchen, and you told me honesty was what you valued most?”
She doesn’t answer me. With her arms folded protectively over her voluptuous chest, she sits down on the coffee table in front of me. She’s still wearing the charcoal-grey yoga pants and baby-blue, V-neck T-shirt she had on when she left Stoke Estate this morning. Her auburn mane falls around her shoulders in a cascade of messy curls. My fingers itch to touch them, to touch her all over, but I’ll have to wait. Being intimate in any way can’t happen until I make her understand, remove all doubt and cut through the curtain of distrust veiling her eyes.
“I promised to give it to you. To be a man you could trust even if it was just for these forty-eight hours. Well, we still have twenty-four of those left. Let me tell you the truth,” I plead, trying to project an air of authority, but it’s impossible on this sofa. There is no support left in the springs, causing the cushions to flatten beneath me. Given my height and weight, I sink so deep my knees are practically kissing my chin. I feel utterly ridiculous and likely look even more so.
Winter unfolds her arms, drops her hands into her lap and begins nervously fidgeting her fingers in the hem of her T-shirt. I see the motion as progress. I know she’s thinking about that promise.
She looks at me expectantly. There’s no more time for stalling, so I start by saying, “I was framed by my foster father.”
She huffs. “That’s a likely story.”
“It’s a true one. Herb Schuller was his name. His was the fourth and final foster home I was in. I ended up under his roof when I was seventeen. I only had one lousy year left in the system, and I would have been free.”
“If you hadn’t held those poor, pitiful women captive, you mean.”
I can’t sit still when she keeps cutting me off like this. Standing, I shove my hands in my pockets. I don’t want her to see them shaking. I’m so damn angry right now. Not at her but at the situation.
“I had no idea Herb was involved in a human-trafficking ring. The first time I saw those women was the day I was arrested.”
She purses her lips together tightly and lowers her gaze to the floor. With each breath that passes between us, I feel like I am losing her.
“Miss Primrose, please look at me when I’m talking to you.”
She lifts her eyes. “And what will you do if I don’t? Lock me away in a metal storage container like you did those other women.”
“Damn it, Winter! I did no such thing. I wasn’t trying to hold them prisoner. I was trying to set them free.”
She shakes her head, and I want to shake her. It’s becoming more obvious by the minute she isn’t listening to me, so I decide to take a different tack. “Call your cop friend. Tell her I want to take a lie-detector test. Maybe if I’m hooked up to a bunch of wires, you’ll hear me out with an open mind instead of shutting me down at every turn.”
The shock in Miss Primrose’s pretty moss-green eyes pleases me. Now, I have her attention. Maybe we can get somewhere.
She swallows hard and says, “I suppose if you’re willing to go such lengths, the least I can do is truly listen.”
“You’ll call her then?”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. This conversation is just between us. Go ahead. I won’t interrupt you again.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling like I can breathe for the first time since entering her home.
“Herb made his living off soybeans. There was an old farm out on Highway 11 where he rented field space. He and I didn’t get along. He was verbally and physically abusive, so I stayed out of his way as much as possible. I never went out to the fields for fear of being alone with him. Back then, I didn’t have the size or strength I have on me now.”
