The Billionaire From Seattle: A Thrilling BWWM Romance (United States Of Billionaires Book 17)

by Simply BWWM

  “What is it?” he asked. “Adrenaline crash?”

  “No,” she said, tears flowing. “I um…” She took a deep breath and wiped away her tears. “My car wouldn’t start this morning, so when I called George to let him know that it wouldn’t start—”

  “Let me guess, he wasn’t far and he swung by to get you?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you park on the street?”

  “In the back of the parking lot at my apartment.”

  He bit back the urge to ask her if she’d heard alarm bells this morning, and why she’d ignored them. Because he knew—George was one of those men who picked the strongest women and tore them down until they second-guessed their own thoughts. He was sure she’d been suspicious, but he would have smoothed it over to get her into his car.

  “The world is a safer place without him,” Lincoln muttered. “We’ll leave his car. It really is the only thing we can do at this point. If you drive it away from here, it will look suspicious.”

  “His keys are in his pocket,” she said. “I mean, not that it matters. But he always keeps his keys and his wallet in his pockets so that he has control at all times.”

  “We can go back to the lot where I parked my car, which is a few miles from the Sunset lot, but it’s only a mile via the trails. I can call you a Lyft, or I can drive you.”

  “If you could drive me to the Metro Station, I can get home from there.” She smiled, albeit weakly. “I took a page out of his book a long time ago, and my wallet and keys are zipped tight in my bag instead of left in the car like he would like it.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Thanks. It was probably the only smart decision I made today.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Thank you for reminding me,” she said. “It’s taken a long time for me to get that through my head.”

  She sighed, looking at the waterfall across the ravine, then back at Lincoln.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I just wish that he’d really brought me up here so we could connect and be friends.”

  “Me too,” Lincoln said.

  If George hadn’t brought Charity up to the top of the Hidden Waterfall Trail to kill her, he wouldn’t be dead at the bottom of the ravine, and Lincoln wouldn’t be trying to figure out how the two of them were going to get away with murder.

  Chapter3

  “I’m not sure I should do this,” Charity said, standing by Lincoln’s Audi Q5, her hand on the passenger door handle. “I could wait for a Lyft.”

  “A Lyft isn’t coming out this far,” Lincoln said patiently. “Don’t worry. I won’t know where you live because I’m dropping you off at the metro station, remember?”

  She nodded, but she still hesitated.

  “It’s alright,” he said. “I understand.”

  “Thank you, I—”

  “Lincoln Moore,” a man said from behind him, interrupting Charity.

  Lincoln rolled his eyes and shook his head without turning to see who it was.

  “Will Harrington,” he said without a hint of affection. “How’s your little YouTube channel going? Have you hit ten followers yet?”

  Will laughed, walking up to them with loose hips, his ice blue eyes locked on Charity.

  “Who is this lovely lady?” he asked, running his fingers through his shoulder length, auburn hair and winking at her. “She must be lost.”

  “Can it, Will,” Lincoln said, his face passive even though Charity was sure the other man was getting under Lincoln’s skin.

  It was obvious that the two had some sort of rivalry going on.

  “I’m just wondering when your followers are going to wake up and realize that you’re not that special. People want someone they can relate to, with attainable goals, not extremes they can’t possibly reach.”

  Will put his hands on his hips, challenging Lincoln to clap back. Lincoln just shook his head and laughed.

  “You have your fans and I have mine,” Lincoln said, still completely calm. “You’ve worked hard and your brand is growing. That’s something you can be proud of.”

  Will’s smile slipped.

  “Not all of us can sell a social media add-on and add millions to our trust funds,” Will sneered, his smile completely gone. “Give me the same equipment and you’ll find that you can’t keep up with real talent.”

  Lincoln shrugged one shoulder, then looked over the SUV’s hood at Charity.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  She nodded, her earlier reticence forgotten as she got into the car and buckled up. Will stood there, still fuming, as Lincoln pulled out of the parking space and headed west toward Seattle.

  “Who was that?” Charity asked several miles later, tensing up when she heard sirens behind them, then relaxing when the police car flew by them without stopping.

  “Relax,” Lincoln said gently. “No one is going to find him.”

  “He had his cell phone on him. What if they ping it?”

  “I’m just now getting a signal,” Lincoln said, glancing at the phone affixed to his dash. “There’s no way for them to do that. You said he wasn’t much of a hiker, right?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “He despises the outdoors.”

  “That’s another thing we have going for us. By the time anyone thinks to look for him there, his battery will be dead. That is, if they ever look for him there. Washington has millions of acres of wilderness. The chances of someone just happening upon him are astronomical. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  He reached out and patted her hand, then froze.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his hand back. “I’m sure you’re in no mood to be touched.”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s alright,” she said, then laughed. “I mean, I practically sat on your head today, so I should probably be the one apologizing.”

  “I didn’t mind,” he chuckled.

  “Alright, so who was that guy? He seemed like he knew you, but not really. It was such a strange encounter.”

  “Strange is an apt description of everything he does. His name is Will Harrington. He’s another outdoor vlogger.”

  “What in the world is that?”

  “Do you have Insta?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Pull up LimitlessLincoln and check it out.”

  She did as he asked, clicking on the link in his bio that took her to his intro video. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she watched the extreme outdoor sports montage, complete with a death-defying bike ride on the edge of a cliff and a perilous moment featuring Lincoln hanging from a rock face by one hand, his arm muscle bunched up, his face calm even though he was in danger. The final frames showed the view from a GoPro affixed to his helmet as he went over a waterfall in a kayak. Charity gasped when he plunged into the water, fighting the current for a moment before he sent the kayak racing to the surface and ended with a whoop of delight.

  “That was intense,” she said, scrolling through his pictures, surprised to see one pop up right then. “Is this picture from today?”

  “Yeah. It’s a teaser for the video I’ll make with today’s footage.”

  “I didn’t see you post it.”

  “I sent it hours ago,” he said. “It uploads when I have a signal.”

  “I guess I should have known that,” she said sheepishly. “I know at twenty-six I should be more into social media, but I just use it to run my business.”

  “What business is that?”

  “I’m in graphic design. I have my own company.”

  “I would never have guessed that you were an artist,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t be the first one to be shocked by my profession.” He turned to look at her, and she smiled at him. “But I guess I didn’t peg you as a millionaire computer nerd.”

  “Neither of those words describes me,” he said with a hearty laugh. “But I see what yo
u mean.”

  “But that man said—”

  “I know what he said,” Lincoln said, still laughing. “But he was off by a few zeros.”

  “Oh,” she said, then hurriedly added, “you don’t have to be a millionaire to be successful.”

  He nodded, focused on the road again.

  I think I offended him, she thought, trying to read his expression, but coming up empty. He just looked perplexed.

  “So, are you sure you want me to drop you off at King County Metro?” he asked after a long, awkward silence.

  Charity was glad for the change of subject.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I know that you saved my life and all, but I don’t want another man to know where I live. Not right now.”

  “I understand. And you don’t owe me an explanation. I saved your life because it was the right thing to do. I don’t expect anything in return.”

  “Thank you,” she said, voice catching with the emotion that suddenly welled up. “I don’t know if I even thanked you for saving my life.”

  “You were busy enough trying not to die.”

  “You’re right, but thank you all the same. If you hadn’t come by at the right time—”

  Tears sprang out of nowhere, cutting her off midsentence as she fought to keep her emotions in check.

  This time when Lincoln reached out instinctively, she grabbed his hand and held on for dear life. He didn’t say a word as the tears started to fall. She was still trying to regain her composure when she realized that he was pulling off the road onto one of the last overlooks before the wild scenery would be replaced with the familiar Seattle Skyline, and she wondered why he was stopping.

  He put the car in park and unbuckled her seatbelt in one smooth motion. Before she could protest, he pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest and tearing down the last of her resolve.

  She fell apart right there in his car, choking sobs tearing from her throat as she shook violently. Her stomach clenched and her heart raced as she closed her eyes against the snippets of the afternoon that came rushing back at her—all the times he’d used his body to hide the trail names to keep her from finding her way back on her own, the way he’d gone from amenable to enraged at the slightest provocation, the moment that she knew that he meant to kill her, and her decision to fight for her life.

  Her guilt was heavy, but Lincoln’s arms held her fast, his strong presence giving her permission to feel so many ways about a man who didn’t deserve her tears.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he said, rubbing her back and holding her.

  “What if we get caught?”

  “It’s our word against a dead man’s, but we’re not going to get caught.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “If neither of us says a word to anyone, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not saying a thing,” she said vehemently.

  “I know you won’t.”

  “What about his bag?”

  “I’ll take care of destroying it,” he said. “No one will ever find it, and even if they do, it’s the same plain black backpack every wannabe survivalist buys and uses exactly once. There’s nothing in the bag that is tied to him.”

  “His wallet and his phone are in his pants.”

  “That’s fine. If he’s found someday, it will be good for his family to have some kind of closure. But I don’t want anything tying you to the scene, and a picnic for two a month after you dumped him is pretty suspect. Especially if his family knows that you like the outdoors.”

  “They do,” she admitted. “I dated him long enough that I got to know them pretty well.”

  “I’m surprised that they didn’t put a stop to his behavior.”

  Charity scoffed.

  “They enable him. He could curse me right in front of them, and they would find a way to make it someone else’s fault. You should’ve seen how he treated their maid.”

  “It’s so crazy to think that someone who sees criminal behavior on a daily basis can completely miss it in their own son.”

  “It really isn’t, though. I can’t tell you the number of cases Mister and Missus Wittman talked about at the dinner table that involved a child of a law enforcement officer doing something heinous and the cop completely missing the signs. I think it’s more common than you think.”

  “I guess that makes sense. I just wish that they’d done something long before today. You shouldn’t have had to endure what you did today, and it’s upsetting to know that it could have been prevented.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She allowed herself another moment in his arms before she moved, sitting up and sliding out of his arms and back into her own seat.

  “Thank you,” she said as she pulled the seatbelt across her body and buckled it. “I’m sorry I lost it like that.”

  “It was completely understandable,” he said. “And you’re welcome.”

  “I’d like to go home now,” she said. “I just want to take a hot shower and wash away this horrible day.”

  He nodded, pulling back onto the highway and turning the radio on low. Charity leaned back in the seat, head tilted to the side, staring out the window but not really seeing anything.

  She didn’t realize that she’d dozed off until she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She jumped, breath catching in her throat as she looked around, trying to make sense of the scene for a moment before reality dawned.

  “It’s alright,” Lincoln said. “It’s just me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I fell asleep.”

  “Adrenaline crash is a hell of a thing.” He smiled at her. “We’re here.”

  Nodding, she grabbed her bag and slung it over one shoulder.

  “I don’t think that thank you is enough, but thank you for saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And for the ride,” she laughed.

  “It really wasn’t a problem,” he said. “I’m sure you would have done the same.”

  “We all hope we would, but the truth is, we never know until we’re in a situation what we would actually do. Thank you, again.”

  She hugged him impulsively, then got out of the SUV, rushing to the bus going to Seattle University and getting on just before the driver shut the doors. She sat down by a window, watching Lincoln pull away then disappear in the opposite direction.

  Pulling out her phone, she opened her Instagram account and looked at Lincoln’s pictures one more time. His striking green eyes stared back at her from his profile picture, his hair perfectly styled in what was obviously a professional headshot. But the headshot didn’t capture the man she’d met today—the man that would put his own life in danger to save another person, then drive her home like an old friend with nothing more than a simple goodbye and a thank you. Another man might have expected more in return, but Lincoln wasn’t that kind of man.

  She sighed, clicking the button to follow his account then closing the app. In another time, under different circumstances, she would have flirted with him hardcore, and she knew he would have done the same. She’d felt a connection between them, but she knew she would never see him again.

  If only I’d met him first, she thought, getting off the bus a block away from her apartment, bag over one shoulder and her mind wandering.

  Even if he wasn’t as rich as the other man had claimed, he obviously did well for himself.

  “It would’ve been nice to have a man that paid his own way,” she muttered as she passed the Jimi Hendrix statue and turned left down Pine Street.

  Charity clutched her bag to the front of her body, hurrying across Eleventh Avenue, hardly noticing the rainbow crosswalk beneath her feet. The traffic in front of the Sunset Apartments was heavy as it always was, the tourists easy to pick out as they snapped pictures of the brightly painted mural that covered the building across the street on their way to see the Jimi Hendrix statue or the Reflecting Pool
at Anderson Park. Just a few short blocks from Seattle University, the intersection of Pine and Eleventh was filled with pedestrians and cyclists alike, dodging cars driven by out of town parents bringing their freshman back to school after Fall Break.

  Charity was aware of it all as she rushed through the door of the building, head down and all but running up the stairs until she pushed through her apartment door and used the deadbolt to lock herself away from the world.

  Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.

  She dropped her hiking backpack on the floor and stripped out of her clothes on the way to the shower, tossing them in the clothes hamper. She froze, digging the clothes out again and shoving them into her trashcan instead. Charity dumped her hiking boots on top, then tied up the whole bag and set it on the floor.

  The water was warm when she stepped into it, quickly scrubbing herself until she felt raw, then scrubbing her short curls before washing her body all over again.

  “It’s never going to wash away, Charity,” she muttered, and she knew it was true.

  No matter how much she tried to distance herself from what had happened that day, she wouldn’t be able to wash away what she had seen and what she had done. George had died trying to kill her, and she wasn’t going to shed a tear for that. But leaving him there without checking on him and without calling the authorities would haunt her for a long time. Lincoln was right; it was the best thing to do because George’s father would do everything in his power to pin George’s death on her and Lincoln, and she wasn’t about to go to prison for it. Being with George had been prison enough.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, focusing on the dyed red strands and avoiding making eye contact with her reflection. She wasn’t ready for any soul-searching.

  Getting dressed in a hurry, she took the back stairs with garbage bag in hand, throwing it into the dumpster and hurrying back into the apartment. She locked the door again, then turned, her throat catching as another wave of memories crashed over her.

  Back against the nearest wall, she let her body slide down until she was sitting on the floor, knees against her chest. She stared blankly at the wall across from her, not really seeing anything in the room.