“It’s coming down pretty good. Supposed to last a couple of days. Ever made a snowman?”
Adam shook his head, a forlorn look coming back into his eyes.
“Well, we’ll have to do that once the snow stops.”
Anticipation filled his big eyes. Adam settled and gave in to the exhaustion still showing in the dark circles under his very expressive eyes.
Trigger held the boy close, letting him know he was safe and protected with no one and nothing to worry about tonight. The snow fell, Trigger lost himself in the nature show, the rise and fall of Adam’s small chest tucked against Trigger’s side, the pop and crackle of the fire, and fell into a deep sleep he hadn’t enjoyed in too long to remember.
Adam startled awake with a piercing scream. This time, Trigger woke with a gun in his hand pointed at the last person he wanted to shoot.
Chapter Seven
Ashley woke with a start that jolted her right out of a nightmare and made her sit bolt upright in bed. In bed? A surge of adrenaline shot through her, masking the pain in her ribs from the sudden jarring. This wasn’t her dark cell. This was someone’s bedroom. Oh God.
Where was she? What happened?
She’d gotten away.
Where’s Adam?
She sat on the bed, taking in her surroundings, the fire glowing in the fireplace keeping her warm, the snow falling outside the huge windows, the leather chair by the fireplace with a paperback on the small table beside it, and the orange glow coming from the bedroom doorway. She snatched up the shirt at the end of the bed and pulled it on. She ignored the pain in her sore legs and back and swung her feet to the floor, noticing at the last second the wrap someone put around her ankle. She braced her hands on the edge of the bed to push herself up and noticed the open badge on the table. She picked it up and stared at the picture of the dark-haired man. A flicker of a memory came back of someone hovering over her outside. The same striking blue-gray eyes as the man in the picture, but he sure as hell didn’t have the same clean-cut look.
She stood on her wobbly legs and braced a hand on the table and waited for the dizziness to subside. She needed: water, food, sleep, help, a chance to catch her breath and figure out what to do. She needed to find Adam and get them to safety, though right now she didn’t know if anywhere would ever be safe for them.
The huge shirt draped off her shoulder and down her body, nearly to her knees. She tiptoed to the open door and pressed her body back against the wall, then sneaked a peek into the large open kitchen–living room combo. But for the soft glow of the fireplace it was dark, and she barely spotted the man lying in the recliner. Adam lay practically on top of the massive man with tattoos all down the arm he had over Adam’s back. The boy’s blond head and the way-too-big white T-shirt he wore stood out against the man’s black T-shirt. She didn’t know what to make of them sleeping together, but her heart sighed at the too-sweet, if not odd, picture they made.
Why did he bring them here instead of taking them to the authorities?
The thought of what she’d go through once people found out about what happened to her made her insides sour. The publicity. The questions. Everyone after her for information. The false news and outright lies they’d splash across every type of media.
It wouldn’t matter what really happened. They’d make up their own truth.
Brice would put his own twisted spin on things.
They’d take Adam away from her.
She needed to get away. Find someplace safe where no one could find them. She’d protect Adam and keep him away from the monster who terrorized his so-called prize possessions.
Her hands shook and her body trembled with the fear she couldn’t subdue, but she quietly tiptoed over to Adam. She didn’t want to startle him, but she needed to get him away from the man and out of here as fast as possible. She slipped her hands around his bony sides and yanked him out of the man’s light hold.
Adam woke with a scream. She scrambled back and away from the man who sat up with a gun in his hand pointed straight at her head.
Adam wrapped himself around her front. She held him tight to her chest, his face tucked under her chin.
“Stay where you are,” she ordered the man. “Don’t move. We’re leaving.”
He dropped his hand. The gun smacked against his thigh. He raked his fingers through his long dark hair and fell back into the chair. “You can leave anytime you want.”
She backed up to the door, keeping him in front of her. She reached to the side and unlocked the dead bolt and lock on the handle, then swung the door open wide. A blast of frigid air and icy snow blew in, freezing her bare legs and arms. Her lungs seized when she sucked in the cold air. The wind had swept snow onto the covered porch and piled it two feet high against the door.
“I suggest you wait until the storm passes or you’ll freeze to death.” The man’s matter-of-fact and calm tone turned the fear in her gut to roiling anger. “Either way, you’re not taking the boy.”
Stuck like she’d been in Brice’s prison, she tried to think, but her slow mind couldn’t process things as fast as she needed to form a plan and escape.
“Close the door before you freeze the boy.”
She didn’t have anywhere to go. She didn’t know what to do. “I can’t do this again. You have to let us go. I can’t . . .” Her knees buckled and she fell hard to the floor, smacking her ass on the hard wood. The wind and snow blew against her back, turning her outside as cold as her inside.
The man leaned forward, folding up the recliner, and came up out of the chair. He slowly walked toward her. Though his movements seemed calculated to not appear threatening—his size, the wicked tattoos, and his dark gaze did that all by themselves—she thought he might also be sore or injured.
He walked past her and slammed the front door shut and relocked it. The sound of the bolt sliding home sent a shiver up her spine.
Locked in again.
The primal urge to run raced through her, but she barely had the strength to hold on to Adam.
The man crouched in front of her, his hair falling forward to cover most of his face, except for those penetrating eyes, and held up the DEA badge she must have dropped.
“Where is Agent Cooke?” Out of breath from exertion and lack of food and water, she barely got the words out of her dry mouth.
The man’s gaze narrowed, then his mouth drew back in a half frown. He raked his fingers through his hair again, drawing it away from his face. “You’re looking at him.”
He must have read the disbelief she couldn’t hide and turned the badge to look at the picture on it that looked nothing like him. “It’s been a while since I had a haircut or shaved.” He brushed his fingers through his thick beard, then turned the picture back to her. “Same gray eyes though, right?” The words were soft and coaxing.
“Same shape and color, but now they’re filled with . . . too much,” she said, unable to come up with the right words to describe the sorrow, regret, and ghostly nightmares that seemed way too close to how she felt inside.
“Yeah, I’ve had a rough year. Or two,” he added with another of those half frowns that came way too often. “I am a federal agent. This is my place. You are safe here. I know who you are, but I’m not holding you here. The storm is. As soon as it clears, we’ll call the cops—”
“No!”
One dark eyebrow went up. “Why not?”
She shook her head, so many reasons running through her mind, but how could she make him understand. She needed time to think, to form a plan and do this her way. She needed to protect Adam.
“Agent Cooke, you don’t understand . . .”
“Trigger.”
“What?”
“Call me Trigger.”
“I thought your name was Beck.” She nodded toward the badge in his hand.
“Yeah, I work undercover—everyone just calls me Trigger now.” He said it like the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. “And you’re Ashley.”
>
A well of sorrow rose in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d been called by her name and not one of the characters she’d played. I’m Ashley. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t speak and just nodded.
“You look wrecked, Ashley. You need some sleep. Whatever happened to you can wait until morning.”
“We need to get out of here. He can’t find us.”
“The storm isn’t going to let up anytime soon. I proved to you a minute ago that I can protect you.”
It took her a second to figure out he referred to the gun he’d pointed at her.
Beck—she couldn’t think of him as Trigger—reached out and rubbed Adam’s back and ruffled his hair. “Ready to go back to bed, little man?”
Adam pulled out of her arms and went right into Beck’s. The big man scooped Adam up, stood, and carried him back to the blanket pooled on the floor in front of the dying fire. Adam settled in and Beck laid another log on the fire. The wood caught on the bright red coals and flames rose up, brightening the room. She wanted to lie beside Adam in that pool of warmth and find the peace and rest that had eluded her for so long she barely remembered what it felt like.
She pressed her hands to the floor and tried to stand up on her shaking legs. She made it to her feet, barely, and swayed from the dizziness she couldn’t seem to shake.
When she looked up, Beck was there. Close. Too close. She didn’t even hear him walk to her. She put her hand up to ward him off, though she was anything but steady on her feet and no match for him.
“Hungry?”
The persistent gnawing in her gut never went away, but she’d gotten used to it a long time ago. She nodded, trying to wrap her mind around the fact she was here, not there.
Beck swept his arm out for her to lead the way into the kitchen. She stood her ground, not turning her back on him for a second.
With a shake of his head and roll of his eyes, he walked into the kitchen and straight to the stainless steel fridge. She followed at a silly, but safe-feeling, five-foot distance behind him. He opened the door wide so she could look inside. She approached with a caution that made him give her another look that said, You’re being ridiculous.
Maybe, but she couldn’t help it.
“What do you want?”
The fridge wasn’t full by any means, but it held more food than she’d seen or eaten in months. Immediately drawn to the fresh fruit and vegetables in the drawer she reached to grab an apple, but snatched her hand back and glanced over at Beck, afraid to take what she wanted and get punished.
How many times had she sat at the dining room table, craving the food set out before her, the smell as intoxicating as a drug, and not been allowed to have anything Brice didn’t allow her to eat? He rarely was that generous, too often letting her go without anything, or simply tossing her a hastily slapped together cheese and bologna sandwich, a half-eaten container of leftovers, an almost-empty bag of cereal—not enough to make a bowl and no milk. Never anything hot. Never enough to satisfy her hunger. Never more than once a day, and often several days apart.
Beck pulled the drawer out, picked up the fattest apple from the three, and held it out to her. She snatched it from his hand and brought it to her mouth, biting in and taking a huge chunk out of the juicy flesh. She chewed and bit more off all at the same time, savoring the sweet, juicy fruit.
“I’m not going to take it away from you.” Beck reached up to a cupboard beside her.
She jumped away, keeping him in front of her and escape at her back.
He ignored her strange behavior and pulled out a can of soup and held it up for her to read the label.
Beef with vegetables. She could already taste it on her tongue.
“Please.” The desperation in her voice made him narrow his gaze even more.
“Go sit at the table and eat your apple one bite at a time before I give you a heart attack.”
Guilt shot through her thrashing heart. This man hadn’t done anything but . . . She really didn’t know how she’d gotten here, but he’d taken care of Adam and her and hadn’t asked anything of her. “I’m sorry, Beck. I’m a mess, and I’ve completely forgotten my manners.”
“You said please,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.
She backed out of the kitchen, limping on her sore ankle. Beck turned his back to her and went to the counter to open the can at the electric can opener. She glanced over to be sure Adam slept peacefully in front of the fire in the other room. The urge to back herself into the corner of the dining room and curl up in a ball and cry seemed like a good idea and a release she needed, but self-protection took over. She gingerly lowered herself onto the bench seat at the table with Beck in front of her and the front door to her left. Too far away for her to make a run for it before Beck caught her if he wanted to, but she couldn’t help her instinct to run. Everything in her wanted to keep going and never stop. She had the will but not the strength. She didn’t even really have an immediate threat.
Beck, a DEA agent, a man who upheld the law, had helped her and meant no harm. That should be enough to ease her worried mind, but it didn’t, because Brice had seemed like a good man, a friend. A monster hid under that polished persona. She’d never look at anyone the same way again.
She took another bite of the sweet and tart apple, devouring it one bite at a time. The microwave dinged. Beck took out the bowl of soup. The rich scent of beef and broth filled the room and made her stomach grumble even more.
Beck pulled a box of crackers from the cupboard and set it on the counter. His sharp gaze shot to her. “Are your ribs broken?”
She stopped squirming and bit off the last morsel of apple from the core. She stared at him, surprised he’d been paying any attention to her while making her food. “I’m fine,” she mumbled around the chunk of apple in her mouth.
He slowly walked over, set the bowl of soup and a sleeve of crackers in front of her, then stood a foot away—too close—glaring down at her.
“I took that ridiculous dress off you. You took one hell of a beating. Are your ribs broken?”
She bent her head and stared at her lap, unable to answer that simple question without remembering all she’d been through.
“Ashley.” Beck’s deep rich voice filled her with a warmth she didn’t recognize but drew her in all the same. Maybe it was that he used her name and she longed to be Ashley again, even though she didn’t know that naïve girl anymore. She only knew this husk of a person so filled with anger and pain and longing and loneliness.
“Ashley.” The sharpness in his voice demanded an answer. She didn’t question the lack of sympathy or concern. She’d lived without both for a long time.
“A few cracked ribs this time.”
“This time.” He bit out the disgust-filled words. Maybe under his stoic demeanor he did care. After living in Hollywood’s superficial world and being held captive by a man without feeling or real emotion, even a glimpse of Beck’s disdain for what happened to her went straight to her heart.
The longer he stood over her, staring at the top of her head, the higher her anxiety jacked up until she could barely breathe. Her hands remained gripped tight in her lap.
“What’s wrong?” The softness in his voice made her look up at him. Way up. The man was so tall.
She found her voice under the wave of fear gripping her. “I know you don’t mean to, but you’re scaring me.”
He planted his big hands on the table beside her and leaned down close. “Look at me, Ashley.”
She sucked in a breath, found a shred of bravery from the tatters of her will, and raised her gaze to meet his.
“I will never hurt you.”
She fell into the depths of gray and flecks of blue in his eyes and drowned in the sincerity and promise she found there. Deep down, she believed him. Part of her needed to believe him, because she needed something real to hold on to before she sank any deeper into despair and the paranoia that everyone wanted to hurt her.
�
�If he finds me, he’ll kill me.”
“He’ll have to get past me first.”
She believed that, too. Everything about this man spoke of restrained danger, but he meant those words. He’d never hurt her. He’d protect her. God help whoever got in his way or on his bad side.
Trigger backed off. Ashley needed time, space, and a moment to eat the food she’d been denied far too long. Every little glimpse he got of what happened to her turned his stomach. Her frail body, achingly beautiful face and eyes, and her deceptive fragility drew him in, but he saw the strength in her. The will she summoned to get through every second when everything in her wanted to give up, give in, let the pain and the horror she’d been through swallow her whole so she didn’t feel anything anymore.
Been there, didn’t want to go back.
Hell, honestly he was still fighting his way back from that black pit of hell.
The boy slept soundly in front of the fire like a well-contented pup.
Ashley tackled the soup and crackers at the table. Her starvation drove her to eat too fast.
“Slow down before you choke,” he warned.
She didn’t look at him. Didn’t say anything, but she did take the time to savor the next bite and chew.
He didn’t know what to make of her. He wanted to demand answers and get her to tell him exactly what happened. Who hurt her?
Scared to be within five feet of him, she’d shut down if he pushed too hard.
Starved. Beaten. He didn’t want to know what else to add to that ominous list. But he’d damn well get the story before he turned her over to the cops and put her life in jeopardy. He’d have the name of the man who hurt her and the bastard would be behind bars before he let Ashley out of his sight.
Any man who’d held her for nearly a year remained a risk to her and the population at large.
Montana Heat: Escape to You Page 6