Closing her eyes, she nodded.
“Okay.” She blew out a breath and said louder, “Okay.”
She glanced down at the phone in the cup holder next to her, thought about calling Remy.
No. Later. She’d tell him later.
Remy stared at the slime-bucket who’d come in from Lexington to represent Pete Hamilton.
Thanks to this weasel, Pete was out of jail on parole, but he wasn’t overly pleased with not being able to see his kids.
And for the past two hours, instead of being with Hope the way he wanted to be, he was dealing with this shit. Well, actually, the first hour and a half had been a different matter, a true emergency. Then this had cropped up when Frank Isaacs waylaid him at the courthouse, and it was the last damn thing he wanted to mess with.
Wife-beaters never ranked very high with him, but right now, the kind of man who’d put his hands on a woman … well, Remy’s patience was worn well past thin. If Hamilton had any sort of brains, if his lawyer had any understanding of Remy at all, they never would have bothered with this last-minute meeting.
And when Remy found out who in the hell had tipped them off about him being in the courthouse …
“No,” he said for the second time.
“Now I don’t see why you’re not willing to talk about a deal,” Isaacs said, a smarmy smile creasing his wide, pale face. He spread his hands and gave Remy his good ol’ boy smile. “What we have here is a private issue between a husband and his wife. It should remain that way, don’t you think?”
“Private issues between a husband and a wife cease being private when fists become involved and children see their mama being beaten in front of them,” Remy said, flicking an invisible piece of lint off his shirt. “Now is this really why you insisted on meeting? It’s the weekend, and this isn’t exactly what I’d call an urgent matter.”
Isaacs smoothed a hand down his silk tie. His suit was custom-made, Armani. Remy recognized the cut and he guessed he was supposed to be impressed, figured the bastard was thinking he was dealing with some smalltime yokel.
“I’m anxious to help my clients at any and all hours. And Mr. Hamilton is just so despondent about his daughter’s birthday coming up.” He glanced over at Pete.
As if on cue, Pete looked down. In a mournful voice, he said, “It’s her thirteenth. That’s a special birthday, you know. She’s not going to be a little girl, anymore. Me and her mama, we’d wanted to make it special … I … look, I just want my family back.”
“Really.” Remy bit back a snort. “Special. Okay, so what sort of party were you planning?”
Pete shot a look at him. His lashes flickered. Rage danced in the murky depths of his eyes.
Remy cocked a brow. “So special and you can’t even remember what sort of party y’all were planning? Slumber party … cookout … costume party. You tell me, I’ll check with your wife, back up the story. You convince me how sincere you are.”
Pete’s mouth twitched, a mean snarl forming, but then he looked down. “Aw, now you know I’ve never been good at remembering that sort of thing, Jennings. It was always her mama that did the planning.”
“But it was so special—her not being your little girl anymore. Damn, it must really matter to you.” Shaking his head, he stood up. “Sorry. No deal. I plan on seeing you pay for the bruises you put on that woman, Hamilton. And for the scars you gave your daughter. Isaacs, next time you need to have this sort of conversation with me … call.”
On his way out of the courthouse, he checked his phone.
No messages from Hope. No calls. He was tempted to call her.
But he needed to go to his office now and get some paperwork done, thanks to his unexpected trip to the courthouse. It wouldn’t take long. An hour, maybe.
Since she’d gone into Lexington …
His hand tightened as thoughts of Joe rolled through his mind.
But Nielson had said he’d keep an eye on her. Personally.
Safe. She was safe. And he couldn’t hover over her, could he? Couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to.
Deliberately, he shoved his phone into his pocket. He’d get his work done. Then he’d call her.
Hope pressed her lips together as she signed her name to the paperwork.
Her hand shook. She was doing this, damn it. It wasn’t much—just a temporary restraining order and there was no telling if it would hold up—probably wouldn’t, and she knew it, because all she had was her word against his that he’d been pretty much stalking her on the highway a couple of times.
But she’d done it. She’d stood up to him.
Adrenaline shuddered through her and her belly pitched and rolled, making her feel like she was about to puke. As she put the pen down, she curled her fingers into a fist to keep the sheriff from seeing how badly her hand shook.
“What now?” she asked quietly.
“Now I handle it.” He gave her that same gentle, friendly smile. And although the smile was friendly, his eyes were pure steel. “You should go find Remy. Have him take you out for lunch or something.”
She gave him a weak smile. Lunch. Even the thought of eating was enough to make her feel even more nauseated.
“He had something come up with one of his cases,” she said absently, staring out. Her eyes landed on the blue sedan parked on the opposite side of the town square.
The sedan. Joe’s car. Shit. He was out there again.
Shit.
Closing her eyes, she shoved her hands into her pockets and took a deep breath, tried to level out the fear before she spoke. “Sheriff … he’s out there,” she said quietly.
Joe sat in the café, chuckling to himself and feeling entirely too pleased.
As the sheriff came striding out of the courthouse, he straightened a little and watched.
It had cost him five hundred dollars to get the guy in the blue Chevy Malibu to come out to Ash, but it would be worth it. Assuming the guy didn’t fuck it up. And if he did, well, Joe would cross that bridge when he came to it.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
“IT WASN’T HIM,” NIELSON SAID QUIETLY. HE SAT down behind the desk, watching Hope’s face carefully.
Hope swallowed, shook her head. “What … what do you mean?”
“It wasn’t him. The guy out there is an amateur photographer, out here taking pictures of the area for a class he’s taking at UK.” Nielson glanced toward the window and then back at Hope. “He’s about your age. Blond. Burly sort. It’s possible you …”
“No.” Hope stood up. “It’s not possible. I know what my ex-husband looks like—the bastard tormented and abused me for years. I’m not going to get him confused with some total stranger.”
Humiliation had her face flaming red, but she’d be damned if she backed down. Turning on her heel, she stormed out of his office, ignoring him as he called out to her.
She didn’t need this shit. She’d thought he’d believed her—
Remy. Remy did.
She’d go and talk to him.
Even as she thought it, tears burned in her eyes, clogged her throat.
No. She needed to calm down first. She needed to calm down. Think. Cool down.
Because she couldn’t stand the thought of anybody seeing her upset, she ducked into the bathroom, splashed water on her face, let the icy chill ease the burning of her flesh.
And still humiliation and anger crawled through her. She wasn’t wrong.
She’d seen Joe. She knew she had.
Out on the highway. So maybe the car on the square was the wrong one. So what?
She’d just have to be careful. More careful.
Maybe she should wait until Remy could go into Lexington with her …
“No,” she muttered, turning off the water with a snap of her wrists. Damn it, she’d been doing things on her own for two years. She wasn’t going to let Joe turn her back into the sniveling, desperate coward she’d been, especially not now.
Not no
w …
Before she could change her mind, she left the bathroom.
She was going to Lexington, damn it. She was going to buy her damn curtains, her damn curtain rods, and if that bastard thought he could stop her, she’d beat him over the head with one of those damned curtain rods.
It felt good, being angry.
This time, there were no motorcycles.
He waited until they were on the long, three-mile expanse between Ash and I-64. And then Joe made his move.
Watching as Hope’s car went flying off the side of the road, he smiled.
He glanced all around. Made certain nobody had seen as he pulled along beside it. Then he climbed out.
Nice job, he had to admit.
She was sitting behind the wheel, moaning, and pressing a hand to her head. She glanced at him, dazed.
One short-armed jab knocked her out and he hauled her limp body from the car. Another quick look around—so far, his luck held. He dumped her in the front seat, pulled off.
The whole thing had taken less than a minute and the damage to his rental was minimal. It was all about how you hit a car, after all. And how you hit a woman.
Absently, he reached over and laid a hand on her thigh.
They needed some private time, the two of them, before they headed back home. They had business they needed to settle.
She really did need to understand just how badly she’d fucked up.
Nielson’s gut was crawling.
That blue Malibu had disappeared only a few seconds after he’d talked with the owner. And now Hope was gone.
It hadn’t been Carson in the car. He couldn’t really even say there was much of a similarity, other than the coloring.
Easy … too fucking easy. He could write it all off, and if she was the woman he was supposed to believe she was …?
But she wasn’t. The girl might be quiet, might have bent under all the shit life had dumped on her. But she hadn’t broken.
Shit.
Nielson pinched the bridge of his nose as her voice echoed through his mind.
I know what my ex-husband looks like. Yes. He imagined she did. Frowning, he reached for the restraining order and stood up, heading outside.
He’d told Jennings he’d watch her. That’s what he was going to do.
Nielson came on the accident scene only moments after it had happened.
Hope had left his office only five minutes before he had. He hadn’t missed it by long. And the sight of her car was enough to have him swearing a blue streak.
He’d fucked up. Man, had he fucked up.
Crouching down, he studied the gravel. Another car had been here—pretty recently, he thought. He reached for his radio.
They had a big problem, he suspected.
A very big one.
And if he knew a damn thing about Remy Jennings, it was going to get even worse once the lawyer got wind of this.
Jennings was going to rain all sorts of shit down on him, but it was only what Nielson had deserved.
He’d fucked up. Closing his eyes, he muttered, “Please don’t let that girl pay for it.”
That was all he asked.
“What?” Remy growled.
“Missing,” Nielson repeated as his men fanned out around him. He watched as the dogs sniffed the ground, but he didn’t have the highest hopes.
She hadn’t walked away from her wrecked car. She’d been taken. Her ex-husband had taken her. Son of a bitch.
He’d taken her and Nielson had given him the chance to get close. He’d fucked up and now Hope was out there paying for it.
“How exactly did that happen?” Remy snarled.
“If I knew that, I’d be that much closer to finding her,” Nielson replied. “Now do you want me to find her or stay on the phone yapping with you?”
Remy hung up. But Nielson knew it wasn’t over. The lawyer would be out here. It was just a matter of time. Fine by him.
The more people they had looking for her, the better. He already had an APB out on the sedan, not that he’d expected a whole lot to come of that, because, fuck, a blue sedan.
They were in Kentucky. This close to Lexington, Kentucky, there were quite a few blue sedans in these parts of the woods. It was a color that was popular with a number of locals thanks to the University of Kentucky. Plus, Carson was a cop—he’d known what to do, how to avoid getting caught.
But damn it, they had to try, and Nielson had to do everything he could. Because earlier, he hadn’t done enough. At least he had the plates, although he couldn’t be sure the plates wouldn’t be changed.
With Carson being a cop, it made Nielson’s job that much harder.
Fear gripped Remy as he tore out of his office. He was on the road as he made the call to Reilly. A split second passed before he also made the decision to call Ezra King. Not that he knew if it would do much good.
But the cop had a good head on his shoulders and right now, he wanted as much help as he could get.
What in the fuck had happened? And how had Nielson let it happen?
Remy just didn’t know. And he couldn’t blame Nielson either. He had to make sure he blamed himself, too, because he’d been worried about this.
Terrified about it, but he’d been trying to think about what Hope needed, and he’d been trying to be understanding and supportive and shit …
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, don’t let anything happen to her.”
Hope came awake, filled with a familiar and oh-so-unwelcome sensation. She hated, hated, hated it.
It hadn’t been all that long since she’d felt this terror and she’d hoped she’d never have to feel it again. But even as it tried to overwhelm her mind, even as that darkness tried to pull her under and turn her into that desperate, whimpering, mindless thing, she pushed it back.
She might have to feel the fear—she couldn’t control that—but she could control how she acted. She wasn’t who she had been, damn it.
And Joe was about to find that out. Experimentally, she checked her body, wondering if she could move. She wasn’t surprised to find that she could. Joe wouldn’t have thought to tie her up. It wouldn’t have occurred to him that she might try to run away from him.
Even though she’d finally gotten desperate enough to divorce him, that hadn’t ever involved physically running.
He wouldn’t be able to conceive of her openly, physically defying him. He was about to see it, though. She’d run. She’d fight. She’d kick, scream, bite, whatever she had to do to get away.
She could move well enough to do it, too, although she hurt. Her mind was one aching, muzzy mess and when she tried to figure out why, it only hurt more. She’d been driving. She remembered that. Driving. And then … shit. Joe had run her off the road. He had really lost his mind.
If she hadn’t been so fucking terrified, she might have laughed hysterically. Maybe Remy had been right to be so worried … she shouldn’t have left home alone.
She lifted her lashes just a little, staring through them to look around. Where were they? A cabin—looked like a cabin. She didn’t recognize it. She didn’t know where they were. Didn’t know where he’d taken her.
Swallowing, she shifted her gaze around, looking for him—and when she found him sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at her, she stiffened.
She barely managed to muffle her shriek, but she couldn’t keep her body from reacting. And that told him … let him know she was awake. Wide awake.
Joe smiled and reached out, laid a hand on her ankle. “Hello, darling,” he murmured.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, pulling away from him.
His face tightened. “You might want to watch telling me what to do.” He stood up and came closer, sitting down on the side of the bed. “I’m already unhappy with you and you know it. You know what I do when I’m unhappy. Why make it any worse than it needs to be?”
Hope curled her lip at him.
He rested a hand on her belly, sighing. “I ju
st don’t care for that look on your face, baby. You’ve forgotten how things should be. I think I’ll have to teach you everything all over again.” He stood and turned away.
Hope took advantage of that to sit up, casting a quick glance around the cabin, peering through the window. Although she didn’t recognize the cabin itself, she thought maybe the woods might be familiar. Was that crazy? Wishful thinking? Was it just her desperation that had her thinking maybe they were in or near the woods around Law’s place? They stretched on for a while and she knew some people had hunting cabins out there.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as he turned back to her.
“I came for my wife,” he said, giving her a vaguely puzzled smile like he couldn’t quite comprehend why she was asking. As though she should already know the answer.
“I’m not your wife,” she snarled, spitting the word out of her mouth. It made her sick to even think it. His wife—she’d never go back to that. Never.
Joe’s eyes narrowed on her face. “Be careful what you say.”
“I’m not your wife,” she repeated. “Not according to the law, not according to me. We’re divorced. End of story. It’s over.”
“ ’Til death do us part,” he whispered. He came back to the bed, stroked a hand down her cheek. That light touch made her shudder.
When he fisted a hand in her hair, squeezing so tight it brought tears to her eyes, she almost cried out, but she bit it back. He’d made her cry enough, damn it.
Then he touched her again with his other hand. That same gentle touch. “ ’Til death do us part, Hope. It’s not over. Because you’re alive, and so am I.”
Staring up at his face, she thought, I’d be really happy to fix that problem.
“We’re going back to Clinton,” he said, letting go of her hair and turning away again.
“The hell I am.”
He turned around, backhanded her. Casually. Like he was flicking some lint from his sleeve. “Watch your mouth,” he said mildly. “As I was saying, we’re going back to Clinton.”
Hope shoved off the bed, ignored the pain screaming in her cheek. Staring at him through the tears that burned in her eyes, she softly said, “I’ll go back to Clinton only if you take me back dead, you bastard. There’s no way in hell you can force me to leave here with you.”
If You See Her Page 30