I keep remembering Ryder’s eyes, like smooth and polished deep green sea glass, with an onyx black band around the iris that makes them stand out even more. I shiver, replaying the way those beautiful eyes made me feel when he looked deeply into mine.
“Miss Farrington.” The voice forces me from my thoughts.
A police officer has finally come for me. He’s a heavyset man—evidence that he spends more time behind a desk than in the field—with thinning hair and an unfriendly mouth. “I’ve been waiting here for almost two hours!” I complain.
“I apologize for the inconvenience; there were several channels I had to follow to assure your safety.”
“Thank you.” I’m sure that hasn’t been a simple thing.
“I’m Chief Warner.” He shakes my hand. “Some of my best officers are readying an armed entourage to deliver you without harm or interruption to agents in Shrevesport.”
“Thank you again. When will we be leaving?”
“I’m here to escort you to the vehicle.”
“I’d like to call my mother first,” I tell him. “And see Ryder . . . Mr. Axton, who I came with.”
“To safeguard your protection we’ve been instructed not to employ the use of any cell or landline with you in custody until we get you safely to Shrevesport. The FBI is concerned about wiretaps—but I guarantee you’ll be able to call your mom in just about an hour, once we’re sure you’re in the right hands.”
“That’s disappointing, but I guess understand,” I say without conviction. “And Mr. Axton?”
“Mr. Axton received his bounty for recovering you and is gone.”
“Gone?” I trill. “That can’t be.” I shake my head, confused.
He reads me like an open book. “I’m sorry you’re upset. But once he was paid, his job was finished. Bounty hunters don’t stay involved once they’ve delivered.”
“Oh.” He just left me. Without saying goodbye?
What was I expecting?
I was expecting him to check up on me! This news stings a lot more than I’d like to admit.
“Chief, Miss Farrington’s escort is ready.” A female officer pokes her head into the tiny waiting room I’ve been locked in for my own safety for the past couple of hours.
“Officer Bloom will be your female escort,” the chief tells me as officer Bloom extends her hand for me to shake.
“Thank you very much for your service,” I say as I shake her hand.
“No problem, Miss Farrington,” she replies.
I’m led to a secure garage lined with black, shiny SUVs. Some of my escort are in plain clothes and others are in full blue uniforms.
“Who are the federal agents we’ll be meeting up with?” I ask.
Chief Warner watches Officer Bloom and I slip into the back seat of one of the pristine vehicles. “Agents Stanley, Decker and Marshall,” he answers as he closes my door and the driver rolls down the window so we can finalize our brief conversation. “You’re in excellent hands, Miss Farrington.”
I look over at officer Bloom and she smiles reassuringly.
The chief taps the door twice and the engines turn over. Three SUVs—I’m in the middle one—pull out under the late afternoon sky.
Nobody is much for talking, which is fine with me.
Why did I think he cared about me? You were persuaded by his Venus dimples and his rough but elegant mannerisms and ink, I tell myself.
God, I’m so gullible. I wonder how much he got for bringing me to the police.
I’m so curious, I almost ask officer Bloom, but then I figure I’ll keep my shame to myself. Don’t need to be humiliated in front of a stranger.
So, I read him wrong. It—I—was just another job to him.
About a half hour into our trip, we encounter congested traffic. A mile further, and the front vehicle turns off the main highway and east onto Route 1.
“What’s going on?” I ask Officer Bloom.
“We don’t want to be trapped on the highway, so we’re taking an alternate route into the city,” she tells me.
“Good call.” I look out the darkened window behind me and watch our rear guard follow. I definitely feel safe with a troop of three vehicles. My attention turns to the trial. “Have there been any leads in finding Miguel?”
Officer Bloom shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
I nod. There is something seriously wrong with me. I almost had a vision of Ryder coming with me—you know, like staying with me until the trial was over. Maybe because he promised he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me. He said he’d personally protect me from Miguel.
I guess his protection had an expiration date, and it was a hell of a lot sooner than you thought, Rachel.
Who the hell is Ryder Axton anyway?
It doesn’t matter. I’m in a good, sure, safe and dependable place now—I’m in protective custody—and Ryder Axton is a serious wildcard.
I feel my eyes grow heavy with sleep as the smooth ride lulls and rocks my body.