Not until I call the police. I’d been biding my time alongside Brandon since the cabin. I don’t know what’s happened to him, but I’m not sticking around to find out. He’s an angry, unstable, and volatile man whom I don’t even recognize.
Like the possessive way he behaved at the store earlier. I’d been horrified by the way he confronted that poor man for simply being nice to me. I know he’s keeping things from me. And I know he’s lying—I can feel it—and it scares the hell out of me. The way he took War’s money—it might not have been a blatant lie, but it was deceitful. Gabe may have been the psychopath in my story who dragged me into his deranged world, but Brandon’s erratic and controlling behavior fills me with the same sense of dread. And I refuse to lead a life of misery in anyone else’s steely clutches for as long as I live. I decide not to think about it too deeply, because if I do, I’ll fall apart. So, for now, I push it to the back of my mind. I need to find Land. He’ll keep me safe and help me get on my feet. We will search for my dad. Then, together, we can raise my child—his grandchild—in a non-toxic environment.
It’s time for me to stand on my own two feet.
I can do this.
It doesn’t take long for me to locate the number for the Oakland PD. Quickly, I dial and try to keep my fluttering heart calm.
“Detective Stark, please,” I mutter to the receptionist who answers. She tells me to hold and I’m soon listening to elevator music.
“Stark speaking.”
Her voice radiates authority and my nerves seem to hum with anxiety.
“Umm, hi, this is Baylee Winston.”
I hear her rushed breath come through the phone. “Miss Winston! Are you okay? Are you safe?”
I look toward the front door of the suite, expecting to see Brandon’s angry form materializing there.
“Um, for the moment. But I, uh, need to talk to you.”
She shuffles some papers and her voice is serious. “You have my undivided attention. Where are you, Miss Winston?”
I sigh and will the tears away. “San Francisco.”
“San Francisco? Are you still with Gabriel Sharpe?”
A tear rolls down my cheek and I sniffle. “No. I escaped, but then Brandon showed up and found me. Then, um…”
“And then…what, Miss Winston?”
“He—” I pause because whatever I say will implicate Brandon. The thought of him getting in trouble makes my chest ache. He may no longer be the boy I once knew, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to be put away as a result of Gabe’s actions.
“I’m listening.”
“He died. There was a struggle…and he fell into the cellar at the cabin. The cellar where he was first holding me captive.”
The line goes silent for a moment. “Where can we find his body, Miss Winston?”
I rattle off directions to the cabin, as best as I can, since I don’t know the address. When I finish, she speaks again. “Can you come down to the station so we can get your statement? Or can we come to you? Where in San Francisco are you, Miss Winston?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not coming in. Well, not yet at least.” Picking up the phone receiver, I walk back over to the window to watch for Brandon.
“Okay.” Her heavy sigh comes through the line. “Well, can you at least tell me more about the White Collar Trade group?”
I swallow down my emotion and nod even though she can’t see me. “They were all rich men in suits. A fancy real estate company in San Diego. I don’t know any of their names except for one. Edgar Finn. He told me he would carve me up after he had his way with me and then dump me in the ocean. I’m afraid he’s hurt or done…worse to other women like me, and I don’t think he planned on stopping any time soon.”
She’s taking notes. I can hear the scribbling of her pen on paper.
“Miss Winston, do you know where your father is? Are you staying with him?”
A sob catches in my throat at the mention of my dad. “No, I don’t know where he is,” I choke out. “I’m…” The last remaining shred of my loyalty to Brandon holds me back. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope to God I’m doing the right thing. “We came to San Francisco to look for him. Brandon said Dad left a note stating he’d come here. But we haven’t done anything to look for him yet. He wanted to come to this fancy hotel, and—” I realize the words are rushing out of my mouth and stop to take a deep, calming breath. “He’s acting really weird. I’m scared, Ms. Stark.”
“Rita,” she says softly, “call me Rita.”
“I didn’t kill War, you know. Brandon told me you guys think I did, but I didn’t,” I tell her firmly as hot tears roll down my cheeks. “I loved him. So much. Gabe came back for me and shot him, Rita. There was so much blood…he didn’t deserve it. He was sick and that kind of death was the worst possible way for him to go.”
“Honey,” Rita says, her voice growing firm, despite the pet name, “Mr. McPherson’s not dead. He’s alive. I spoke to him today at the hospital.”