Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Again, running for my life. But you can only run so long before you get caught.
Through some guided hypnosis with Dr. Lake, I recalled getting jumped in the bathroom stall, and then the prick of a needle in my neck. I never saw the face of my attacker, and no one seemed to witness the assault or see me get taken out the back way of the diner.
From Bayfield, Montana. The place where nothing happens to anyone. Except me.
So much is still a mystery—who took me and how I got to the island—but at least Derek Wolfe is dead and his kids shut down his vicious trafficking enterprise. Most of the men who went there are either in prison or have disappeared—having fled the country. It’s over.
No reason to fear for my life here. Not today. Objectively, I know this.
I draw in a deep breath. The smoky fragrance of the bacon wafts into me, and my stomach actually growls a little. I’ve always loved bacon.
Maybe I will take a bite of my sandwich, but first…
I have to go to the ladies room.
I have to face the place where I was abducted.
That’s the main reason for coming back to Millie’s.
You have to know that you’re safe there, Carly, Dr. Lake says.
But I wasn’t safe there.
Not then. But you are now.
I stand.
Emma hurries over, worry etched on her aged face. “Do you need something?”
“Just going to pee, Emma,” I say.
“Oh.” Her cheeks redden. “Sorry.”
Yes, it would be nice to be able to do so without the entire diner feeling like I may vanish if they don’t keep their eyes trained on me at all times.
I walk slowly, my heart rattling in my chest, toward the ladies’ room near the back of the diner.
The back door.
The door I was carried out of.
It looms in the distance, not seeming to get any nearer until I almost run into it.
To my right is the door to the bathroom.
I turn and push it open.
The pungent scent of fruity air freshener assaults me. It’s a small bathroom with only two stalls. I was in the second one when…
I draw in another breath to calm my racing heart and push the door to the stall open—
“Hey!” A woman inside slams the door closed.
I jump, panicked and embarrassed at the same time.
“Oh God! I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t you see my legs?”
“I…wasn’t looking. Why didn’t you lock the door?”
“The lock doesn’t work.”
“God. I’m so sorry.” I wash my hands quickly, leave the bathroom, and head back to my table, glancing out the front picture windows. Sweat dots my brow and I’m glad I didn’t eat any of my sandwich because I’m instantly nauseated.
God. Even more so when I see my father walking down the sidewalk.
He doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looks downright pissed.
Coming toward him?
The three Bridger brothers.
Uh-oh.
Based on the not-so fun conversation over dinner the other night, I can’t forget that Dad hates them. Because the elder—and dead—Bridger swindled him out of his property. Fair enough. I lost three years of my life. I know what being robbed feels like.
But the faceoff between the Bridger brothers and my dad is a surefire recipe for disaster.
I love my dad, but I also love my job. I need my job. If Chance ends up firing me because of a blowup with my dad…
I’ve felt more whole in the last few days than I’ve felt in five years.
Why can’t Dad understand that?
Why can’t he see that Austin, Miles, and Chance aren’t their father?
I look to Austin and feel a catch in my chest. There’s something about him that works for me. All three Bridger brothers are handsome, but it’s Austin who melts my butter. And wets my panties.
I head to my table, grab my wallet out of my purse, and throw some bills on the table to cover my uneaten sandwich.
Then I draw in a deep breath. I need to get between the men because I’m definitely the center of their upcoming fight. I can feel it.
I know it.
I dash out of the restaurant, the little bell clanging over the door as I go.
This won’t be pretty.
13
AUSTIN
* * *
Rick Vance is tall, about my height, and doesn’t look any happier to see us up close. He stops, blocking the sidewalk, clearly ready for a chat.
Or a Wild West shootout.
He doesn’t seem to be sporting a gun on his hip, but this is Montana.
I see bits of Carly in him—the dark hair and coloring, although his eyes are a deep brown instead of a vibrant green.
I glance at Miles, who gives away nothing, since he’s about as clueless as I am. The best thing is to follow Chance’s lead when it comes to this guy and keep my mouth shut about having my hands on his daughter.
“Mayor.” Chance tips his Stetson. His stance is wide as he tucks his thumbs in his jeans pockets.