Page 28 of Curves for the Mountain Man

“That’swho kidnapped me,” I say, my voice trembling uncontrollably.

“The student who was killed?” she asks again, flashing the photo at me.

I nod, tears pouring down my face. “Asher Scofield killed Crystal and Tiffany, and he kidnapped me. If it wasn’t for Roscoe, I’d be dead and buried in an unmarked grave in the woods or worse. And this filthy, horrific, inhumane, fucking piece of trash would still be walking the streets.” Rage fuels my words, and I fight hard not to spit at the phone.

She exhales loudly. “I need to call the detectives working this case….”

I nod, drawing a deep breath and thinking of Roscoe to steel my nerves and fight the panic that grips me at the sight of my kidnapper.

Knitting her brows and looking conflicted, she asks, “But are you up for this? This is the first time you’ve been truly responsive in two days.”

Her words make me question everything she’s told me so far. If I haven’t been responsive, then why would the hospital do a sexual assault forensic exam on me and say I consented? All I know is nothing matters until I clear Roscoe’s name and see him again. There will be plenty of time for questions later.

“Yes, Mama, I have to do this now before everything blows more out of control. Roscoe Vaughn is a hero, my savior. The world has to know this.”

“Okay.” She exhales, looking wholly unconvinced. Part of me wonders if she’s calling the psychologist she mentioned earlier instead of the police.

After a moment’s thought, I add, “I need to speak to Dad, too. Roscoe needs a lawyer, and I do, too.”

Dad’s remarried with an obscene amount of money for whatever he does that he can’t talk to me about. He lives well,maintains a stellar public reputation, and has ready access to lawyers and any other resources we may need.

He has more than enough money to help me bring a lawsuit against the hospital for an invasive and non-consensual medical procedure and, more importantly, to clear Roscoe of spurious charges. I just wonder how my mountain man savior could possibly still want me after all I’ve put him through…

Chapter

Twelve

ROSCOE

“Vaughn. You’ve got a visitor,” one of my Corrections Officers announces, and I sit up on my bunk.

Ginger.

My heart races with the unreasonable hope of seeing her again. Of knowing that she’s okay.

So much has happened since I last saw her at the New Brunswick Hospital ER—her temperature spiking wildly, her cough persistent and progressive, and her mind spinning in and out of consciousness. One minute, holding an intelligible conversation, the next lost in confusion and hallucinations. My heart aches and strains against these memories, hungry for the assurance that she’s okay.

It roils against the police who apprehended me at the hospital, accusing me of all sorts of baseless things, trying to get me to admit to shit I never did and would never do.

Following medical treatment for my arm, I was taken into police custody, last seeing Ginger as hospital staff wheeled her into the ER to sign paperwork and be assigned a bed. I’ve heardnothing about her condition since because everyone thinks I’m her kidnapper … and worse.

By now, she should have straightened out the narrative and reached out to me in some way. The air silence has my head spiraling out of control.

But more than all of these worries, my mind ruminates obsessively on the cave and everything that happened between us and what didn’t. Everything I should have said but failed to…

I should have told her that she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That I can’t live without her. That I will do whatever it takes to become the man she deserves. But is it too late?

What if everything that happened between us was nothing more than a fever dream for her? A wild and untamed experience never to be revisited? Like a spark that falls short, hitting rocks instead of kindling?

She was in peril the whole time. There’s no telling how long she was sick or how the stress of our survival situation fucked with her mind, making her cling to things she normally wouldn’t. Making her want things she never would under normal circumstances.

My CO shackles my ankles and wrists. It’s a stupid fucking precaution, but thanks to the high-profile media coverage, the nature of my charges, and my military training, I’m considered among the most dangerous criminals in this facility. I face three counts of homicide, three sexual assaults, two kidnappings, car theft…the list goes on and on. How any cop could think Asher’s death was anything but suicide, I don’t know.

But I do know my rights and haven’t spoken to a soul, which likely hasn’t helped my situation. Or maybe it’s helped more than I know. The public defender they assigned me is young and inexperienced, and I worry a snow job’s in the works. One that could keep me away from Ginger indefinitely. Maybe, in the longrun, this outcome is better for her. Because what can I offer the blonde beauty?

Safety, security, strength, wealth, total devotion, adventure…a sex life that’ll put what we did in the cave to shame. I do have things to offer her. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, too.

I enter the private conference room with a single table and two chairs in the center. A clean-shaven man in a well-tailored suit with salt-and-pepper hair and thick black-rimmed glasses frowns at me, standing.

---