Page 36 of The Knight

"When I said I'm falling in love with you? No." He shakes his head, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and my knees briefly tremble. "I was deadly serious. And so is what you need to do, so if you're inanydanger, I'm going to call the authorities. No matter what Cole says about dragging the cops into this. So stay safe."

"That's the plan," I tell him lightly, but the truth is, so far today has gone nowhere near to plan.

So let's hope this last, final bit is different than the rest has been.

I need a win.

Chapter 15

Ihave to hike across the street to get to the airport hanger parking lot. Hass and his thugs are around the corner to the back, so I head towards the front, crossing my fingers that no one will be on lookout.

Everything about this is dangerous.

As I find some crates in the airport hanger to hide behind, I find myself wondering why I didn't make Blake do this instead. But the truth is I wouldn't trust him to pull it off the way I will. This is personal. It wasmybrother who was killed because of whatever Hass is involved in. Not to mention he's too tall to fit into the spot between crates I plan on wedging myself into to get a good view of Hass's criminal activities.

There's a good twenty feet between my current hiding spot and the one I need to get into to film Hass. I can see his tall, angular form get out of his car and pace back and forth, cell phone to his ear. The passenger side door opens a bit, and a woman's leg reaches out, resting for a moment. I'd recognize those custom designer shoes anywhere.

Georgia Johnson herself is here with her shitty not-quite-ex boyfriend.

My mind races. I wonder if she knows what he's here for—if she's involved too, or if he's kept her in the dark. I'd believe a lot of things of Georgia, but not that she supports human trafficking.

Hass turns his back to me as he raises his voice on the phone, so I take this chance, the only one I might get. It feels like my footsteps, quiet as they are, ring out through the empty airport hanger, but Hass doesn't turn as I run in a crouch towards the sliver of a break between two crates near the hanger door. Sliding into my spot, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse.

If I'm caught right here, right now, no excuse I come up with will fly. They'll know what I'm up to, and if Blake doesn't pull me out in time, I could wind up just as dead as my brother.

It's hard to keep my hands from shaking as I flip the camera on. Hard not to think that Hass, who is maybe fifteen feet away from me at the most, will hear even the quietest of noise from the shutter as I experimentally take a few photos of him.

This close, I can hear his side of the phone conversation, and see Georgia's impatient face as she waits in the car for him.

"No, the pickup was supposed to take ten minutes."

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Well, bring it to me later on then." A pause. Hass paces away.

I wonder why it is that he hasn't gone to the other side of the lot, past the plane, to see the women—from where he is they're not even visible, no doubt standing outside in the cold freezing to death. I'll have to move as he does in order to get close enough to photograph them. There's a spot I can get to, right outside the doors behind a parked baggage car, but I'll have to wait until Hass has walked past to run out and crouch behind it.

Georgia's designer shoe taps out an impatient rhythm on the asphalt as she waits for Hass. The evening light is draining from the air as the sun sets; soon it'll be even colder, the half-dressed girls shivering in their skimpy clothes. I can't seem to stop darting glances at Georgia, wondering how it is that she's here, with him, doingthis.It's hard to decide which thought is worse: that she knows, or that she doesn't know.

"Hass!" Stretching up and out of the car, Georgia aims a frustrated pout in his direction, stopping him in the middle of his phone call. "How much longer is this little detour going to take? Our reservation is in fifteen minutes, and you said we'd be celebrating our three month anniversary."

I take a few photos of her, more to get used to focusing the lens than anything. One in the middle, as she takes a step forward, strikes me. Playing them back on the screen, I zoom in on her leg and suck in a breath as I spot bruises in a familiar formation, spaced apart like a handprint.

No doubt she'd say, if she heard my worry for her, that she can handle him. That it's none of my business. Even, that she'd get me back for getting involved if I try to poke my nose in. After all, she didn't like it very much when I waved my knife around in response to him pushing her against a wall and groping her.

Having sympathy for Georgia Johnson is like having sympathy for the devil himself. But there it is anyway, a hot knife of worry in my stomach. Even after everything she's done to me, I wouldn't wish this on her—because she's not my worst enemy whenhe'sstanding right there next to her.

Into the phone, Hass, says, "Just give me a minute." Then he covers the mouthpiece with his hand—apparently he's too rich of a dumbass to know the mute button exists—and stalks towards Georgia, advancing on her until she shrinks back against the hood of his sports car. "I'm in the middle of some very important business. So your fuckingreservationcan fuckingwait,you addle-brained dumbass. Some of us do more with our inherited wealth than shop online all day and stuff our faces with fattening food."

I wince at the way he towers over her, how he reaches up to tug on a lock of her red hair, his movements decidedly non-playful. There's a threat written in every tense line of his body, but I find that I can't lift the camera to take a single photograph, because my arms are shaking and he's standing so close that I'm afraid I'll be Georgia next if he hears me.

Georgia protests in a low, shaky voice. "I donoteat fattening food."

I have to roll my eyes. Of course she would object to that part, which matters the least out of all of it. She should be shoving him away, telling him not to insult her. If it were me or another one of the girls she would. But shockingly, her take-no-prisoners attitude seems to disappear when Hass is around.

"Get back in the car, Georgia." Hass sneers at her and opens the passenger door, shoving her forward. "Mind your business and stay in there."

"Ow!" Lifting her foot, she rubs at an ankle that must've twisted as he shoved her. "What is wrong with you? Just tell me what you're doing. It's our anniversary, Hass. Nothing can be more important than that."

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