Page 110 of A Captive Situation

It’d been a bluff, but it didn’t matter because if he called my bluff, I would be the reason her world shattered.

Me. I did that.

I was a curse to her.

I said swiftly, coldly, “Deal.”

Sawyer flinched this time, her face wincing, and she took a step away from me.

It wasn’t a good move, that I was letting him choose the location and time of the meeting, but a part of me stopped caring. As long as Sawyer was alive. As long as my son remained hidden from all of this.

It would soon be done.

“You can’t do this.”

She hated me. I saw it in her, the loathing of me. I shut down. She could return to Montana because she didn’t belong in this world.

But she’d be alive.

She’d be alive.

I turned my back to her, grabbed my gun, and shoved it in my holster. “We leave in ten.”

The door shut behind me. I faltered now, slipping to sit on the edge of the bed, my blood roaring in my ears.

I’d give her ten minutes.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Sawyer

My heart was pounding.

Everything was coming apart inside of me. So many emotions. Panic. Terror. I wanted to fall to the floor, fold in a ball, and disappear, but I couldn’t do that. Ten minutes. I almost started laughing at the absurdity of it. Ten whole minutes. Only ten fucking minutes.

I flicked on the bathroom fan, slammed that door shut, and ran for Blake’s room. Jake would think I was in the bathroom. Jesus. I hoped he’d stay in the bedroom. I didn’t know when he’d come out, but I flung Blake’s door open.

She jerked around, shoving to her feet. I hadn’t tied her back on the bed, which Jake would’ve assumed I had done at gunpoint. I motioned to her. “We have to go.” I spoke low. Urgent. “Now. He’s giving you back.”

Her face shuttered closed, a wall coming over her expression, and she dipped her head in a brisk nod. She merely came with me, ready. She bypassed me, seeing the closed bedroom door next to us. “Follow me.”

She led the way out of the apartment, grabbing keys, a phone, a gun on the way. She took them all with deft hands, and I wanted to sprint once we got to the hallway, but not her. Cool, calm, and collected. She walked—walked—to the elevator. Hit the button.

I was gaping at her. “What are you doing?” I hissed.

She gave me a once-over, briskly, assessing me. “Do you have a gun?”

“No.” I thrust a hand out at the one she’d shoved in her back pocket. “But you do.”

The elevator arrived and she stepped on, still so fucking smooth. Whowasthis girl? It was like the second I opened the door, she turned into someone who could live in aMission: Impossiblemovie.

She hit the first-floor button and was doing something with the phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Disabling the tracking. Give me your phone. Though I’m sure your man already did the same with it. Unless he wanted to track you himself?”

I dug it out, handed it over. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to have a problem finding me.”

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