Page 137 of Capturing You
Back in the Caddy, Forbes had turned toward town, where he’d parked in the alley so nobody would connect him with the car. Wearing a baseball cap and a black jacket, he’d kept his head down and found a bench across the street and a block down from Brooklynn’s gallery.
He’d had no idea what else to do. When Brooklynn texted him the photo, he’d guessed she was at the library and walked in that direction.
It was sheer luck—or maybe all God—that he’d gotten there in time.
Beside him, Brooklynn’s breathing had settled, but a glance told him she wasn’t back to normal yet.
“You’re safe now. It’s okay.”
“Did you… Did you kill that man?”
Was that what she was worried about? The man would certainly have killed her, if he’d had the chance. “I put him in a sleeper hold.”
“Oh. Like…like Jack Bauer?”
“I have no idea who that is.”
“From24. The series?”
This woman and her television shows. “I put pressure on the veins in his neck until he passed out. I didn’t cut off his air. He probably woke up a few seconds after we slipped into the woods.”
“Oh. Good.” That second word was tentative, as if a little part of her wished at least one enemy had been taken out. “How do you know how to do that?”
“Years of martial arts training.”
He didn’t tell her that he’d taken the lessons since he was a child so that he’d never again run and hide when others were in danger. He didn’t tell her that the only thing that had made the nightmares stop was the belief that he could defend himself and his grandmother.
He didn’t tell her about the arsenal he’d amassed over the years or the hours and hours he’d spent in target practice.
He didn’t tell her that he’d dedicated his entire life to two things—discovering who killed his family and preparing for the moment he caught up with them.
“I’m glad you didn’t kill him.” Brooklynn’s voice was weak.
In the days he’d known her, he’d never thought of her as weak. She’d been stronger than he’d ever have guessed by looking at the gorgeous, cheerful, curly-haired brunette. It was as if her optimism had been a shield protecting her from fear and worry.
And now, it seemed, her shield was falling away.
“I would’ve killed him if I’d had to.” He angled around a wide corner, hugging the waterline, then met her eyes briefly. “To protect you, I would have killed him. Considering how hard they're trying to find you, they’re not planning to leave you alive.” Or at least not in a condition where she could tell. He didn’t want to think about all the things smugglers could do with such an attractive woman.
“It’s just… I don’t understand.” Her voice wavered. “I already sent the photos to the police. I hoped…I thought they would leave me alone.”
“Maybe they don’t know about the photos. Or maybe they think, photos or not, you can identify them.”
“I can’t, though! I hardly got a look at them.”
He kept his response steady. “They don’t know that.”
“I know.” The words were sharp and thin, like cracked laminate, no longer protecting what was beneath. “I just want it to be over.” Her voice broke, tearing through his resolve.
He slid his hand over hers on the console. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d give anything for it to be over. For Brooklynn to be out of danger and his family’s murderers brought to justice.
He drove slowly past the mansion’s driveway, peering between the hedges at the house.
No cars in the driveway. No strangers lurking about.
Maybe it was foolish to come back here, but he didn’t know where else to go. Like Brooklynn, he wanted—he needed—for this to be over. And the answers were in his house. On his property.
Leaving would mean giving up. He could do that. Hewoulddo that, if he thought Brooklynn would be safe. But she wouldn’t, not until everyone involved in The Network was brought to justice.
