Page 14 of Preying Heart
“He’d kill you for that?” The words slip out of my mouth before I can take them back.
She winces as if I’d punched her in the gut. The look she gives me is so stricken I feel it deep in my heart. She has feelings for this Congressman Greasley, her foster brother who impregnated her. Sick.
“I should never have mentioned his name. It’s against his rules.” Her face pales, and she holds her hand over her gut. “That’s why they shot at me.”
“They’d kill you rather than let the world know what a sick bastard he is.”
A slow shudder rolls from her shoulders down to her hips. “They have a reputation to keep up. No one can know they’re not the saints they portray to the world. They want him to be president someday.”
“I’m getting the picture. And now I’m involved. I know their secret, and I have you.”
“You can forget about it and walk away. It’s not too late.” The look on her face is surprisingly sympathetic. “I’m sorry.”
“No, not at all. Told you I help damsels in distress. Now, tell me about this troublemaking brother and how he left you broke and alone in a casino motel.”
“I don’t have a brother,” she insists. “I hitchhiked and gambled away the blood money. That’s where you found me. Where someone ordered you to find me and do what? Kill me, too?”
“Someone wants me to keep you safe. He said to call when I have you in custody.”
“You a cop?”
“I’m one of the good guys.”
“I don’t believe you just altruistically go around helping damsels in distress.” She tilts her chin up and sniffs.
“Don’t reckon you have a choice there.” I turn the old clunker back the way we came. “I’m involved now, and I’m keeping you safe.”
“Why don’t you call this guy now? Claim your reward?”
“You think I’m stupid enough to travel with a cell phone? Something that’ll track me? Let me guess. You or your nonexistent brother used a credit card at that motel.”
Her eyes widen and she huffs. “Is that how you found me?”
“Elementary if you know where to look.”
“So you are a cop.”
“I’m a hunter, but if it makes you feel safer, you’re worth a lot to me if the orders weren’t a prank or a trap.”
“You have my glossy photo?”
“Ah, so you know all about this.” I’m starting to get the picture there is no million dollars. “Someone set me up, didn’t they? No wonder it was so easy to find you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Guess you don’t. We’re just going to have to try and collect that million-dollar bounty and see.”
She sucks in a noisy breath and gapes at me. “You’re kidding me. He offered you a million?”
“Not so smart, are we? If you aren’t worth a potential million, I might dump you at the side of the road.”
That shuts her up. She sits there steaming as I drive eastward toward Idaho.
Whoever commissioned me knows me well.
A damsel in distress.
A trafficking victim.
