“Now, Ms. Elton, can we speak?” he asked.
“Why not?” she said, her voice defeated.
“If I take off the handcuffs, do you promise not to attempt to hit me again?”
“What good would it do? The Taser didn’t even faze you,” she replied.
“Oh, it fazed me. I may not work properly for a while,” he said, a mocking grin lighting up his face.
“I won’t struggle anymore. Just get this done, please. I’m tired of being afraid, anyway.”
“Good. We believe you are a witness to the activities of Jesse Marcus. We would like any information you can give us.”
Yep. This was it. They wanted to see what she knew, whom she’d told, and whether there was anyone else they had to kill. And then they’d off her.
“I haven’t told anyone anything,” she said, a tiny but unquenched hope in her chest making her plead for her life, no matter how useless it was.
“I believe you, Ms. Elton. I promise you, I’m not working for Mr. Marcus. On the contrary. I’m going to make sure the bastard doesn’t hurt anyone ever again.”
Maybe it was his tone, maybe his words, but Misty slowly lifted her eyes and met his gaze. Questions stared back at him. He waited, looking at her without blinking, trying to convey to her that he was, indeed, the good guy.
“Who are you?” she finally whispered.
“I’m Special Agent Bryson Winchester, and this is my partner, Special Agent Axel Carlson. We’re the men who are going to lock up the man you’ve been running from.”
He didn’t break the connection of their eyes, didn’t move as she processed his words.
Then it was all over. Misty sagged against the back of the seat as she let herself go for the first time since she’d run from Jesse a year ago. She let go of the fear, let go of the pain, let go of it all, and cried.
She didn’t know if she’d be able to stop — didn’t know if this was it for her. She’d gone so far holding it all in, staying strong, and now that the dam had a crack in it, maybe she would just burst apart and be like that forever.
At some point, she found herself cradled against this stranger’s chest, her tears soaking his once pristine shirt. She didn’t even have the energy to care. She just let it all out, every single emotion she’d been bottling up for so long. He stopped talking, and just ran his hand through her hair.
Somewhere in the middle of all of this, the SUV began moving, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. She just kept on crying — out of relief, out of pain, out of hope.
Chapter Three
Bryson paced restlessly through the suite as he waited for Misty to finish her shower. It seemed much easier to bring her back to the hotel, get her a room, and let her take some time to compose herself before they questioned her.
It had taken over an hour to convince her that they were really from the FBI and they were there to help her. Well, if he had to be completely honest, they were there to help their case. But, by getting Jesse behind bars, they were helping Misty.
That was important.
She had more information stored in her brain than she realized. Jesse Marcus was the true definition of a bad cop, and Bryson was going to bust his ass. The man was mixed up in drugs, prostitution, and murder. He was going down.
At first, Bryson had thought that Misty might be involved in it all, but after reviewing the surveillance tapes, checking into her tragic history, and basically learning everything he could about her, he knew she was innocent. Sometimes his radar was wrong, but he didn’t think so in this case.
She’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she was now paying a high price for crossing paths with that man. Misty Elton was lucky to be alive.
And Bryson intended to keep her that way.
“What do you want to eat?”
Bryson turned to find Axel leaning quietly against the door, a bored smirk on his face. This was a part of their job they both hated — babysitting.
“Is everything secure?” he asked, ignoring the question.
“Yep. We’re all clear outside. I had a nice stroll,” Axel said.
“Good. I want to keep the local law enforcement out of this. She doesn’t trust them, and frankly, I understand why. We’ll never get her to talk if the men in blue show up.”
“Yeah, it’s cases like these that make me appreciate my job more. I don’t know how men like Jesse ever pass the tests to become police officers.”
“We both know it happens,” Bryson said with a sigh.
“Okay, I’m starved. What should I get?” Axel asked again.
“Burgers will be fine,” Bryson said. He had no appetite at the moment.
“Nah. We had those the last few nights. Let’s do Chinese.”
“Why ask my opinion, Axel, when you’re just going to get whatever you feel like?”
“’Cause it’s always fun to annoy you.” Axel grabbed his coat and headed from the room.
The two men had been colleagues for the past five years, had been through some less than ideal cases, and they knew each other well enough to keep alive. Axel was his best friend, his confidant, his brother-in-arms.
The shower clicked off and Bryson tensed. He didn’t understand why this woman was getting under his skin. She was just another victim in a long line of them — just another case. There was no reason to take any of this personally. No reason to get worked up over it. It was a standard case, pretty much cut-and-dry. They get her testimony; they lock her slimy ex up.
A doubt nagged at him. What if she was too afraid to get up in the witness box? Well, his job was to give her confidence, make sure she knew she was protected. It wasn’t an easy task, because they didn’t know how many of the policemen Jesse was working with were corrupt.
He had no doubt that if Jesse got his hands on her again, he would kill her.
However, if she pulled out, they had quite a few other witnesses. It was just that they didn’t want this case to fall apart for any reason, and if all the witnesses got jumpy and bailed, Jesse would walk. That was unacceptable.
He was really just worried about the case. That was all. So why this immediate need to take this woman’s burdens upon himself? He’d held many women while they sobbed in his arms. And nothing. He’d never felt the slightest trace of emotion stirring inside himself.
Walking over to the patio door, frustrated, he flung it open, and a strong gust blew inside the room, flipping his tie over his shoulder and cooling the room instantly. Seattle was definitely a cold place in February. He’d rather be home in Montana, truth to tell — though the winters were harsher, rain wasn’t as constant a presence there. First choice? His place in L.A. The women wore far less clothing, which was always a plus.