Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I tried to remind myself that he did trust me with some things. Enough to let me carry the pack with his journal. Enough that he’d thought about me in his darkest moments today. Enough that the journal cover I’d given him held all his secrets.
But if we couldn’t discuss Wolfe’s secret identity as Fletcher Coe, I couldn’t help him solve the biggest problem.
How could I keep him safe if he wouldn’t fucking let me?
As I lay there listening to his soft breaths, my brain wouldn’t shut off. Every time I got close to falling asleep, I pictured Wolfe incapacitated on the trail. Wolfe tied to a tree. Wolfe crawling down a muddy mountain, injured and alone.
Seeing him wet and filthy on his hands and knees, trying to get to safety, was something I would never forget or get over.
My blood continued to boil.
Wolfe was hurt and exhausted. I didn’t want him to have to carry the burden of trying to neutralize Jake Mason.
I knew if I waited for Wolfe to wake up, we’d continue our very reasonable discussion about the situation. I’d try to control my temper, he’d try to master his fears, and we’d have a rational exchange of ideas in which I’d make sure he felt like his voice was respected as my equal partner.
I wanted that with him.
Hell, I wanted nothing more than to do that every single day of our future lives, if he’d let me.
But right now? At this moment? The man I loved had been assaulted, and the perpetrator still held a sword over his head. I was on fucking fire to do something.
So I decided to take action. And if Wolfe was angry at me for it, then we’d have a long talk about that instead.
Years of experience as a close protection officer and an emergency responder had left me with a habit of acting first and begging for forgiveness later. Wolfe’s safety and comfort were more important than his pride.
When I slipped out of the bed, I moved my pillow into the space my body had been, hoping the warmth of it against his back would fool him long enough for me to sneak away.
Thankfully, he was so tired he didn’t even stir as I carefully slid the van door open and closed again. I stepped lightly across the gravel of his camping spot until I was on the paved drive, and then I picked up the pace to my rental vehicle, changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, and made my way to Montrose.
It was close to two in the morning when I entered the Montrose County Sheriff’s Office. Thankfully, Clay had still been awake and at the station when I’d texted to ask permission to see Jake. When I arrived, I was shown into a small room, where Jake was waiting at a scarred wooden table.
Just the sight of him made me want to lunge across it and drive my fist into his smug face.
Jake took me in with a quick up-down as if assessing what I knew. “Trace.”
“Jake,” I said, careful to keep my voice low and steady as I took the seat opposite him.
He pressed his lips together, but I could tell he was trying to hide a knowing grin. “Come to fight baby-boy’s battles?”
I inhaled and clenched my fingers into fists under the table.
The smile edged its way out of his pretend nonchalance as Jake filed my reaction away.
“He’s recovering from his ordeal,” I explained. “He was the victim of an assault.”
“Ugh. Poor guy. He okay?” Jake tilted his head in such a good impression of concerned friend, I might have fallen for it myself.
Wolfe really needed to stop beating himself up about being misled.
“Cut the shit,” I said, suddenly feeling the full exhaustion of the day settle deep in my bones. “The lab results will be back tomorrow. You drugged and threatened him.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “You can’t prove that.”
“I came here in an attempt to be reasonable.” Which was not fucking easy for me. But the only thing more all-consuming than my desire for vengeance was my desire to keep Wolfe safe. “I was hoping you’d be reasonable, too.”
He laughed, short and humorless, unfolding his arms and leaning back in his seat. I assumed the posture was meant to look relaxed, but it missed the mark.
“Reasonable. That’s me.” He studied the floor for a moment. When he looked back up, there was a sharper quality to him. “He tell you about Fletcher Coe?”
He said the name like he was dropping an ace on the table between us. But I merely looked at him without moving or speaking and watched his certainty waver by degrees as the silence stretched.
Inside, I’d gone still and cold. I wasn’t surprised to hear Fletcher’s name. But having Wolfe’s most protected secret weaponized by this man, in that particular tone, in this sterile building, in view of a running surveillance camera, didn’t just make me angry. It brought me back to a time in my life I hardly ever thought of anymore. To a Trace I barely remembered. The one who’d survived on the streets for years.