Page 117 of Capturing You

You can trust me, Brooklynn.

That text got an immediate response. A littleHaha.

As if anything about this was funny.

Please, be careful. Don’t let your anger at me deceive you.

He waited for something. A thumbs-up, a thumbs-down. A string of expletives.

After a moment, he decided he’d get nothing at all.

And then, a text came through.

Don’t worry, FORBES. I’m not going to tell anybody who you are or what you’re doing. I’ll keep your secrets. You don’t have to hold me captive anymore.

Captive. Was she insane?

I was protecting you

You were protecting YOU.

Stubborn, hard-headed woman.

Fine. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t want his protection. Problem was, he’d vowed to protect her, and he wasn’t going to break that vow just because she didn’t want him around anymore.

He shifted into drive and headed toward Shadow Cove.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

Brooklynn stared at her reflection in the department store restroom mirror. She’d changed into a cheap pale-blue jogging suit—nothing like the fancy clothes Mrs. Ballentine had worn—and bright-colored slip-on sneakers. After shoving her hair into the tight wig cap, she’d added the wig, then followed the steps on a YouTube video to apply makeup to make her look old. Now her skin was paler and grayer. She’d rubbed in fine pencil lines to give herself wrinkles and even added some to her neck.

Her eyes were already red-rimmed from crying, which enhanced the effect.

She looked like…herself with bad makeup and a wig.

But to a stranger, to someone who didn’t look closely, and from afar, it would do.

She shoved a pebble she'd picked up into her shoe to give herself a limp.

There were perks to having CIA agents in the family.

She’d purchased a giant bright yellow faux-leather purse and put her things inside, backpack and camera and everything else.

She made a note to thank her mother for the credit card number she was letting her use. She doubted anybody was tracking her purchases, but just in case, it seemed wise not to use anything authorities—or bad guys—could employ to find her.

After ordering a car to meet her at a different door from where she’d entered the Maine Mall, she hobbled out of the bathroom, leaning on her new cane. The pebble in her shoe did its painful job, keeping her limping.

She met the driver, and forty minutes later, reached her gallery in downtown Shadow Cove.

Fear bubbled inside of her. What was she doing? Was she crazy?

No. She wasn’t going to lose her nerve. It would be fine. She was in her hometown, surrounded by friends. Nobody would hurt her here.

And anyway, it had to work.

Simple as that.

Her other option was to return to Forbes’s house, and she couldn’t do that, no matter how many times he called and texted.