Page 16 of Capturing You

She ended the call. Fumbled her cell, which bounced off the sink and hit the tile floor. She sat heavily on the toilet seat and grabbed it. Not broken, thank heavens.

Lenny couldn’t get involved.Please, God, don’t let Lenny get involved.

Would he be able to track the phone? To find her?

She powered it off. But would that do it?

She needed to get out of there. If Lenny came…

Not that he’d hurt her, but he was the last person she wanted to deal with right now. Well, the last person, after the smugglers.

It said a lot about the man she’d thought she loved that she was nearly as afraid of him as she was of those men who’d sent her on the run.

She’d told Ford she wouldn’t tell anybody he was here. But if Lenny traced her phone—which might not be legal, but he’d find a way—then he’d come. He’d see Ford, and he’d be enraged to find her with him. No matter what she told him, he wouldn’t believe she and Ford had just met.

He’d make trouble, not only for her but for the man who’d risked his life to protect her.

She had to leave. If she could get to her car, she could go…somewhere.

She’d figure it out.

She stepped into a wide hallway lined with landscape photographs, which showed the area around this house.

Who had taken these? They looked professional, though the quality—or lack thereof—told her they’d been taken decades before.

Her panic faded as she moved deeper into the house, studying each image.

She turned at a corner, and light shone from a room at the end of the hall.

Ford had explicitly told her to return to the living room when she was finished, but curiosity pulled her toward that light. She needed to talk to him, and there was no time to wait.

Lenny could be on his way even now. He’d see her Bronco, and he wouldn’t stop looking for her until he found her.

She peeked into a room lit by lamps and natural light coming through the east-facing windows. It was an office with the same dark woodwork as the rest of the house, but the chairs were leather, old and worn and inviting. A wall of bookshelves was built-in, filled with books.

A faded red-and-tan Persian rug stretched over the hardwood.

Ford was bent over papers strewn across a deep partner’s desk that had to be antique. Plates were stacked on one side, the top one holding the remains of a sandwich.

She cleared her throat. “Sorry to interrupt?—”

He spun so fast that her words stuck in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking?—”

“I told you to wait for me in the living room.” He stalked toward her, and she shrank back.

Then stopped herself, standing her ground.

If Lenny hadn’t taught her anything else, he’d taught her never to cower.

“I’m leaving. Thanks for your help.” She spun and headed for the door, ignoring the heavy footsteps that thumped behind her.

“Someone’s picking you up?”

“Nope. I’m just gonna run to my car, and?—”

“Too dangerous.”