Page 6

CHAPTER 6

Kayley

We stopped an hour later for gas.

“Stay in the car, and stay off the phone,” he said as he climbed out, clicking the locks behind him. When he returned, he opened his door. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He drove away from the pumps and backed into a spot in front of the convenience store. Before getting out he clipped his badge to his belt, moved his sidearm to a visible holster on his belt, and pulled on a plain black windbreaker. With that done, he walked around and opened my door for me.

We were the only customers. The two clerks at the counter were glued to their phones. From the sounds, they were watching videos of the attacks.

Vic walked me into the ladies’ room after he first checked no one was inside. There was one stall, and he flipped the deadbolt on the outer door and stood outside the stall while I used it. Then he used it and before we emerged from the bathroom, he eased the outer door open to look around.

My gut tensed. While having a detail was inconvenient, and made certain aspects of my life complicated, it was nice that I usually never gave a second thought to my safety no matter where I went. I was unhappy to admit my normally top-notch situational awareness skills taught to me by Leo had atrophied from disuse.

Now alone with Vic, in a strange part of the country, I was more aware than ever how lucky I’d been over the past couple of years. None of the previous stress I’d ever felt about being a single woman out in public had impacted my life.

If I wanted to go for a 2 AM run? Sure, no problem. Two agents jogged with me and more followed in a car, usually with a marked law enforcement cruiser tagging along, too. If I wanted to go shopping somewhere? I didn’t have to worry about pickpockets or purse snatchers.

I had door-to-door drivers, meaning I never had to make the keys-in-my-fingers Wolverine fist for the nervous walk across a dark parking lot or through a nearly empty parking garage. The only people who ever drove my car now were my detail, when I wanted to ride in it instead of one of their huge, black SUVs, and even then they insisted on driving me.

Break-ins at home?

Ha! I had a state-of-the-art security system, bulletproof glass in my windows, and 24/7 on-site Secret Service special agents standing guard, as well as several panic buttons in my home.

But now?

Now I was once again a “civvie” and even with Vic’s comforting and highly skilled—and-armed—presence, I felt…

Raw. Nervous.

Scared.

That was something I’d honestly not felt since that day I holed up in my office closet. Even then my fear had been more for my coworkers and clients than myself.

We bought a couple of bottles of water and snacks and after Vic made another quick call to Maxwell to find out about my current and past coworkers—everyone was safe and accounted for—we set out again, heading east. Vic sometimes avoided what passed for main highways in this neck of the woods, and other times we took the freeway, where it was disconcerting to note how little traffic there was. Compared to California freeways, it felt damned deserted. We crossed into Idaho, and when we hit the Montana state line long after dark, he called the man again to let him know our ETA.

We pulled into a truck stop for gas. It wasn’t crowded but, unlike our previous stop, we weren’t alone.

“Don’t get out yet,” he said, his head on a swivel as he climbed out to pump gas. When he returned, he once again drove around to the building and backed in.

When I climbed out, despite it being comfortably cool he handed me a plain black hoodie jacket. “Wear this. Zipped up, hood down.”

Then he grabbed a Pittsburgh Penguins baseball cap from one of his bags and handed it to me. “Put that on,” he said. “Hair up under it.”

I pulled it on. I wasn’t about to argue. The very air felt… wrong. Every person I spotted on our walk to the bathrooms looked wary.

Angry.

Scared.

We knew all civilian and passenger aircraft had been grounded, and the nation tensely awaited updates or more attacks.

Less than an hour later, we pulled onto a different road but this one had a gate just a few yards in. The only thing visible beyond the gate was the road which rose in a way that told me we were going over yet another rise. I couldn’t see anything past the gate, but a large, sturdy, hand-carved wooden sign next to the entrance read, “The Ridge.”

Vic called the man back and he gave Vic a gate code to punch in. Then the gate swung open and we pulled through.

We passed a large, Victorian-style house with a quaint sign out front declaring it as Robyn’s Nest. It was another few miles before we spotted more houses. This wasn’t a slapped-together subdivision of tech-bro escapees from Jackson Hole crammed together in cookie-cutter McMansions. The homes varied in size and design. Each one sat on an enormous parcel, some even multi-acres large and complete with barns and pastures.

We wound our way deeper into the development and eventually turned into a driveway in front of a one-story ranch-style home with two pick-up trucks and an SUV parked out front.

Two men emerged from the house, stopping at the top of the driveway. When I reached for my seatbelt, Vic stayed my hand.

“Stay here.”

“Why?”

He looked at me, eyebrow arched, and I swallowed back the snark wanting to slide free. “Okay,” I said.

He climbed out and walked up to meet the two men. One looked remarkably like Vic and I mentally smacked myself as I belatedly put together he was one of Vic’s younger brothers, Cedro. I had not yet met Vic’s family but I recognized him from pictures.

I didn’t know who the other man was, but he looked important in a way I couldn’t explain even if I tried. Maybe it was the respectful deference Cedro appeared to give him. The man stood nearly as tall as Vic, had dark hair, and I couldn’t tell what color eyes. He wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled to his elbows, a bolo tie, jeans, and cowboy boots.

As Vic spoke, the man stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the ground, obviously listening and paying attention.

Then the three of them looked at the SUV—at me—and I instinctively ducked lower in my seat.

They talked for a good ten minutes, the man in the flannel shirt making a short phone call. After that ended, he eventually rubbed the back of his neck before saying something to Vic. Then he and Cedro headed inside, leaving the door open behind them.

Vic motioned for me to come to him and I reluctantly left the sanctuary of the SUV and walked up the driveway.

He tucked me against his side, his arm draped around my shoulders, and we followed the men inside.

Cedro stood near the front door and offered me a smile but said nothing as he pointed down the hallway. The other man stood at the far end, by an open door. I walked with Vic as Cedro closed the front door behind us.

A moment later, Vic and I stood in what was a spare bedroom, the door closed.

“Daph, this is Derek,” Vic said, indicating the other man.

I bristled, shooting Vic a glare because he knew I wasn’t fond of my middle name, and especially not a shortened version of it. Still, I bit back my instinctive, snarky reply.

Instead, I said, “Nice to meet you.”

Derek looked imposing in a friendly sort of way, I guess you could say. I’d spent my career studying people and he struck me as a man used to being in charge, but who wasn’t a swaggering asshole about it.

He nodded but didn’t offer to shake hands. “Nice to meet you, too, Daphine.”

“That’s how you’ll be registered,” Vic added. “As Daphine Belefonte.”

“Registered?” I asked.

“Where we’re going,” Vic said.

“And where, exactly, are we going?” I asked. “Aren’t we here?” I felt exhausted, tense, worried—a far cry from the fun sexytime I’d expected to be enjoying with Vic hours ago—and frankly a little hangry because we’d eaten nothing but road snacks since the diner.

“It’s a very exclusive resort,” Vic said. “Private. Confidentiality guaranteed.”

“Oookaaay?” I looked from Vic to Derek and back again. “This is a good thing, right?”

The men exchanged a meaningful glance—to them, anyway—and Vic turned back to me. “There are strict rules where we’re going.”

I snorted. “You mean stricter than at the White?—”

Vic grabbed my wrist, not painfully but firmly, and with the obvious intention of shutting me up.

“You don’t talk about that while we’re here,” Vic said. “To anyone , Daphine. Ever . You don’t say names, talk about your family, or tell people what you and I do. Nothing outside of me and the resort exists for you right now. If anyone asks you personal questions, simply say you won’t discuss it, or refer them to me to handle it.”

My gaze bounced from him back to Derek. “That’s kind of… rude, isn’t it?”

“Not here it isn’t,” Vic said. “And people won’t think you’re rude if you do what I just told you to.”

“If you can’t tell her this much,” Derek said to Vic, “then why am I even here? Because neither of you will set a foot past the front gate until she knows that , at the very least.”

My big, bad Secret Service agent’s cheeks turned a little pink. “It’s a resort for kinky people,” Vic said to me. “More than that but, for our purposes, that’s what it is. And I’ll need you to be there as my submissive.”