Page 11 of Walking Away

She swallowed hard. “No. I need to get somewhere safe.”

He glanced at the license: Caitlin West, 1 Cherry Creek Drive North. He knew the address—one of those estates with sculpted hedges and men who thought money bought forgiveness.

“You sure you don’t want me to call someone?” he asked quietly.

Tears welled, but she shook her head. “Please don’t. Just let me go.”

He hesitated, every instinct screaming to dig deeper—but she was terrified and clearly running. Pushing might only send her back.

He handed the license back. “All right, Mrs. West. Drive safe. And if you ever need help—call. Anytime.”

She nodded, voice breaking. “Thank you.”

As the BMW pulled away, he stood under the streetlamp watching the taillights disappear. Another rich man with a temper. He’d seen too many.

“Hang in there, lady,” he muttered, climbing back into his cruiser. “Get somewhere safe.”

Hours later and miles away, the city had already moved on.

Izzy Moreno

Izzy Moreno lived in Denver’s River North Art District—RiNo to locals—a patchwork of murals, lofts, and rooftop lights that pulsed with color long after midnight.

Italian by heritage and fire by nature, she carried herself with quiet confidence: dark curls, olive skin, eyes that missed nothing.

Tonight had been special—her thirty-first birthday. Dinner downtown, too much red wine, the kind of laughter that made the world feel simple again. She’d kicked off her heels the second she got home, humming as she poured a glass of water and fed her cat.

The pounding on the door made her freeze—three hard knocks, urgent and desperate. She set down the glass.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me—Cate.” The voice was cracked, barely recognizable.

Izzy rushed to the door, unlocking it fast—and stopped cold. Caitlin stood in the hallway barefoot, her silk nightgown creased and spattered with blood. Her lip was split, one eye already darkening, hair a tangled mess.

“Oh my God, Cate,” Izzy breathed, pulling her inside. “What happened?”

Caitlin tried to speak, but the words splintered apart. “He… he tried to kill me.”

Izzy froze. “Who?” The question came out sharp, disbelieving. “Jason?”

Caitlin nodded, tears spilling. “I saw him with another woman. Then he—” she pressed trembling fingers to her throat “—he choked me. I thought he was going to kill me.” The words broke on a sob. “It was terrifying.”

Izzy caught her shoulders. “Oh, bella,” she whispered. “We have to get you to a hospital. You could have internal injuries. We need to call the police?—”

“No.” Caitlin’s voice came hard and small. “If it gets out—Jason will find me. He’ll ruin me. I can’t face that, Izzy. Please.”

Izzy’s chest constricted. Every part of her wanted to dial 9-1-1, to drag the world’s light onto him until there was nowhere for him to hide—but one look at Caitlin’s face told her that exposure might break her all over again.

Izzy swallowed, blinking back her own tears. “Okay. Not tonight. But you’re staying here. And we’ll get help—when you’re ready.”

She eased her onto the couch, tucked a blanket around her shoulders, and forced her hands to steady.

“You’re safe here, do you hear me? He’s never going to touch you again.”

Caitlin nodded, tears streaking her cheeks. “What am I going to do?”

Izzy’s voice hardened. “First, you’re going to rest. Then we’ll figure the rest out. I don’t care how powerful he thinks he is—he doesn’t get to keep you afraid.”