Page 9 of Saved from Deception

He looks tough, rugged, with strong features and a nose just the tiniest bit too large. With the beard, the muscles, his posture straight and alert, Rylan looks like the kind of man you’d expect to see doing manly things like chopping wood, taking down criminals single-handedly, or leaping out of helicopters.

Which, considering I know he used to be Special Forces, he probably did at least some of those things.

But his eyes. Bright green, rimmed with lashes I’m jealous of, and so kind. As he looks at me, his gaze patient, a hint of a smile crinkling up at the corners, I don’t feel scared anymore. It’s a reassurance without saying anything.

And I have officially been staring at him for too long. “Hi,” I blurt out, sounding nothing like the cool, confident attorney I used to be. “Welcome.”

Welcome? Have I turned into my mother?

“I mean,” I start again, “thank you for coming. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry I’m being so awkward about this…”

“Charlotte, it’s okay.” Rylan reaches his hand out to me, smiling. “You’re fine. We understand; these aren’t exactly normal circumstances.”

As I shake Rylan’s hand, he says, “It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte. I introduced myself outside, but I’d like to do it again in person. I’m Rylan Jacobson.”

Still holding onto his hand, trying to ignore the flush of heat that’s spreading from his palm through my body, I smile back at him. “It’s nice to meet you, too. And I’m so glad you’re here. But please, call me Charlie.”

“Charlie.” His eyes linger on my face for a second. “We’re going to do whatever it takes to help you.”

CHAPTER THREE

RYLAN

She seems like a Charlie.

Charlotte is how I saw her in the photos from her law firm’s website. Polished, professional, her expression smoothed into a perfect half smile that promises hard work and confidence.

I have no doubt she’s all of those things. There’s no way she could have graduated from law school and worked for a prominent law office if she wasn’t.

But Charlie…

Charlie lets a dry sense of humor break past her nervousness as she greets us. She keeps her chestnut hair loose, spilling halfway down her back, instead of pulled back in a neat bun. There’s no makeup to cover the faint smudges under her eyes, and the only jewelry she wears is a tiny pair of silver hoops in her ears.

She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts and an oversized Yankees T-shirt that she probably thinks is modest but does absolutely nothing to hide her curves.

And her expressions. There’s nothing practiced about those. All her emotions are written across her face—fear, anxiety, hope, interest, embarrassment—reflecting in her rosebud shaped mouth and her big gray eyes. Like the look in her silver eyes when I told her we’d help her… wanting to believe me, but afraid to.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” Charlie is hovering near the couch, casting worried glances at Leo and I. “Some snacks? Chips? Sandwiches?”

“That’s okay, Charlie.” Leo gives her a reassuring smile. “The water is fine for now.”

“Rylan?” Her voice lilts up, almost hopefully. I don’t have to be a body language expert to know she’s not looking forward to the next part of our visit. None of our clients do. It’s when they have to recall everything that led up to this point, made even harder because they’re telling it to people they just met.

“I’m alright,” I tell her, “but thank you.”

Charlie hesitates, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.

“Maybe you could sit down,” I suggest, keeping my tone gentle. “Wherever you feel most comfortable. And then we can talk.”

She sags, looking very lost and forlorn. After a moment, she squares her shoulders, sits in the chair opposite the couch, takes a deep breath, and asks, “What do you want to know?”

Leo starts it off, pitching his voice low and gently inquisitive. “We know the basics, Charlie, but it’s important that we hear it from your perspective. Let’s begin with the first time you heard about the videos.”

Charlie frowns, her features pinching, eyes darkening to a dark steel. After taking another deep breath to steady herself, she says quietly, “I couldn’t figure out why everyone at work was looking at me.”

As she tells us about the man—her superior—pinning her in the hallway, using his position and size to intimidate her, I get my first flash of true anger at what she’s experienced. I was frustrated and pissed off when I heard about her story from Zane, but hearing it from her is completely different.

When she tells us how angry she was at herself for letting him touch her, a small rumble starts in my chest.

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