Page 45 of Bishop

I drag my gaze back to my side window, hugging my arms around my chest in the hopes of stopping the agony from spreading further.

I don’t speak another word as we travel away from Denver, driving for thirty minutes that slowly drag into forty. Thoughts plague me. Mistakes haunt me. I pick at the quicks of my thumbs with my forefingers. I work my bottom lip against my teeth.

My entire world has tilted, the contents now scattered and disheveled.

The cloudless sky mocks me, the beauty and peace a taunting contrast to the surging storm of my life falling apart.

Bishop was right about my financial situation. There’s no money. At least none that’s not left under the control of a ghost. I have no accounts of my own. No assets. No freedom. And the credit cards will be nothing more than worthless plastic soon enough.

We turn onto a dirt road, my car kicking up dust as it shudders over the uneven ground.

I don’t recognize our surroundings. The stretching fields. The sloping hills. I’ve never been out this way before, so far from the busy highways, and lack of human influence it’s clear not many others have either. There hasn’t been another car or house in miles.

“How much farther?” My voice is raspy, the aftermath of the last twenty hours making my throat sore.

“A few more minutes.”

I eye him from my periphery. The quiet authority. The calm menace.

I’m embarrassed of the sides he’s seen of me. Of the things he’s witnessed. Nobody has ever glimpsed so far behind the curtain.

How long will it take for him to hold it against me? To use my secrets to his advantage?

We drive for another ten minutes of oscillating road, then pull onto a weed-covered dirt drive before a rusted gate almost hidden by tall grass.

There’s nothing out here. Only a field, a hill, some trees, and the barest overgrown track on the other side of the fence.

Bishop retrieves his cell from his pocket, taps the screen a few times, then the metal gate opens with surprising ease.

Not just a rusted-out gate, but an automated one with Wi-Fi?

“There’s a house somewhere out here, right?” My gaze follows the track until it crests the hill, disappearing into the unknown.

“Are you worried I’ve led you into isolation for sinister reasons?” He looks at me with incredulity. “Yet again, it’s a little late for self-preservation, don’t you think?”

“You’re no threat to me.”

He huffs a breath of a laugh as if correctly assuming my underlying insult—even if he wanted to hurt me, I could handle him. I landed him on the hotel suite floor last night after all.

“I’m glad I don’t get you.” He drives us into the field, then presses another button on his cell, closing the gate behind us. “Understanding how you tick would do my head in.”

Good. The less he comprehends, the better.

I don’t want anyone understanding me—least of all a man like him. One who comes from a background where enemy weaknesses are exploited. “I’m an acquired taste.”

“And I’m someone who doesn’t have a palate for bullshit.”

I stifle a wince. I’m not used to men dismissing me so easily, even when my behavior demands it. I have to remember I need him. At least for now.

He accelerates slowly along the bumpy trail, my poor Aston Martin unaccustomed to the rough terrain. Long grass scratches at the side of the vehicle. Twigs snap and break beneath the tires.

We reach the top of the hill in silence, the summit giving view to a valley with a ranch-style house roughly a mile ahead. The building is relatively small, bordered with a scattering of towering trees and overgrown shrubs. The lawn is unruly and long.

“What is this place?” I lower my window, letting the light breeze calm me.

“Your home for however long you need it.” His words lack the spite I deserve. “It’s safe and comfortable. But it hasn’t been visited in a while, so it might be a little dusty.”

“This is your house?” I turn toward him, noticing the increased shadows of fatigue under his eyes.

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