Page 8 of Ruthless Intent

It takes seconds to strip out of my clothes, and less than a minute later, I’m standing beneath the spray, my face upturned, eyes closed, as the water cascades over me. And for a few minutes my mind lets go of all the thoughts crashing through it, and I just stand there and breathe.

The sting of the hot water as it hits me is soothing, and my heartbeat slows to a steady, relaxed thud in my ears. The tension that’s been holding my body tight unwinds, my fingers uncurl from my palms, and I release a long, heavy breath.

It’s been almost five hours since I was freed, and I’m still half-expecting someone to tell me it was a mistake and drag me back. But standing here, under the hot spray, the truth finally sinks in.

I. Am. A. Free. Man.

In theory, if I want to, I can dress, walk out of the hotel room, and go down to the restaurant for a meal. I can go to a bar. Hell, I could go and watch a movie.

I won’t. But I could.

Peter has advised me to keep out of sight for a while, long enough to let the media frenzy die down. While my retrial wasn’t high profile enough to reach the entire country, it has been covered by the state, and lots of local news stations have run stories.

He wants me to lay low at the hotel for a couple of days, and then I can go home.

Home.

Back to where I grew up, where my family lives. Where I have a home. Where Jason and Louisa are laid to rest.

Peter thinks it’s a bad idea, a risky idea. He’s advised me, more than once, to sell up the properties I own back in Whitstone.

But I can’t. I won’t.

I have to go back. I need to face the town, and the people who stood against me. I need to show them that I am innocent.

I need them to know that they were wrong.

My cell phone’s ringtone shatters the silence, and my head snaps around to search out where I’d tossed it on top of my clothes. Only one person has the number, and by the time I’ve stepped out of the shower and found a towel, he’s cut it off and rang back twice more.

I pick up on the third call.

“Where were you?” My lawyer’s voice is sharp.

“I took a shower.”

“Oh.” His intake of breath is clear down the line. “I thought?—”

“That I’d ignored your warnings and taken off. Maybe gone for a stroll around the block?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I haven’t. And I don’t think the prison guards you’ve got outside my door would let me anyway.”

“They’re not prison guards, Zain.”

“Will they try to stop me from leaving the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Then they’re guards.” I wedge the cell between my shoulder and ear, and finish drying my body.

“It’s only for a couple of days. To stop anyone getting to you if the press finds out where you are. They’re protecting you, not guarding you.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I have anywhere to go or anyone to see. Did you organize any clothes for me, or did you err on the side of caution and wait until we got the verdict?”

“Unlike you, I was confident that you’d become a free man today. I had my assistant buy you enough things for a week.”

“I’m not staying here for a week.”

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