Page 55 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

She had a family: a husband and a preteen kid. Who knew if the mob would go after them next, all because I had not listened to common sense and looked the other way?

Would they find me here? Would they come after Warrick and his good people now? Had I carried death to their doors, too?

I couldn’t breathe.

My worries were spiraling out of control, and they piled on each other.

Would I wake up to see another one of my old colleagues dead because of what I’d done? What about Andy? She was a single mom to twins. And Joseph…he had a sick grandfather in hospice care. Without him working—and alive— it spelled death for that old man.

I wished I had a bottle of vodka near me so I could swallow it all, forget the shitty day, and fall asleep—but I couldn’t.

I twisted and turned the whole night, wondering if I should leave this place and find the FBI guys. Surely, they had a cell I could sleep in but would it stop the attacks against innocent people?

The worst thing about it—I had to keep my lips sealed. I couldn’t let a word of it slip past my lips. It would make everything worse. I gave up at about four in the morning and grabbed a robe out of my bag. I put it on, went downstairs, and slipped out to the back porch only to find I was not the first.

Warrick was there, a bottle of beer in hand and an empty cup of ice cream on the table. He looked—exhausted. Pure tiredness was stamped on his face, and the lines around his mouth and eyes seemed deeper.

“Oh… I—” I paused. When he looked up, my breath lodged in my throat. “I’m sorry to intrude. It seems you were here first. I am sorry. I’ll—I’ll go.”

“Nonsense,” he said, eyes now trained into the darkness. “The balcony is large enough to accommodate both of us,” he managed.

Taking a seat, I curled into a ball, unsure of what to say or do now. Warrick, however, was not that shy. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” I admitted, wrapping my arms around my knees. “I kept thinking about earlier, and I-I hate that you might not get the plant.”

He took a sip. “Is that really what is bothering you? Because I have a plan to deal with the sabotage coming from the mayor’s office. What is keeping you awake, Zara?”

My name is not Zara.

I swallowed. “There are so many things I want to tell you…but I can’t.”

He slammed the bottle down, eyes narrowing. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I can’t, I can’t—” My breath punched out. “I can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I can’t?—”

Warrick stared at me before he uttered a curse and hefted me into his lap. His gaze was steady and strong. “What are you running from, Zara?”

The words were stuck in my throat. “I can’t tell you.”

“Let me take a swing at it,” he said, leaning forward. “Bad job?”

I shook my head.

“Hateful family?”

Again, another shake.

He thumbed the mouth of the beer bottle. “Abusive boyfriend?”

Which would he swallow easier? That I had a violent ex or that I’d managed to infiltrate the mob, gotten someone killed, and almost got myself strangled?

“No,” I said. “I was assaulted.”

Warrick’s eyes sharpened. “Did he?—”

“Rape me? No,” I said, my hand brushing over my throat. “The man broke into my house and tried to strangle me. I managed to fight him off, but I couldn’t stay in the city anymore. The cops arranged for me to leave and come here.”

He went very still, mouth a thin line while his hand was fixed around the neck of the bottle. When he did speak, his single word had all the emotions. “What?”

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