Page 15 of Dauntless

“Yes,” he answered confidently. “I’ve had success in past human trafficking cases, but more come around every day. It’s the dark part of life.”

“I won’t have much of a life now,” I murmured.

I was falling into self-pity, and I hated it. There wasn’t time for that. Once they found out I reported the blackmail attempt, they would act. What I needed was a plan. In the least, one that would save those I cared about.

“Go upstairs and pack a bag for tonight,” he commanded. “You can hate me the whole time and decide what you want to do tomorrow.”

“I’ve got work tomorrow…today,” I peered at my watch. Then pain hit the center of my chest. Would I be able to continue to lead Perfetto if this photo or, God forbid, video, comes out?

“I’ll make sure you get there,” he said breaking the silence we’d fallen into.

I pressed my lips together and crossed my arms. “I’d rather go to a hotel. Alone.”

“You done with me now that I had to do my job?” His voice was barely above a whisper. That, and what he’d asked had me looking at him.

The pain in my chest intensified at seeing his slack facial expression and the dullness in his eyes. Still, I didn’t respond.

He nodded a few times and turned away from me, his head dipped. “I get that. It’s all right you feel that way now, but you’re still coming with me.”

My heart turned over. I didn’t want to continue to argue with Elliott. Even though I was still upset with him, I had to admit to myself that he was right about not staying here or even alone, especially when this person that threatened me knew where I lived. For all I knew, he could be watching me.

“Fine, I’ll come,” I said and walked straight to the stairs.

I had a couple of suit choices in a garment bag with heels and a few other essentials including my laptop in a carriage bag before I met Elliott downstairs. He took them away from me without a word, and we headed outside.

Tove left when we did to follow us back to Elliott’s to guard me there. The driveway was cleared off from the snow, although the snow was still falling lightly. Elliott’s sports car was the only thing there now, and after he placed my things in the car trunk, we got in and headed away from my home in Bellevue.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked when my head cleared and looked out at the highway heading south.

“My place,” he answered. “If you go to a hotel, I would still be right there to watch over you whether you liked it or not.”

I furrowed my brows. “You can’t be with me all the time.”

“Try me,” he replied, and we went quiet again. I looked out into the night and drifted in its peacefulness. Though it didn’t take long for us to arrive at his place, which was right next to Lake Washington in Kirkland. It was one of the newer builds—an expansive one-story contemporary with large windows along the front and a sloped roof.

“It’s a place I rented when I went to work here,” he told me after pressing the garage opener and driving in.

I shrugged. “It has to be better than mine.”

“Damn straight it is, but that’s not saying much,” he teased, and I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress my giggle.

“Dane and I have impeccable taste in design,” he said confidently. “Speaking of Dane, give him a call. He’d like to know what happened to you.”

I tensed. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Do it anyway,” he insisted. “He would have some insight as a business owner. I know you’re also worried about your company. He might have some ideas on how to handle it. He had his own controversy when his father had that public trial.”

Elliott was right about Dane’s familiarity with public scandal, though not one directed at him. His father’s embezzlement, fraud, and false filings had made national headlines, as well as the shocking not-guilty ruling and no jail time that followed. It had led Dane to change his last name from Prescott to his mother’s Westbrook. Though I wasn’t sure about what Dane could offer to my scandal, I did agree he could provide business advice.

We got out, and he showed me inside. It was like one of those showrooms or staged homes. The modern styling had all the right touches, perfect framed artwork on the walls, sleek custom couches, and beautifully carved wooden tables and cabinets. All married well together and looked just right.

“I’m barely here when I’m undercover,” Elliott spoke as he took off his boots and suit jacket. “I lived in New York City, and usually worked at the bureau there.”

“Will you return?” I asked running my fingers lightly over the printed throw pillows on the leather sofa lounge.

“I’ve thought about it, but Seattle’s grown on me,” he responded and cleared his throat.

I glanced up and found him watching me steadily.

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