Page 59 of Sutton's Shadow

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he blurted. He watched in fascination as a blush rose to her cheeks. Her long lashes dropped, hiding her eyes from him. He nudged her chin up with his thumb, and her eyes slowly met his. “You have to know it’s true.”

“Nobody’s ever called me that before,” she admitted.

He knew his expression was one of shock, his eyes wide at her admission. He found it hard to believe that Liam had never complimented her. How could he not? She was breathtaking even while drenched from her unintentional dip in the lake. And she was stunning even while battling the cold from hell, with her red, stuffy nose and comfy clothes.

“Liam didn’t?”

“Not really,” she said, quickly cutting him off. “I mean, I knew he loved me, I guess. He just wasn’t big on saying it.”

She guessed he loved her?What the fuck, Liam? How could he not let this spectacular beauty know how much she was loved every day? If she had been his, he would’ve made sure she knew daily. There would’ve never been a moment when she’d have to guess if he loved her. She would just know.

“He was an idiot,” Wyatt fumed.

Sutton laughed, her head thrown back in her humor. “I thought we already established that in a previous conversation.”

“You’re right; we did,” he said, joining her in laughter. “But I think I have to change our characterization a bit. He wasn’t just an idiot. He was afuckingidiot.”

That made Sutton laugh even harder. Wyatt couldn’t help himself; he leaned down to kiss her again, wanting to feel her joy against his lips.

“So, if you didn’t come here for this,” she said, rocking against him again as a growl rumbled through his chest. “What did you need?”

“That’s a loaded question,” he replied with a wink. “What I need is you...naked...underneath me. But at the moment, I have a more pressing matter.” She arched a brow, and he chuckled. “Aside from the one pressing against the zipper in my jeans,” he rectified.

Sutton giggled, making his heart soar. He loved that sound and wished he could hear it every day. “Okay, so what’s up?” She snickered again at her accidental double entendre. “You know what I mean.”

Smiling, he forced himself to take a step back from her delectable body. “Right. So—um—Bethany,” he stammered, trying to engage his brain, once more willing the blood to redistribute to other parts of his body aside from his needy cock.

A cute furrow creased her brow. “What about her? Is she okay?”

“I’m not sure. That’s what I came here to talk to you about.”

“Come in and sit down.” She waved to the couch as she moved toward her kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Water is fine.”

The automatic ice dispenser dropped ice into a glass as he sat.

“What’s happened?” she called from the kitchen.

“I’ve tried to get her to open up to me, but she keeps telling me she’s fine. I can tell she’s not sleeping well. And she’s not eating.”

As he crossed his leg over his knee, he bumped the coffee table, awakening the computer sitting there. The images on the screen piqued his curiosity. He loved looking at her work, and these were images that were still in their raw form. Not the images that she’d cleaned up for the world to see.

He leaned forward and began scrolling through the pictures. They were of a village, and she’d captured the different hues of green of the suffocating jungle perfectly. It looked like a meeting of some sort among a bunch of women with brown skin and dark hair. They looked happy. Smiling and laughing.

But then the pictures changed, and the horror in them stole his breath. There were bodies everywhere, the red of the blood soaking into the green. He scrolled through the pictures, growing angrier at the atrocities captured in the images.

“Oh, no,” Sutton exclaimed. “Please don’t.” She moved to close the lid, but he wouldn’t let her.

“What is this?” he asked as an image of a young woman lying on the ground came on the screen, her dead eyes fixed on nothing.

Sutton sat heavily beside him, her hands clutched between her knees. “It’s Colombia,” she whispered.

The next image showed a line of girls of all ages. He guessed none were older than twenty. A man walked down the line, pointing at certain girls.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed at the next images as the girls left in the line were shot.

Then came the picture of the man, the obvious leader of the group. Wyatt had never seen anything like him before. Not even in all his years as a Ranger. There was something malevolent in the man’s eyes. It was like staring at the living, breathing embodiment of evil.

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