Page 88 of Beyond Question

“Of course you do.” Bronte snorts. “Highandlow places, I imagine?”

Cabot inclines his head.

Bronte huffs. “I feel like I’m in a movie.”

I pat her knee. I’ve protected her from this darker part of the world, the dregs of humanity, her whole life. I’m sure she had some idea that men like Archer existed, that men as wealthy as Cabot could do anything they wanted, could move about the world, inhibited only by the limits of their imaginations. I’m sure she knew that those movies she mentioned are based on some truth.

She’s intelligent, my daughter, but having it all displayed to her on a platter like this must be a lot to take in.

But me? I have no excuse. I can stick my head in the sand and pretend I’m self-sufficient and don’t need help, but I know better. I know firsthand what men like Archer are capable of. The time for running is over, and with it, the time of being so fiercely independent it becomes a detriment to my safety or the safety of the people I care about has ended.

After a long stretch of silence, I finally stand. “Okay.”

Travis’ eyebrows fly up his forehead. “Okay?”

“Yes. I’ll do what you ask.” I glance at Bronte still sitting on the couch. “And so will my daughter.”

She sighs, but doesn’t argue.

Travis moves quickly to my side, scooping me into his arms, but movement catches my eye as the men gathered around the island return to their documents. I nudge him away and jerk my head toward the kitchen.

“What is all that?” I ask. “What are the pictures?”

He doesn’t answer right away, so I look up at him. “Travis.”

“Pictures of him. from prison cameras. From his trial.”

My breath gets caught in my throat, but I nod.

“Do you want to see them?”

I shake my head. The memory of him in my mind is plenty.

Travis looks past me to where Bronte sits on the couch. “Bron?”

I close my eyes and await her answer, my heart lodged in my throat. Regardless of the man Archer is, or how I became pregnant with his child, Bronte is his biological daughter.

Will she want to see her father’s picture?

“No,” she finally says, and my breath rushes out of me in a whoosh. “That man is nothing to me.”

An hour later, back in yesterday’s slacks and blouse, I stand in the foyer of Cabot Reed’s penthouse, Travis and Bronte by my side, unable to shake this heavy weight of sadness.

It doesn’t help that Rylan’s eyes show her every emotion, so full of concern and fear that it makes my Mama’s heart ache. I pat Rylan’s cheek, then pull her in for a hug. “I’ll be fine. I have Travis and those two.” I throw a glance over my shoulder at the two men in black who’ve beenassignedto me.

A security team being assigned to me is difficult to accept, but I agreed to let Travis help, so here I am.

Rylan nods, and I break the connection, then step back and look at the protective man standing beside her. “Thank you,Cabot.” I breathe deeply and add, “You didn’t have to help me, but you didn’t even hesitate. I…” I glance at Rylan, whose lips have pulled up on one side. She clearly finds entertainment in my struggle. “I’m sorry, Cabot, I may have misjudged you.”

Cabot’s stoic demeanor breaks into the slightest hint of a smile. “You didn’t. I’m every bit the asshole you think I am.” He glances at Rylan then pulls her against him. “Except where she’s concerned. And she cares about you.” He motions to Travis. “So does he, apparently, so…”

I nod and give them both a little wave as I step into the elevator between Travis, Bronte, and—

“What are your names?”

Cabot’s armed guards glance back at me over their shoulders, then stare straight ahead as one of them hits the button for the lobby and the doors close.

“Joey, ma’am.”

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