Page 43 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

My JAG defense attorney slipped a note to me from Harper.I’d asked my lawyer to speak to her in person and let her know what had happened, what I’d been accused of.When he did, she didn’t shed a tear.She was merely silent for a moment and then handwrote a short message on a sticky note and asked him to deliver it to me.

“I was sorry to hear what happened.Hang in there, K.I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.”

The electric company has sent me more compassionate letters than that.And on full-size letterhead, to boot.Never a sticky note.

Even my hard-ass lawyer looked embarrassed for me when he handed me the note.Sitting in the brig, the truth sinking in that I meant nothing to Harper, I felt the kind of pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Getting shot has nothing on a coldhearted sticky note.

I crumbled the small piece of yellow paper in my fist, in shock at how one moment of rage had resulted in my whole life falling apart.Not just the brig and the pending trial.But my heart, too.

I fucked up.

No question about it.I fucked up royally.I make no excuses for my actions, because no matter what, when the time came, I should have been able to pull back my rage.I wastrainedto pull back.I knew there were other ways to deal with the situation, even something as horrific as what I stumbled upon.

Justice needed to be served, absolutely no question about that.But it shouldn’t have come the way I served it up.And not by a one-man loose cannon.

I grip the steering wheel tightly as I drive up the ridge.Then I shut my eyes for an instant, dropping the curtain on the memory.No more.I’m done thinking about the past.There’s nothing I can do to change it.

I’m far more interested in the present.

And the woman in it.

I make it to the top of the ridge just as the sun starts to disappear behind the craggy edge of the Sierra Nevada range.I find Boots sitting by a fire in the outdoor ring, forearms resting on her knees.She’s wrapped in my sweater, and her cat is seated politely to her left, watching my approach.The handgun rests on a log nearby.

That’s smart.

I don’t know her.Don’t know a damned thing about her.She could very easily grab the firearm, aim, and shoot me.I don’t think she will, but if she did, I’d likely survive.I’ve survived everything else that’s come my way.

I cut the engine.“I’m sorry I didn’t make it yesterday,” I say.“Something unexpected came up at home, and I couldn’t get away.”

She pulls her gaze from the fire and stares blankly at me, still leaning over her knees.“You need to leave.”Her voice is flat.Resigned.“I don’t want whatever you’ve dragged up here because I’m not staying.Please go away and don’t come back.”

CHAPTER 22

Frankie

Good.He’s leaving.Finally, he’s doing what I’ve asked him to do.

I watch MacLaine turn on the ATV ignition.It takes some maneuvering, but eventually, he gets the four-wheeler facing back the way he came, and he pulls it forward.But instead of driving off, he backs the trailer as close to the cabin as he can get it, cuts the engine, and starts unloading.

I jump to my feet, infuriated.“I saidgo!”

He kicks open the cabin door and brings in a plastic garbage bag, broom, and dustpan.With disbelief, I watch him begin sweeping up about forty years’ worth of dead leaves and dirt from the old wooden floor.He fills the garbage bag in silence, as if I’m not even there, ties it up, and tucks it into the trailer.

The whole time I’m breathing hard, fighting back tears.

I feel hopelessly out of control of my own life.And I fucking hate it.

I hate what Niko has done to me, and I hate myself for falling into his trap.

MacLaine keeps moving.He shoves the couch against the wall and drags in what looks like a rolled-up mattress.

“Stop this,” I say, hands balling into fists at my sides.

He ignores me and uses a utility knife to cut open the plastic wrap.The package pops like a can of crescent rolls, then begins to unfold and plump itself up.

No doubt this thing would be way more comfortable beneath my sleeping bag than the rickety old couch, but it doesn’t matter.It may take a few more days to plan my next steps, but I’m definitely moving on.And even if I were to stay, I couldn’t accept all these gifts from a stranger.