He drums his fingers on the table, palm still resting over the weapon in an ominous threat. “You’re a hard woman to find, do you know that?”
I force myself to breathe and swallow through my dry throat, to give my body that oxygen it needs so I don’t pass out before I can come up with some sort of way to get out of this.
He raises a brow. “Nothing to say?”
“Who-who are you?”
Dammit.
I’ve never heard my own voice sound so unsteady.
So full of fear.
I need to be strong. I need to act like he isn’t terrifying me and I’m not borderline ready to piss in my pants. What I don’t need to do is sound like a fucking child about to cry for her mommy.
In my case, it would be for Connor.
But there’s nothing he can do from halfway down the mountain.
Which means I’m on my own.
And I need information.
Information on who he is, on why he’s here, on what specifics he and his boss know, if I want to have any chance of getting out of this alive.
I need to treat him like a source, like I’m conducting an interview for a story—not staring down the man who may potentially end my life.
He leans back in the chair, and it creaks under his weight. The man is as big as Connor, maybe even bigger. His large biceps and chest strain against the dark gray t-shirt pulled across them. Veins stand out under tanned skin, as if this type of work really gets his blood pumping. And a grin plays at his lips as he assesses me.
Oh, God…
He enjoys this.
That doesn’t bode well for me.
I allow myself to look away from his face for a second to take in his dark jeans and dirty hiking boots as well as an unfamiliar hiking backpack leaned up against the foot of the bed.
He knew what he would need to get up here.
How did he find the cabin or even know where I would be?
“It doesn’t really matter who I am at this point, Miss Perry. The only thing that does matter is why I’m here. Why I’ve been looking for you for a very long time. You know, this would’ve been a lot easier on me if you had stayed in McBride Mountain instead of coming”—he picks up the gun and swirls it in the air—“up here. It’s quite the hike and very well hidden.”
His hard eyes scan over me, making my skin crawl with the appreciative nature of his gaze. This is a man who is used to taking what he wants and getting the answers he seeks.
I fight a shudder. “What do you want?”
His lips curl slightly. “It isn’t so much what I want, but what my boss wants.”
His boss.
Brent’s uncle. The man at the head of the family, whose name I have mentioned countless times throughout the article, accusing him of everything from money laundering, racketeering, prostitution, human trafficking, all the way to countless murders of rivals, citizens, political officials, and anyone else he felt like taking out of his way.
The stranger grins at me. “I assume I don’t need to tell you who I work for.”
Play dumb blond if you want to live.
I don’t know why, but the voice inside my head is what finally shakes me from my stupor. “I’m not sure what you mean or who you’re talking about. This is my boyfriend’s place. He’ll be back any minute, and I’m sure he can help clear things up.”
