Ashley woke with a start that jolted her right out of a nightmare and made her sit bolt upright in bed. In bed? A surge of adrenaline shot through her, masking the pain in her ribs from the sudden jarring. This wasn’t her dark cell. This was someone’s bedroom. Oh God.

Where was she? What happened?

She’d gotten away.

Where’s Adam?

She sat on the bed, taking in her surroundings, the fire glowing in the fireplace keeping her warm, the snow falling outside the huge windows, the leather chair by the fireplace with a paperback on the small table beside it, and the orange glow coming from the bedroom doorway. She snatched up the shirt at the end of the bed and pulled it on. She ignored the pain in her sore legs and back and swung her feet to the floor, noticing at the last second the wrap someone put around her ankle. She braced her hands on the edge of the bed to push herself up and noticed the open badge on the table. She picked it up and stared at the picture of the dark-haired man. A flicker of a memory came back of someone hovering over her outside. The same striking blue-gray eyes as the man in the picture, but he sure as hell didn’t have the same clean-cut look.

She stood on her wobbly legs and braced a hand on the table and waited for the dizziness to subside. She needed: water, food, sleep, help, a chance to catch her breath and figure out what to do. She needed to find Adam and get them to safety, though right now she didn’t know if anywhere would ever be safe for them.

The huge shirt draped off her shoulder and down her body, nearly to her knees. She tiptoed to the open door and pressed her body back against the wall, then sneaked a peek into the large open kitchen–living room combo. But for the soft glow of the fireplace it was dark, and she barely spotted the man lying in the recliner. Adam lay practically on top of the massive man with tattoos all down the arm he had over Adam’s back. The boy’s blond head and the way-too-big white T-shirt he wore stood out against the man’s black T-shirt. She didn’t know what to make of them sleeping together, but her heart sighed at the too-sweet, if not odd, picture they made.

Why did he bring them here instead of taking them to the authorities?

The thought of what she’d go through once people found out about what happened to her made her insides sour. The publicity. The questions. Everyone after her for information. The false news and outright lies they’d splash across every type of media.

It wouldn’t matter what really happened. They’d make up their own truth.

Brice would put his own twisted spin on things.

They’d take Adam away from her.

She needed to get away. Find someplace safe where no one could find them. She’d protect Adam and keep him away from the monster who terrorized his so-called prize possessions.

Her hands shook and her body trembled with the fear she couldn’t subdue, but she quietly tiptoed over to Adam. She didn’t want to startle him, but she needed to get him away from the man and out of here as fast as possible. She slipped her hands around his bony sides and yanked him out of the man’s light hold.

Adam woke with a scream. She scrambled back and away from the man who sat up with a gun in his hand pointed straight at her head.

Adam wrapped himself around her front. She held him tight to her chest, his face tucked under her chin.

“Stay where you are,” she ordered the man. “Don’t move. We’re leaving.”

He dropped his hand. The gun smacked against his thigh. He raked his fingers through his long dark hair and fell back into the chair. “You can leave anytime you want.”

She backed up to the door, keeping him in front of her. She reached to the side and unlocked the dead bolt and lock on the handle, then swung the door open wide. A blast of frigid air and icy snow blew in, freezing her bare legs and arms. Her lungs seized when she sucked in the cold air. The wind had swept snow onto the covered porch and piled it two feet high against the door.

“I suggest you wait until the storm passes or you’ll freeze to death.” The man’s matter-of-fact and calm tone turned the fear in her gut to roiling anger. “Either way, you’re not taking the boy.”

Stuck like she’d been in Brice’s prison, she tried to think, but her slow mind couldn’t process things as fast as she needed to form a plan and escape.

“Close the door before you freeze the boy.”

She didn’t have anywhere to go. She didn’t know what to do. “I can’t do this again. You have to let us go. I can’t . . .” Her knees buckled and she fell hard to the floor, smacking her ass on the hard wood. The wind and snow blew against her back, turning her outside as cold as her inside.

The man leaned forward, folding up the recliner, and came up out of the chair. He slowly walked toward her. Though his movements seemed calculated to not appear threatening—his size, the wicked tattoos, and his dark gaze did that all by themselves—she thought he might also be sore or injured.

He walked past her and slammed the front door shut and relocked it. The sound of the bolt sliding home sent a shiver up her spine.

Locked in again.

The primal urge to run raced through her, but she barely had the strength to hold on to Adam.

The man crouched in front of her, his hair falling forward to cover most of his face, except for those penetrating eyes, and held up the DEA badge she must have dropped.

“Where is Agent Cooke?” Out of breath from exertion and lack of food and water, she barely got the words out of her dry mouth.

The man’s gaze narrowed, then his mouth drew back in a half frown. He raked his fingers through his hair again, drawing it away from his face. “You’re looking at him.”

He must have read the disbelief she couldn’t hide and turned the badge to look at the picture on it that looked nothing like him. “It’s been a while since I had a haircut or shaved.” He brushed his fingers through his thick beard, then turned the picture back to her. “Same gray eyes though, right?” The words were soft and coaxing.

“Same shape and color, but now they’re filled with . . . too much,” she said, unable to come up with the right words to describe the sorrow, regret, and ghostly nightmares that seemed way too close to how she felt inside.

“Yeah, I’ve had a rough year. Or two,” he added with another of those half frowns that came way too often. “I am a federal agent. This is my place. You are safe here. I know who you are, but I’m not holding you here. The storm is. As soon as it clears, we’ll call the cops—”

“No!”

One dark eyebrow went up. “Why not?”

She shook her head, so many reasons running through her mind, but how could she make him understand. She needed time to think, to form a plan and do this her way. She needed to protect Adam.

“Agent Cooke, you don’t understand . . .”

“Trigger.”

“What?”

“Call me Trigger.”

“I thought your name was Beck.” She nodded toward the badge in his hand.

“Yeah, I work undercover—everyone just calls me Trigger now.” He said it like the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. “And you’re Ashley.”

A well of sorrow rose in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d been called by her name and not one of the characters she’d played. I’m Ashley. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t speak and just nodded.

“You look wrecked, Ashley. You need some sleep. Whatever happened to you can wait until morning.”

“We need to get out of here. He can’t find us.”

“The storm isn’t going to let up anytime soon. I proved to you a minute ago that I can protect you.”

It took her a second to figure out he referred to the gun he’d pointed at her.

Beck—she couldn’t think of him as Trigger—reached out and rubbed Adam’s back and ruffled his hair. “Ready to go back to bed, little man?”

Adam pulled out of her arms and went right into Beck’s. The big man scooped Adam up, stood, and carried him back to the blanket pooled on the floor in front of the dying fire. Adam settled in and Beck laid another log on the fire. The wood caught on the bright red coals and flames rose up, brightening the room. She wanted to lie beside Adam in that pool of warmth and find the peace and rest that had eluded her for so long she barely remembered what it felt like.

She pressed her hands to the floor and tried to stand up on her shaking legs. She made it to her feet, barely, and swayed from the dizziness she couldn’t seem to shake.

When she looked up, Beck was there. Close. Too close. She didn’t even hear him walk to her. She put her hand up to ward him off, though she was anything but steady on her feet and no match for him.

“Hungry?”

The persistent gnawing in her gut never went away, but she’d gotten used to it a long time ago. She nodded, trying to wrap her mind around the fact she was here, not there.

Beck swept his arm out for her to lead the way into the kitchen. She stood her ground, not turning her back on him for a second.

With a shake of his head and roll of his eyes, he walked into the kitchen and straight to the stainless steel fridge. She followed at a silly, but safe-feeling, five-foot distance behind him. He opened the door wide so she could look inside. She approached with a caution that made him give her another look that said, You’re being ridiculous.

Maybe, but she couldn’t help it.

“What do you want?”

The fridge wasn’t full by any means, but it held more food than she’d seen or eaten in months. Immediately drawn to the fresh fruit and vegetables in the drawer she reached to grab an apple, but snatched her hand back and glanced over at Beck, afraid to take what she wanted and get punished.

How many times had she sat at the dining room table, craving the food set out before her, the smell as intoxicating as a drug, and not been allowed to have anything Brice didn’t allow her to eat? He rarely was that generous, too often letting her go without anything, or simply tossing her a hastily slapped together cheese and bologna sandwich, a half-eaten container of leftovers, an almost-empty bag of cereal—not enough to make a bowl and no milk. Never anything hot. Never enough to satisfy her hunger. Never more than once a day, and often several days apart.

Beck pulled the drawer out, picked up the fattest apple from the three, and held it out to her. She snatched it from his hand and brought it to her mouth, biting in and taking a huge chunk out of the juicy flesh. She chewed and bit more off all at the same time, savoring the sweet, juicy fruit.

“I’m not going to take it away from you.” Beck reached up to a cupboard beside her.

She jumped away, keeping him in front of her and escape at her back.

He ignored her strange behavior and pulled out a can of soup and held it up for her to read the label.

Beef with vegetables. She could already taste it on her tongue.

“Please.” The desperation in her voice made him narrow his gaze even more.

“Go sit at the table and eat your apple one bite at a time before I give you a heart attack.”

Guilt shot through her thrashing heart. This man hadn’t done anything but . . . She really didn’t know how she’d gotten here, but he’d taken care of Adam and her and hadn’t asked anything of her. “I’m sorry, Beck. I’m a mess, and I’ve completely forgotten my manners.”

“You said please,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

She backed out of the kitchen, limping on her sore ankle. Beck turned his back to her and went to the counter to open the can at the electric can opener. She glanced over to be sure Adam slept peacefully in front of the fire in the other room. The urge to back herself into the corner of the dining room and curl up in a ball and cry seemed like a good idea and a release she needed, but self-protection took over. She gingerly lowered herself onto the bench seat at the table with Beck in front of her and the front door to her left. Too far away for her to make a run for it before Beck caught her if he wanted to, but she couldn’t help her instinct to run. Everything in her wanted to keep going and never stop. She had the will but not the strength. She didn’t even really have an immediate threat.

Beck, a DEA agent, a man who upheld the law, had helped her and meant no harm. That should be enough to ease her worried mind, but it didn’t, because Brice had seemed like a good man, a friend. A monster hid under that polished persona. She’d never look at anyone the same way again.

She took another bite of the sweet and tart apple, devouring it one bite at a time. The microwave dinged. Beck took out the bowl of soup. The rich scent of beef and broth filled the room and made her stomach grumble even more.

Beck pulled a box of crackers from the cupboard and set it on the counter. His sharp gaze shot to her. “Are your ribs broken?”

She stopped squirming and bit off the last morsel of apple from the core. She stared at him, surprised he’d been paying any attention to her while making her food. “I’m fine,” she mumbled around the chunk of apple in her mouth.

He slowly walked over, set the bowl of soup and a sleeve of crackers in front of her, then stood a foot away—too close—glaring down at her.

“I took that ridiculous dress off you. You took one hell of a beating. Are your ribs broken?”

She bent her head and stared at her lap, unable to answer that simple question without remembering all she’d been through.

“Ashley.” Beck’s deep rich voice filled her with a warmth she didn’t recognize but drew her in all the same. Maybe it was that he used her name and she longed to be Ashley again, even though she didn’t know that naïve girl anymore. She only knew this husk of a person so filled with anger and pain and longing and loneliness.

“Ashley.” The sharpness in his voice demanded an answer. She didn’t question the lack of sympathy or concern. She’d lived without both for a long time.

“A few cracked ribs this time.”

“This time.” He bit out the disgust-filled words. Maybe under his stoic demeanor he did care. After living in Hollywood’s superficial world and being held captive by a man without feeling or real emotion, even a glimpse of Beck’s disdain for what happened to her went straight to her heart.

The longer he stood over her, staring at the top of her head, the higher her anxiety jacked up until she could barely breathe. Her hands remained gripped tight in her lap.

“What’s wrong?” The softness in his voice made her look up at him. Way up. The man was so tall.

She found her voice under the wave of fear gripping her. “I know you don’t mean to, but you’re scaring me.”

He planted his big hands on the table beside her and leaned down close. “Look at me, Ashley.”

She sucked in a breath, found a shred of bravery from the tatters of her will, and raised her gaze to meet his.

“I will never hurt you.”

She fell into the depths of gray and flecks of blue in his eyes and drowned in the sincerity and promise she found there. Deep down, she believed him. Part of her needed to believe him, because she needed something real to hold on to before she sank any deeper into despair and the paranoia that everyone wanted to hurt her.

“If he finds me, he’ll kill me.”

“He’ll have to get past me first.”

She believed that, too. Everything about this man spoke of restrained danger, but he meant those words. He’d never hurt her. He’d protect her. God help whoever got in his way or on his bad side.

Trigger backed off. Ashley needed time, space, and a moment to eat the food she’d been denied far too long. Every little glimpse he got of what happened to her turned his stomach. Her frail body, achingly beautiful face and eyes, and her deceptive fragility drew him in, but he saw the strength in her. The will she summoned to get through every second when everything in her wanted to give up, give in, let the pain and the horror she’d been through swallow her whole so she didn’t feel anything anymore.

Been there, didn’t want to go back.

Hell, honestly he was still fighting his way back from that black pit of hell.

The boy slept soundly in front of the fire like a well-contented pup.

Ashley tackled the soup and crackers at the table. Her starvation drove her to eat too fast.

“Slow down before you choke,” he warned.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t say anything, but she did take the time to savor the next bite and chew.

He didn’t know what to make of her. He wanted to demand answers and get her to tell him exactly what happened. Who hurt her?

Scared to be within five feet of him, she’d shut down if he pushed too hard.

Starved. Beaten. He didn’t want to know what else to add to that ominous list. But he’d damn well get the story before he turned her over to the cops and put her life in jeopardy. He’d have the name of the man who hurt her and the bastard would be behind bars before he let Ashley out of his sight.

Any man who’d held her for nearly a year remained a risk to her and the population at large.

He had a duty to take the guy down.

It had nothing to do with the overwhelming urge building inside him to protect her.

Not his job. The last person he was supposed to protect he ended up shooting. Accident or not, Paula had trusted him to keep her safe.

As soon as the storm passed and the roads cleared, Trigger would get the cops involved and ensure they took down the asshole who hurt Ashley.

She’d go back to her glam life.

He’d go back to . . . whatever the hell he was doing these days.

Ashley shifted again, bent over the bowl of soup she’d annihilated over the last few quiet minutes. His T-shirt engulfed her small frame. The neckline so big, it slipped off one of her shoulders, exposing her bony frame. She pulled it up, but it slipped down again. Her feet shifted under the table, bumping his sock-covered toes, reminding him that she wore nothing but his shirt and probably felt very exposed.

“I can get you some sweatpants and socks to wear.”

Her gaze left the near-empty bowl of soup and met his. She adjusted the shirt again. “I’m, um, not really used to wearing clothes, I guess.”

He eyed her. “What do you mean?”

Her gaze dropped to her lap. “Other than the costumes he made me wear, I wasn’t allowed anything else.” She plucked the T-shirt out from her chest and stared at it. “This is the most comfortable thing I’ve worn in—” Her gaze shot up to his. “What day is it?”

“Saturday. Well, Sunday at this point.”

She checked the clock on the microwave to verify that at two in the morning, it had indeed become a new day.

He didn’t want to overwhelm her, but thought some basic information might help her cope and assimilate to her new reality. “According to the news, the anniversary of your disappearance is next Friday.”

Her eyes glassed over. “Is that what people think? I disappeared?”

“According to the news, no one really knows what happened to you after you left the After Midnight party. Did someone kidnap you?”

Her head shook. “No. Turns out I’m stupid and no one will believe me.”

“Is that you talking, or the sick fuck who made you believe that?”

Her head snapped back like he’d slapped her. Good. He had her attention. Thanks to the food and glass of water she downed, he hoped she’d start thinking more clearly, too.

She propped her elbows on the table and held her head in her shaking hands. “His voice is in my head. Those damn lines from the movies he made me recite over and over like some robot. Always demanding I give him that perfect version of what he saw on-screen. They aren’t real. I’m real. I’m Ashley.” Her voice cracked on her name. “I’m not them. I don’t want to be them anymore.” Tears clogged her throat. She sat up and scrubbed her hands over her face and bright eyes, pulling herself together. “I’m done. Do you get that? I don’t care what it takes, where I have to go, how long I have to hide, I won’t do it again. I won’t play the part and be someone’s fantasy.” She slammed her hands on the table. “You got that?”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. She might be down, but she wasn’t out. “Loud and clear.” In fact, he glanced past her at Adam. The little guy slept right through her shouting.

“Sorry. My mind is all over the place. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m the one who walked right into a trap. I didn’t see the bars around me until the cage door closed. Then it was too late.

“When a friend says, ‘Come over. Stay as long as you like. Ditch the spotlight for the big Montana sky and the freedom you’ve been without too long,’ all you want to do is get there as fast as you can. The first week is all about settling in to the vacation you’ve desperately wanted. You relish the quiet, the long days spent doing nothing more than sitting in the garden reading a book that came out last year but you never had time to read. The days fly by with easy conversation and good food. Then you realize the friendly jests are too close to being serious. The simple touch on your arm lingers a bit too long. You don’t expect it from a man you’d never consider a boyfriend, and he plays it off as admiration and warmth between you because he understands you like no one else. It feels that way because he’s manipulated you into believing it. Before you know it, two weeks have passed and the phone you promised yourself you wouldn’t answer until you were ready to face all those demands and obligations again is missing. You must have misplaced it.

“But you haven’t spoken to anyone but him. You haven’t seen the news because watching movies in the screening room is so much more relaxing and entertaining. It’s flattering he wants to watch your movies with you, hear the inside story about the filming, your thoughts on the characters, until you go to dress for dinner and he’s left you a copy of the dress you wore in his favorite film. You wear it to thank him for all he’s done, giving you this place to rest and find your head again. You come down to dinner and it’s the scene from your film. He speaks the lines and you give him back your character’s words because it seems like a silly joke.

“You ignore the warning ringing in your head that something isn’t right. When he tries to seduce you with words and actions from that same movie and you reject him instead of playing along, the slap across the face is so unexpected and jarring, you don’t know what to do. Your mind doesn’t figure out what to do until it’s too late and you’re locked in a room that’s been turned into a vault. No windows. No light. No escape.

“You’re trapped, and you quickly learn that if you don’t live up to the fantasy you created on-screen, you’ll pay dearly.” She slid her hand around her side and held her cracked ribs.

“I thought he was my friend. It’s still so hard to reconcile the man I knew and trusted hid the monster he unleashed on me. How could people look at him and not see it? I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

“People are very good at presenting that part of themselves they want you to see. Look at me.” He held up his tattooed arms and pointed to his long hair. “I work undercover. I want people to believe I’m the guy who will cut them down if I don’t get what I want. I’m the guy who sells drugs and doesn’t care about anything but the money. I’m part of their deviant crowd.

“You saw the badge. It tells you I’m the good guy, but one look at me and you dismissed that I’m a cop, fighting to take that shit off the streets and put thugs behind bars where they belong.”

Beck locked eyes with her. “Never believe what people show you, only the things they do.”

He glanced over at Adam. “For a second there, you saw me with Adam and couldn’t resolve my kindness to the boy with the way I look. I get that. My people skills are lacking these days. I don’t trust anyone. I’m always looking for their angle, waiting to see if they’re going to shoot me in the back.”

Ashley sighed, her mouth dipping into a soft frown. “I’m sorry I thought the worst. You brought us here, took care of Adam and me. He’s been taught to hide, yet he saw a protector in you. It took me a minute to see it, but I don’t trust myself anymore, so if I hold on to my suspicions and paranoia, it’s not you—it’s survival. I guess you get that, too.”

“More than you know.” He’d been living in survival mode so long he’d alienated his family, lost friends, and isolated himself to protect himself and others.

Another tether connected him to Ashley. It started with him simply wanting to protect her and the child, but now he felt a real connection to her and their shared experience of having to play a part to survive. They’d done so for different reasons. Him for a righteous cause. Her to save her life. But they both ended up in the same place, unable to go back to who they used to be, forever changed by their experiences and longing to feel connected again, but too wary of others to reach out.

For all she’d told him, some big questions still needed answers. For him, one thing mattered more than all the rest. “Who did this to you, Ashley?”

Her gaze held his for a long moment that stretched with nothing but the crackle and pop of the fire breaking the silence. The indecision in her eyes told him she didn’t think he’d believe her.

She leaned forward with her folded arms on the table, continued to look him right in the eye, and gave him a name he never expected. “Brice Mooney.”

Images of her smiling at the late-night talk show host from the clips the news outlets hadn’t stopped playing over the last few days ran through his head. He’d focused on her—beautiful and captivating, she held every man’s attention—but now he thought of Brice in those clips. The way he stared at her, all adoration and devotion in his eyes. The flirting that seemed fun but held a wealth of meaning and intent for Brice. Knowing what he knew now, Trigger reevaluated the covetous look in Brice’s eyes. What everyone else saw as idolization, he now saw as possessive. An unhealthy worship that went too far. It wasn’t enough to be a part of her very public world. He wanted to keep her all to himself. Brice actually believed all those smiles she flashed for the camera were truly meant only for him.

“If you don’t believe me, someone who can read people and see right through them, how am I supposed to convince anyone else?”

“I believe you. Where did he hold you? Did he move you around from one place to another?”

“I’ve been at his ranch the whole time.”

Trigger thought about the ranches and properties around him. Spread out over vast amounts of open land, he knew two of his five neighbors. Chance meetings really, because he hadn’t been inclined to announce his presence here or let it be known a DEA agent lived right next door. His undercover work necessitated that he keep a low profile when off duty. You never knew when a neighbor might recognize you because they had a friend or relative who liked to get their hands dirty in the drug world and would out you inadvertently or on purpose.

He stood to get his phone so he could pull up a map of the area. Even if Ashley couldn’t pinpoint where she’d been held, maybe she could narrow it down before he called the office and got some computer geek to do some property record digging.

Ashley startled and slid down the bench when he stood, putting more distance between them. She sucked in a ragged breath and held her arm to her hurt ribs.

“Easy. I’m just getting my phone.” He bypassed the counter where his phone sat charging and went to the other side to retrieve his bottle of pain meds by the sink. He brought them, another glass of water, and his phone back to the table. He set the pills in front of Ashley’s bowl along with the water. “Pain meds. Take one. You’ll feel better.”

She still sat three feet down the table. “As much as I’d like to check out and numb—everything, I’d like to keep some semblance of a clear head.”

It stung she didn’t trust him, but he got her need to stay in control and aware.

“Do you have some ibuprofen instead?”

He passed the phone with the map app opened to her. “Think you can find where you were being held?”

She reached out and took the phone, sliding down and back to her spot in front of him as he stood and went to the cupboard to find the medicine. By the time he sat back down, she’d fiddled with the map and turned the phone to face him. He handed her the bottle of pills and took the phone, studying it.

“This is pretty damn far from here.”

“By road, yes. But I must have walked a fairly direct route right to you.”

He checked the map key and calculated how far she’d come. “That’s about ten miles, give or take a couple.”

“Give a few, if you ask me. I carried Adam most of the way.”

“In heels and that cinched dress? Are you kidding me?”

“I didn’t say it was easy, but I knew it was my one and only chance to escape. All my other attempts failed.” He read the nightmare in her eyes about what happened after those failed tries. “I had to keep going, get as far away as fast as I could and find help. Though to tell you the truth, I’m not sure anyone can really help me. He’ll spin this his way. It’s my word against his.”

“Adam will back up your story. There must have been others working on the ranch. Staff to cook and clean.”

She shook her head at every guess he made to help her build her story.

“He kept me locked up. He only let me out when we were alone. The first few weeks I was there and everything seemed normal, Adam’s mother cooked and cleaned. I didn’t interact with her much, but she and Brice seemed close. I had the feeling she’d worked for him awhile. He seemed fine with Adam at his mother’s side while she worked. In the past year . . .” Her words fell away. The disbelief that she’d been held for almost a year showed in her eyes. “I haven’t seen her. I’ve only seen Adam a handful of times, mostly because he peeked out of one hiding spot or another when he spied on Brice and me.”

“So you don’t know if his mother is still there or not?”

“I don’t think so. Adam wanted to leave with me.”

And didn’t that just say everything. He wouldn’t leave his mother.

“Is he Brice’s son?”

“No. Brice caught Adam sneaking into the kitchen while we were at the dining table acting out Brice’s favorite scene.” She closed her eyes, too overcome to speak for a moment.

“What did he do to Adam when he caught him?”

“He kicked him again and again, calling him a mangy dog who didn’t know his place.” Ashley held her arm like a baby.

Trigger notched his chin toward Ashley’s telltale gesture. “You stepped in and saved the boy, but Brice paid you back for being disloyal to him.”

“Adam escaped the rest of the beating, but I didn’t. He broke my arm, stripped me of the pretty gown he so generously allowed me to wear, dragged me up the stairs by my hair, and dumped me back in that dark box to wallow in my pain and starve for God knows how many days.”

Trigger swore, imaging the hell she’d been through.

He wanted her to stop. Shut the hell up. He couldn’t take any more. But then she spoke again and his already-battered heart took yet another beating.

“In the dark, time is measured in endurance and the strength of your will. Mine didn’t always last as long as I needed it to between that door closing and opening. There comes a point where you run out of tears. You forget who you are and used to be. You understand on an elemental level that it doesn’t matter how famous you are, how much money you’ve made, the countless fans who cheered your name, the awards you’ve won, the admiration you received, and that in the end you are as vulnerable as everyone else. And when you run out of hope and know deep down that no one is coming to save you, you don’t even blink an eye or shout for the injustice of it all. You give up and give in because you know doing so will finally be the end.”

Trigger had known some truly sadistic people and understood exactly what she hadn’t said. “Your not giving in to him saved you all those months. It kept the potential for his fantasy of you being his loving partner alive for him. Once you gave him what he wanted, what he thought he wanted but would never be real enough for him, you knew he’d kill you.” She’d truly reached the end of her endurance and lost her will to live.

“If not for someone coming to the door and Brice making one tiny mistake, I’d be dead right now. Of course, if you hadn’t found me passed out, I’d be dead right now, too.”

“I don’t know how Adam found me, but he led me to you.”

“In my prison box I wished for a spark of light. In the dead of night, with a million stars overhead, a storm and Brice closing in, your light guided me to you.”

His insomnia saved her life. Who knows how long she might have been wandering outside before someone, if anyone, found her? The storm would have killed her and Adam.

Trigger stared out the huge windows and thought about last night and the never-ending dark thoughts about what he’d done that kept him up, his attempts to resolve events that were out of his control and turned out so bad, and the one thing he wanted but felt he didn’t deserve. A small piece of the happiness his brother found with Mia. A partner who understood him and wanted the same things he wanted: a quiet, safe life. Family. An unbreakable bond with a connection rooted in love.

That was something he’d never had with a woman, but seeing it between Caden and Mia, he couldn’t help but want it for himself.

He wanted more than a life filled with work and other people’s problems.

“You found exactly where you needed to be. I can help you.” Surprisingly, he didn’t have a single reservation about getting involved. For all his declarations that he wanted to be left alone out here to wallow in his misery, he actually wanted to make a difference in Ashley’s and Adam’s lives. Maybe if he helped them, he’d find some sort of redemption for his mistakes and the shady deeds he’d done in the name of good but which left a black mark on him anyway.

“While I appreciate your help tonight, calling the cops in the morning and getting them involved won’t help the way you think it will. Brice knows I’m gone and that I took Adam with me. If the cops get involved, he’ll kill me to shut me up. If he can’t do that, he’ll flee the country and never face justice, but I’ll live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, knowing he’s coming after me again. If that’s not bad enough, I’ll be hunted by the media and paparazzi, all of them wanting to get the story and all the dirty details. When they don’t, they’ll make it up and turn my life into an exhibit for everyone to judge and blame me.”

“Who the hell would blame you for what happened?”

She rolled her eyes. “Brice’s fans. My critics. Anyone with an internet connection who wants to spout off about things they know nothing about and have even less care for how their words affect others. People like to put stars on a pedestal, but what they really love to do is watch them fall.

“You said the perception is that I disappeared to escape the Hollywood stress. Seriously?” She shook her head.

“People closest to you believe something happened to you, but yes, the media is speculating you ran off with a lover, or—”

“Great. The media has already supplied the narrative for Brice to use against me.”

Trigger had to admit she made a good point. “The cops will prove what happened. They’ll tell everyone the truth.”

Disbelief filled her rolling eyes. “I’m famous. No one cares about the truth—they just want a good story.”

How many times had a suspect, witness, or family member exaggerated or outright lied to change the narrative of a case? Too many to count. Even though he gathered the evidence and presented solid facts, the public still believed those accounts because they missed the follow-up, or simply didn’t care about or believe what really happened.

“I’m not the princess in the story everyone wants to root for. I’ll be made into the witch everyone wants to burn at the stake. You’ll see. Look up on the internet any story written about me and you’ll find a dash of truth mixed in with a bucketload of lies. That’s why I’m not sticking around to find out how big and bad this turns out. As soon as the snow stops, I’m out of here. If I’m going to hide the rest of my life, I’m getting a head start and finding the most secluded and secure place I can for Adam and me.”

“You can’t just take him.”

“Watch me.” She stood and walked away.

“If he doesn’t belong to Brice, he must have other family.”

She turned and faced him. “Where the hell have they been? No one came for him. No one came for me.” The unrestrained anger he understood all too well. “Adam needs someone to care enough to keep him safe. He stays with me.” She glanced at the massive windows and the deluge of falling snow. “We need to get away as far and fast as we can.”

She wrapped her arms in front of her to hold off the shiver that shook her body.

He understood her fear, but the thought of her leaving and on the run turned his gut.

Ashley needed someone on her side, someone who cared about what happened to her. He did. But could he make her the princess in the story when his knightly armor had tarnished long ago?