The Dangerous Thief (Stolen Hearts #3)(5)

Jadon tilted his head and looked at her, his face full of something she’d never seen from him. Pity. “Honey, there’s a lot you need to know.” And then he fired.

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Willa shot up in bed and her gaze darted around the room, looking for the blood on the Persian rug. But there was no rug. Ancient-looking hardwood floors and boring beige walls looked back at her.

She caught her breath as she got her bearings back. She wasn’t home. She wasn’t even in Chicago anymore. She was stuck in the middle of the Arizona desert with James Weston. As she got control of her breathing, she could still feel her heart beating out a frantic rhythm in her chest.

She wished she could write it off as just another nightmare, but she couldn’t. It was no dream or hallucination. That had actually happened. The night that had ruined everything.

Her stomach growled but she knew that if she ate anything, she’d end up throwing it right back up.

Willa looked out the window at the slowly setting sun. It wasn’t quite twilight, but it was getting close. She had eked out an hour or so of a nap, so she’d never be able to get back to sleep anytime soon.

Fantastic. No television. No phone. No civil company. Maybe there would be something she could do in this expanse of nothingness to keep herself from going crazy.

Or better yet, maybe Melody would come through with something that would allow her to go back home. Going to Melody for help had been a calculated risk. And the calculation had been that Willa could do nothing and know that she was going to be in a living hell for the rest of her life, or she could do her best to get justice for Jules.

And after she’d gone to her father’s head of security for help, his mode of refusal had been trying to put a bullet in her head. So her option of pretending nothing had happened was cut off. It was run for her life or hope her father would show her mercy for trying to turn on him.

Considering how little he’d thought before firing that gun at Jules, she didn’t want to test the limits of his mercy.

Willa didn’t want to think about this any longer. After the long, boring trip here, her mind was sick of overthinking and second-guessing every little thing. She already felt as if she were about two steps from falling over the edge of absolute insanity, and she had to try her best to cling to the top of that cliff.

What she really needed was a good, long shopping trip. She was currently wearing a pair of old yoga pants and a loose graphic shirt from a more bohemian designer with a foil design of the Taj Mahal. An outfit that was an old go-to for her, but now that she’d been wearing it for two days straight, she was about ready to throw it in a trashcan and burn it. To make things worse, her hair was stringy and damp from the humidity and her skin was begging for moisturizer.

Not only was she totally in over her head, but she was so out of her element, she barely knew what her next step would be.

But there was one person she could ask.

Willa tentatively opened the door to her room and glanced around the hallway. There was no sign of Weston, not that she thought there would be. There was only one door to her left, Weston’s room, so she turned right. Her bare feet softly padded across the hard floor, but every few feet, the floor would let out a moan or groan, giving her no chance at all of sneaking around. Not that she would want to, but the paranoia had been escalating lately. Could it really be called paranoia if you’ve seen someone murdered in front of you?

The living room was just as depressing as before, so she turned in the direction of the kitchen. The cupboards were a fresh white color. They seemed to be much fresher than the rest of the house. Maybe Weston wasn’t as careless with his home as she thought. The hardware on the drawers and pantry were all clean brushed nickel. The counter was an older laminate that seemed to have been through the ringer. A lot more wear than she’d expect for a guy who lived alone, but she supposed she knew almost nothing about Weston, so what did it matter?

A deep double sink beneath a window looked out over the flat scenery outside. A newish gas stove and mismatched beige dishwasher and a black refrigerator filled out the room. Maybe if Weston kept her alive, she’d get him an interior decorator as a thank-you gift.

Something told her he wouldn’t appreciate it.

Even though she wasn’t hungry, she pulled the fridge open to examine her options. It didn’t exactly look like a bachelor’s fridge. There were two cartons of eggs, a jug of milk, and the produce drawers were all full. And from what she could see, it was all reasonably fresh.

When she opened the freezer section, it was a bunch of Ziploc bags of beef and chicken and some packages of salmon and trout. Considering how buff Weston was, she shouldn’t be surprised that he was a health nut, but somehow she hadn’t been expecting it.

She supposed it had something to do with the health nuts she knew in Chicago. She knew dozens of guys who spent half their days at the gym and the other half trying to impress women with the bodies they’d sculpted at the gym. Weston sure as hell hadn’t seemed interested in impressing her.

Though, considering how she looked at the moment, maybe there was a good reason. Besides, she didn’t want him to try to impress her. She wanted him to keep her safe from her homicidal father. Then she could go back to Chicago and get back to her old life of hanging with health nuts and vapid socialites who were not federal agents undercover.