When her door opened, she stepped out wearing a pair of leggings and tugging at a red sweater. Nothing fancy, but those clothes made his mouth go dry. Because she was in them. It didn’t matter what she wore. She looked astounding in anything, whether it was a skirt and blouse, or jeans and a T-shirt. He wouldn’t mind seeing what she looked like with nothing on at all. Then he could make a more accurate judgment.
No. He couldn’t be thinking that kind of thought right now.
“Morning,” he drawled, taking satisfaction when she jumped and spun around.
It wasn’t fear in her eyes. It was worry, the same worry he felt. At least they were both confused by this growing attraction between the two of them.
“You startled me,” she said, lifting her hand to her chest and rubbing.
Great! Now his eyes were focused on the luscious curves the sweater wasn’t doing much to hide. As if sensing that what she was doing was only making the situation more strained, she immediately dropped her hand.
“Sorry about that, Misty.” For startling her, or for staring at her? He didn’t know what he was sorry for. For everything, probably. “Are you all ready to go?” He moved away from the railing and snatched up the one bag she’d brought with her.
“Yes. I can get that,” she said, but he grabbed it anyway.
Why did a woman make it so damned difficult for a man to carry her bags? His father would beat him blind if he stepped around the corner and saw Bryson’s hands empty while she was lugging a suitcase, even if it was a small one.
The two of them walked slowly down the steps to the parking lot, where a car was waiting to take them to the airport. During the drive, both of them were silent. Bryson didn’t know what she was feeling, but he was uptight and anxious, ready to explode if he didn’t get something figured out soon, and he thought it best if he just kept his mouth shut. When his phone rang, he was more than grateful to take the call instead of sitting there inhaling her scent with thoughts of pulling her across his lap.
With the way he was behaving, he wasn’t that much better than her abusive ex right now. Bryson had worked too long and was far too professional to act this way. If he didn’t get himself under control, he would have no choice but to resign from this case — and that was something he’d never before had to do.
He was still on the phone when they arrived at the airport, but he ended the call and collected her suitcase. There was a delay on their flight, and when they finally got on the plane, they ended up sitting in separate rows, her in front of him. As irritated as Bryson was about that, he thought it might actually be better for all concerned, considering the mood he was in.
Leaning back against his seat, he was surprised to feel his eyes grow heavy. He didn’t sleep on planes, not usually, anyway.
Chapter Eleven
Somehow she’d done something to upset Bryson. That could be the only explanation for why he hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since they’d left Montana. She just couldn’t figure out what was wrong — or, more specifically, what she’d done wrong.
Maybe he was disgusted with her now. First, he’d had to listen to her testimony about Jesse and the things she’d allowed that vile man to do to her, and then she’d ogled Brad Paisley. She’d be disgusted with herself if she weren’t still starstruck. But it would explain why Bryson wasn’t speaking to her.
Up to this point he’d been so kind, so charming, so comforting, but she’d long realized that it was probably all part of his job — keep the witness happy, secure, and ready to testify.
She was too chicken to ask him what was going on, so she simply matched his silence when they landed, while she walked by his side as Bryson grabbed her carry-on bag, and when she kept pace with him as they left the airport and were transported to the parking lot. A whole lot of silence.
In just a little while, she’d be all alone back at her house, where she could break down and have a good cry if she wanted, or maybe throw on some sweats and go for a jog. She couldn’t figure out at the moment which she’d prefer.
Probably the jog, since it would burn more calories than tears would. Besides, she’d been too sedentary lately, and a jog would tucker her out. True, she might well pass out in the first five minutes because it had been so long since she’d run. For a short time during her year with Jesse she’d been on a fitness quest, and that was probably the only reason she’d been able to make it to her car and escape him.
He’d allowed her to jog only in certain locations and only while he was there to ensure that she didn’t speak to any other men, but she’d been happy with the activity. It had given her a few moments of peace. He’d liked the result of her being in such great shape — her body was able to take more of his abuse.
The thought of running outside among so many strangers was a bit daunting, but she wasn’t going to let her old fears — heck, her new fears, her constant fears — hold her back. She’d already made that decision and she was sticking to it.
If she chickened out on the very first activity she decided upon after giving her deposition, she was once again letting Jesse win. So, yes, a jog it was, she thought emphatically. Exercise saved lives.
She and Bryson arrived at her house and she didn’t even try to argue when he insisted on walking her inside. This time, though, he brought his briefcase with him, and she wondered what he had planned. With the silent treatment he’d been giving her, she figured he’d want to be in and out of there as quickly as possible.
Once he’d checked all the rooms, he moved to her kitchen table and set down the briefcase. “I know you’re tired, Misty, but I want you to look at some stills taken from surveillance footage. If you can identify any of the people with Jesse in these photos, that would help us. I know you won’t remember dates, but if you can tell us if these people were ever inside Jesse’s apartment and if you saw anything, we can strengthen the case even more.”
She didn’t really want to continue diving back into that world, but how could she say no? The more help she gave, the more chance this would all end. Maybe sooner than everyone hoped.
“Why didn’t you have me do this sooner?”
“Because we wanted your testimony first, so it was from you alone, and not from something we’d placed in front of you, planted in your brain. The prosecuting attorney will look for anything to weaken our case, and if he thinks we in any way tried to persuade you of anything, lead you to any conclusion, he can make the jury believe that. We have to do each of these steps in a certain order.”
“I understand,” she said, though she didn’t really. None of this made a lot of sense to her; at least the process behind it all didn’t. What she did fully understand is there was a possibility of Jesse’s going to prison, and if he did, he could never touch her again.
“Drink this,” he said, placing a cup of water in front of her.
Without thought, she gripped it and sipped as she began flipping through the hundreds of images. Then her world tilted, taking her back to that hellhole of an apartment. When she saw him going up the stairs with a small, dark-haired girl, the picture dated a few months after Misty had left, she felt sympathy for the woman.
“I wonder if she’s still alive,” Misty whispered, and Bryson leaned over the back of her chair to see which picture she was looking at.
“No. Sadly, she isn’t alive. Though he took up with her after you, I’m hoping that maybe you will have some information on her. Did you ever see her around?”
More fear shot through her. She could have been this woman, one of the ones whom Jesse killed when he was done with her. Every day she was thankful to have escaped.
“I don’t remember her. There were several women, as you know, that he brought in while we were still together, but her face isn’t one I remember. And I don’t think I would forget. I don’t think I’ll forget a single thing from that time in my life.”
“No, I don’t think you will, either. I only hope that over time, you will start to heal, and eventually it will all be nothing but a vague recollection, without any measurable sting.” Bryson laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
She focused back on the picture. “She’s so pretty here. Why does he do this? Why does it make him feel like a man? I just can’t understand it,” she said. She’d received broken bones, been raped, violated, and chained — and she’d been one of the lucky ones. How could this man get away with so much, ruin so many lives?
“She was loved by her parents, and missed greatly. I don’t know why he does what he does, but he won’t ever touch you again, Misty. That time is over — it’s in the past. If we didn’t have to dredge up the past, making you go through this day after day, you’d be so much closer to healing. I’m so sorry.” Bryson took his other hand and clutched her other shoulder, letting her know he was right there.
Needing the contact, needing some sort of connection, Misty placed her fingers over his. She was closer to tears at this moment than she’d been while giving a detailed account of her own torture. Seeing another victim made it all so much more real.