Page 51 of Three Steps Behind

Think about the women. Frustration and hot shame seared through Bristol. That was his job. Not hers. Aubry was just trying to manipulate her, so why did her heart squeeze at the very thought of them? She headed for the shower. She needed to clear her mind. Refocus.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around her hair and one around her body. She stepped to the mirror and swiped off the steam.

She was looking older, rougher. Came with the lifestyle, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. She rubbed some moisturizer on her face and slid on a swipe of ChapStick, then dressed in the PJs she found in the closet, courtesy of the Bureau—not having been able to collect anything from her home. Her home. The apartment Dalton had rented for her.

Aubry said someone was using her place or, at the very least, keeping an eye on it. Was it where he kept some of the women? She swallowed, her stomach flipping again. How many women were they dealing? Did it even matter? One was as horrid as one hundred.

She grabbed the orange chicken and a soda out of the small fridge, climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged. Clicking through the TV channels, she found her favorite movie—though she’d never admit she loved Persuasion. The 2022 version. It was sappy. And untrue. Men like Wentworth didn’t exist. Dalton had totally played her. And Aubry might play the part of a good man like Wentworth, but she’d been raised to always anticipate the worst in people. Besides, he only wanted one thing—to catch Dalton Shaw—and she doubted he cared who got hurt in the process despite what he’d said earlier.

Exhausted, Aubry lay down on the bed, his arms behind his head, his fingers interlocked.

Please, Lord, reach Bristol. Help her see your love for her and walk away from worldly things. Please protect the poor women being abused by Dalton Shaw and help us bring him down. And please let Bristol agree to help us.

There appeared to be no other way. Surely she had to care that women were being hurt. But perhaps she was scared of Dalton. Scared of what would happen if he discovered she was helping them. Unfortunately, getting caught in the crossfire was a possibility. One he prayed never came to pass.

His eyes grew heavy. He flicked them open, only to have darkness envelop him again.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He jolted up in bed and glanced at the clock. 3:00 a.m.

Of course she’d still be up at three in the morning. Did the woman never rest?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Rousing himself, he rubbed his eyes. “Coming.”

Getting to a standing position, he moved for the connecting door. Opening it, he found her bright-eyed. What a shock. “Yes?” he grumbled.

“So Sleepy dwarf.” She smiled. “I’d pegged you as Grumpy, but I think Sleepy suits you best.”

He rested his arm against the doorjamb. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’ll help you catch Dalton. But only for the women.”

“Thank you. You’re doing the right thing.”

“Now, don’t go ruining my reputation with comments like that.” She smiled, but concern radiated from her blue eyes.

He studied her closer. He’d gotten to know her quite well over the months he’d chased her. Her movements, her likes, places she’d lived—albeit never long in any one place until she’d met Dalton. Was that it? “Are you worried about Dalton?”

“Worried?”

“That he might . . . harm you?”

“It’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“It is.”

“But you can’t guarantee it, can you?”

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. I promise.”

“Eeeh.” She relayed a buzzer sound. “That’s the phrase.”

He frowned. “I promise?”

“People really shouldn’t say that.”