Chapter 16
MITCHELL
Walking through the airport, I quickly make my way to the long-term parking area where I left my car before my last job took me on a quick trip overseas.
Stepping outside, I take a deep breath of fresh air, welcoming the familiar sounds of home and fish out my car keys, more than ready to get home after a week away.
How the times have changed, there was a time when I was rarely in one place long enough to even refer to it as home. It’s rare these days that I take on a job that keeps me away for more than a few days, much less one that takes me so far, but this one was unavoidable.
Unlocking the car, I toss my bag in the boot and climb in the driver’s seat before reaching over and pulling my phone out of the glove box. Powering it up, it instantly starts dinging with notifications with check-ins from all of my clients.
All except one.
Concerned, I send a quick message, hoping that nothing happened, that she just forgot.
It wouldn’t be the first time, but most of my past clients are pretty vigilant and appreciate that after receiving my help, I don’t just abandon them to pick up the pieces of their life.
I check in with each of them regularly and have a continued interest in their safety.
After a few seconds, I get a response and let out a relieved breath.
With that out of the way, I minimise the app and pull up the blog posts, skipping to the comments section to make sure that dickhead got the message I left him before I left for the airport.
She doesn’t read the comments so won’t read the vile things he’s written but that’s beside the point. She doesn’t deserve or need that shit being said about her, so I’ve been monitoring the comments.
Most of the comments have been very supportive, save a few trolls and pricks who gave up on their bullshit pretty quickly. But this fuckwit has made it his mission to comment on every post, spitting ridiculous and hateful shit.
I smile when I get to the bottom of the list, finding his name absent. Well, at least I don’t need to add paying him another visit to my to-do list.
But there is a new name among the commentors. One that stands out. Curious, I click on the user to see their profile was made just before the comment was posted. Taking a screenshot, I make a note to deep dive into the user when I get home.
Pulling the post back up, I read through the newest post. As with each before it, reading what she went through has a rage building in me, but it’s tempered when she mentions me.
I was against her making these posts when she first approached me about it. Had it been any other client, I would have shut it down, hard and fast, and been completely unmovable on the subject.
But over the years, I’ve found myself doing and allowing things I normally wouldn’t with anyone else when it comes to her. So, it didn’t take her long to convince me to change my mind as she explained this was what she needed to heal.
One look in those icy blue eyes filled with the pain of her past, and rather than thinking of every possible way to convince her to change her mind; I found myself employing every possible measure I could take to ensure they couldn’t be traced back to her.
Typically, I do a deep dive into every one of my clients – hired or rescued. I make it my business to know every single thing about them. From the moment they were born until the moment our paths crossed, but with one little promise, she erased that.
When I first made the promise not to look her up, not to even try to discover her true identity, I had no intention of keeping it.
I planned on going behind her back and making sure every single one of her demons from her past were slayed.
But when I sat down to do it, I found I couldn’t go through with it.
I may not have known exactly what she had been through, or her real name, but I knew enough to know she needed someone in her corner.
Someone she could trust implicitly. Someone who wouldn’t break that trust. So, no matter how many times I’ve been tempted to over the years, I refused to break my promise.
The only thing I knew about her past until reading these posts was that the person who made all of the scars on her body and in her mind was dead. Given the blood she was covered in that night, I highly suspected she was the one who killed him, but her posts confirmed it.
Yawning I read the time on the dash, almost regretting my decision to drive right through to the safe house rather than get a hotel for the night.
But even though I know the cops won’t be able to trace anything back to me, I don’t like tempting fate by sticking around once they discover the messes I leave them.
A shadow in my peripheral has me slamming on the breaks, my seatbelt digging into my neck. “Fuck,” I cough out, my eyes lifting to find a woman standing in the middle of the road right in front of the car.
Why the fuck is she running out onto the road at three in the fucking morning?
The bright light of the headlights drown out her features, but my irritation turns to fury when I make out the baby in her arms.
Fucking reckless. She could have gotten the both of them killed.
Shaking my head, I angrily climb out of the car, leaving the ignition on so the headlights don’t turn off and slam the door shut behind me. Quickly making my way around the front of the vehicle, I freeze the moment I’m able to take in her full profile.
Fuck.
Her eyes go wide, filled with fear and tears instantly fill them as she clings tightly to the baby in her arms. She takes a small step back from me, whimpering and I struggle to control my emotions.
The only thing she’s wearing is blood. Immediately, I’m on high alert, my eyes scanning the area for whatever threat she was running from.
When I don’t see any, my focus returns to her and I slowly reach behind my head, pulling my shirt off to give her something to cover herself with, but she takes another step away from me.
“I won’t come any closer,” I try to reassure her, keeping my voice as soft as I can make it and slowly dropping down to my knees in an attempt to make myself as small as possible.
It’s not very effective; I’m a pretty big bloke and she’s a tiny thing, visibly underweight and more than likely malnourished if her protruding ribs are anything to go by.
“You’re safe,” I tell her, offering the shirt once more, hoping she will take it. I’d get her a new one from the car, but something tells me the second I stand back up, she’s going to spook and run.
She blinks at me slowly, her eyes never moving from mine and although she’s looking right at me with eyes filled with fear like I’m about to lash out at her, I don’t think she’s actually seeing me.
She sways on her feet, completely exhausted and from this close, I can see the blood coating her skin has started to crust and flake, telling me she’s likely been walking for some time.
I need to get them both off the street before she passes out from exhaustion, shock, or a mixture of the two. If that happens, she could easily hurt herself, or her baby. Clearing my throat, I keep my voice gentle so as not to scare her.
“Do you want me to take you to a hospital?” I offer, immediately regretting it when she panics, shaking her head and retreating. “Okay, okay. No hospitals.”
My eyes once again scan the direction she came from and a more important question than why she doesn’t want to go to a hospital comes to mind. “I can get you somewhere safe, anywhere you want to go. I just need to know one thing, the person who did this to you, can they come after you?”
My question has a visceral reaction as she lets out a heartbreaking sob, her entire body trembling hard. “Oh God,” she whispers, bringing the hand not holding her baby up to her mouth, but pausing when she sees the knife in her hand.
She looks down at it with a frown, as though she’s only now realising she’s holding it and her breathing picks up. “He’s dead,” she mutters so quietly, I’m not sure I heard her correctly, but I know I have when she starts repeating it over and over.
Seeing her body wobble, I make a snap decision and dive forward, catching both of them just as her body collapses out from under her, the knife clattering against the asphalt.
“My baby!” she screams out, flailing in my arms as she completely panics.
“It’s okay. Your baby fine, here.” I pass the baby over, keeping one arm around her waist as I lower us both to the ground, moving her so she’s sitting in my lap. “It’s okay,” I repeat, her mossy green eyes meeting mine seconds before they flutter closed and her body goes lax.
Quickly taking the baby in one hand, I pull her closer, resting her against my torso and look down at the two sleeping bodies in my arms. Something in me settles and my heart melts completely when the baby blinks her eyes open, staring up at me with the brightest pair of cerulean, blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
With my thumb, I gently swipe away her mother’s bloody fingerprint from the baby’s cheek and smile. “Shh, it’s going to be okay. No one is ever going to hurt you or your mother again,” I vow, and the baby closes their eyes again, drifting off to sleep in an instant.
A fresh wave of rage washes through me when I’m able to effortlessly stand with both of them in my arms, but I shove it down. First, I need to get them out of here and checked over by a doctor, then I can fuss about getting her back to a healthy weight.
I prepare for a lot of scenarios when I go out on a job, but I wasn’t exactly expecting to pick up a newborn on the way home after completing my job.
Packing a baby seat, or any baby supplies wasn’t exactly on my itinerary, and I wince when I look down at the newborn realising I don’t have much of a choice; I’m going to have to hold the baby in my arms as I drive.