Chapter 2
It was taking every ounce of pride and strength for Cora Rooney not to burst into tears.
She’d planned tonight so carefully. When she’d heard that one of the owners of The Refuge was going to be in Washington, DC, at a charity auction, she’d been elated.
Like most people, she knew about the resort catering to those who suffered from PTSD.
There had been a lot of articles written about the place—and the men who owned it—when it had first opened, and even now, more than five years later, they were still getting interviews and press coverage because of how generous they were with their time and money.
She’d been distressed enough to spend some of her own hard-earned money on a ticket to the gala tonight.
She’d have preferred not to, wanted to hoard every dime to use for her main objective, but the gala was a means to an end…
namely, the chance to have a conversation with one of the former special forces soldiers who owned The Refuge.
It was a desperate decision. She’d contacted private investigators, all of whom wanted too much money to take her case.
Private security firms were out, for the same reason.
Cora had even dug around on the Internet, trying to find a former police officer or FBI agent to consult, but the few she’d found made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and not in a good way.
They were quick to offer help, but like everyone else, demanded thousands of dollars—up front.
Which made her think they were scammers.
If there was any other way to get help that didn’t require money she didn’t have, Cora would’ve taken it. But she was out of options. Even if the representative from The Refuge had refused to help her, at least she could say she’d tried everything.
Thinking about why she was at this auction in the first place made her heart hurt.
Lara.
She’d known her best friend since they were teenagers, so over twenty years now.
Lara had been the only girl at school who’d tried to befriend Cora when she’d arrived as a newcomer in the tenth grade.
Cora hadn’t fit into the upper-class school at all.
A foster kid with no designer clothes, a bad attitude she wore like a shield, and an expectation that everyone would hate her on sight.
She wasn’t exactly wrong on that last count… except for Lara.
Lara Osler had literally saved her life. Had overlooked her lack of money, lack of parents, and lack of trust for anyone and everyone, and simply taken her under her wing, not caring that their peers made fun of her for it behind her back.
They were opposites in so many ways. Lara was tall at five-ten, compared to Cora’s five foot five.
Cora had boring brown hair, while Lara’s was shiny blonde.
Cora was brash and didn’t hesitate to speak her mind.
Lara was far more diplomatic and almost shy.
Despite that, Lara fell for men hard and fast, convinced each one could be her happy-ever-after, while Cora was too distrustful to offer most guys more than a single night.
They were like oil and water, but somehow they’d immediately clicked. Despite their differences, or maybe because of them, Cora and Lara had become best friends. She owed Lara everything.
That was why she’d bought a dress and two-inch heels, attempted to put on some makeup, and attended this fancy shindig.
And she’d failed.
She hadn’t been sure she’d have enough money to win the man from The Refuge to begin with.
The six thousand dollars she’d scrounged up was the most money she’d ever had in her bank account at one time.
And she’d spend every dime to help Lara, even if no one other than Cora believed she actually needed help.
And when most of the winning bids for the men in front of him had been in her range, she began to think she might have a chance.
The bidding had slowed at five thousand dollars, and for a second, Cora had thought she’d done it. That she’d won. That she was one step closer to helping her friend.
Then Eleanor Vanlandingham appeared, practically knocking Cora to the floor.
From the second she realized who was standing next to her, Cora had known her nemesis from high school was going to ruin everything…
and she’d been right. She didn’t know why the other woman hated her so much.
She’d been a bitch back in high school, and she was still a bitch twenty-two years later.
They didn’t run into each other often, but when they did, nothing good came out of it.
Like tonight.
Eleanor had crushed Cora’s plan with two little words. Ten thousand dollars was way above what she could afford to spend…more than she had in her account. She’d failed. She wouldn’t be able to talk to Mr. Clark, wouldn’t be able to try to convince him to help her.
Cora wanted to cry…and she wasn’t a crier. It never helped, only made her feel stuffed up and weak, and made her look like crap.
It wasn’t as if Eleanor even wanted a date with the man. He wasn’t her type. Not even close. Too rough around the edges, too many tattoos. Not pretty enough. Not a millionaire. The list went on and on.
But it didn’t matter. Eleanor simply wasn’t going to let Cora win something that she’d so desperately wanted.
She huffed out a breath as she blindly pushed through the crowd. She needed to get the hell out of there. No way was she going to give Eleanor the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Detouring to the coat check area at the back of the grand ballroom, then down a short hall to the bathrooms, Cora locked herself inside one of the stalls and leaned against the wall as she desperately tried to keep despair from overwhelming her.
She’d been so sure she’d be able to convince Bryson Clark to help.
All she needed was an hour or so to talk to him.
To plead her case. The police hadn’t believed her.
Lara’s own parents dismissed her concerns without thinking twice, and she’d exhausted all of her other options.
But Cora knew down to her bones that her friend was in danger.
An ex-special forces soldier could easily get to Lara.
Talk to her. Find out if she was safe or not.
Taking a deep breath, Cora straightened.
Fine, Eleanor might’ve ruined her plans tonight, but she still had six thousand bucks.
She could fly out to New Mexico, go to The Refuge in person, and see if she could talk to one of the men who owned the place.
It would be better if she could get a reservation for one of the cabins so she could seem like a visitor, but that was impossible. They were booked up for months.
Cora wasn’t even sure why she was so fixated on the men who ran The Refuge.
They were no longer in the military. They all suffered from various degrees of PTSD.
Hell, they were resort owners now, not mercenaries for hire or something.
But from the moment she’d visited their website…
seen their pictures and read their bios…
something about the men had struck a chord deep within her.
They’d all suffered, and yet they’d gone out of their way to help others.
And from the news accounts she’d read about recent situations with some of the women who now lived and worked at The Refuge, the owners seemed to have a soft spot for women in peril.
So maybe, just maybe, they’d be willing to look into Lara’s situation. It was worth a shot. Cora would do whatever it took to help her friend.
She dismissed going straight to Phoenix to try to see Lara herself, because she had a feeling that would be an epic failure. She didn’t have the strength or skills needed to succeed. No, she needed someone like Mr. Clark or one of the other men who worked at The Refuge.
Deciding that going to The Refuge would’ve been a better plan than trying to win the auction anyway, Cora reached into the bag she’d checked earlier and began to change clothes.
She’d never been one to dwell on the bad shit in her life; if she was, she wouldn’t be able to function.
Her life had never been easy, and why she’d expected tonight to be any different was a complete mystery.
Cora quickly changed into the jeans, T-shirt, old, comfy sweatshirt, and sneakers that she’d brought with her, and stuffed the black dress and heels into the bag.
She wasn’t stupid enough to ride back to her crappy part of town wearing something so nice.
She’d be picked off by one of the many drug dealers or creeps who prowled the Metro looking for victims before she could blink.
She used the bathroom for good measure while she was there, then exited the stall.
After washing her hands, Cora pushed open the restroom door and headed down the hall that led back into the ballroom.
Her plan had been to slide out of there unnoticed by the crowd, whose attention was still on the stage for the ongoing auction.
But of course, like all her carefully crafted plans that night, that was also destined to fail.
Eleanor Vanlandingham and two of her Barbie followers were waiting for her as soon as she stepped into the dim lights of the ballroom.
Of course, Eleanor looked beautiful in the dark green dress she’d poured herself into.
The bitch duo flanking her, Valentina and Scarlett, also looked as perfect as ever in their almost-matching strapless black dresses and four-inch heels.
Their makeup was perfectly painted onto their Botox-injected faces.
Valentina rocked her curves, filling out her LBD like a Marilyn Monroe lookalike, while Scarlett was her opposite, rail thin like a runway model.
The trio might be beautiful on the outside, but they were rotten to the core. They took every opportunity to step on anyone they considered beneath them…which was just about everyone.