Awesome, I’m a subject now. Way to dehumanize the situation, Troy.
I give him a polite but forced nod and return to my Wonder Bread. As I crunch away, I listen halfheartedly as Cannon grills Troy again on things I’m certain he already has memorized. But knowing Cannon, if a single answer doesn’t check out, this guy is gone. Cannon might be a controlling ass, but he’s always looked out for me.
When he’s satisfied, he invites Troy inside, but Troy declines.
“No, sir. I’ll be stationed out front and periodically walking the perimeter to make sure the property is secure.”
I assume Cannon finds nothing wrong with that because he nods, and the former military man turns and steps off the porch.
“Well, that was interesting.”
Cannon shrugs. “He comes highly recommended, and I’m comfortable leaving him in charge of you. All joking aside, he’s not your babysitter. He’s here to protect you, discreetly.”
“Protect me from what?”
Cannon’s frown clues me in to the fact that I’m asking the wrong question. The correct question is protect me from whom.
“Cav,” I whisper. “He’s here to protect me from Cav.”
A nod is all the confirmation I need. “He’s here to make sure Mr. Casso doesn’t decide to do anything stupid.”
“His name is Westman.”
“Only when it became convenient for him.”
“You know more about him than I do, clearly. So, why don’t you share?”
A few beats pass before Cannon replies. “That’s not my place. My job here is to make sure you’ve got someone you can count on to keep you safe. Now, is there anything else you need from me before I head back to the city?”
I open my mouth to deliver some snarky comment, but decide it’s not worth it. Cannon thinks I’m a world-class fuckup, so why reinforce that opinion any more than I already have through my actions?
“No. Nothing.” And because I still have the manners I was raised with, I add, “Thank you.”
“Anytime, Greer. You know both your brother and I would do anything for you. Including saving you from yourself.”
He could have left off that last little bit, thank you very much. I give him a pained smile and clear my breakfast dishes away. Cannon’s already out the door and starting up his car when I realize there’s no dishwasher. It’s not until I’m finished cleaning up the kitchen that I discover I’m completely cut off.
Cannon was correct—the old rotary phone doesn’t work. I have no cell. The cable is turned off. There’s no Internet.
Every single one of those things was missing in Belize, and yet I didn’t feel alone and deprived there because I had Cav.
And now I just have . . . me.
I can’t read another page in this book. My second Danielle Steel isn’t holding my attention. I’ve already read every detail of every page of Holly’s yearbooks from high school—she was adorable, by the way—and now I’m going stir crazy. Is this what they mean when they talk about cabin fever? I have to get out of here.
I opened the front door three hours ago, only to be met by Troy German with a stern order to go back inside. When I tried to chat, he stonewalled me and pulled the door shut. I made myself lunch with the ample groceries Cannon left, but now I need to do something before I start tearing my hair out.
During lunch and between my Danielle Steels, I watched Troy’s pattern around the house. Day is turning to dusk, and his pattern hasn’t changed. He stays stationed out front for twenty minutes and then spends five minutes “walking the perimeter.” Holly’s gran’s house doesn’t sit on a vast piece of property. I have no frame of reference for how big it is, but it can’t be much bigger than the footprint of my New York apartment building. Definitely not a city block.
So I start planning. Holly has told me the story about the night Creighton dragged her out of Brews and Balls, the bowling alley where she used to work and made her karaoke stage debut. I think Holly said it was less than a mile away.
I might be a city girl, but one thing I know I can do is walk. And if walking a mile gets me to some sort of civilization, then I’m down with it.
I dig through my available clothes, glancing out the upstairs window as Troy makes another round in his perimeter walk. I slip into skinny jeans and a blouse, shove some cash and my ID in my pocket, and make my way down the stairs. Peering between the front blinds, I catch him climbing back into his SUV and shutting the door.
It’s go time.
I’m breaking out.
Clearly, Troy doesn’t expect me to make this kind of move, because when I slip out the back door and haul ass across the grass to the dirt road that runs behind the back of the lot, I don’t hear him yelling. I duck behind a tree with a trunk double the width of my body and wait, my lungs heaving, for the shouts to come.
They don’t.