Debbi Rawlins - Own the Night

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

This time there was no doubt that he’d pressed a palm to her back. “Look at me,” he said, catching her chin and bringing her face around to his. Eyes shaded with concern, he looked deep into hers before moving on to study her face. “You look pale.”

“It’s nothing.” She jerked her chin away. “I’ve had a long day. It’s not easy getting from New York to Montana at the last minute.”

“You were in a hurry?” He didn’t look concerned now, just appeared oddly invested in her answer.

“I suppose you could say that.” She smiled wryly, wondering how her mother had reacted to the cryptic message she had left her. Alana had even gone so far as to tell her housekeeper and doorman she’d be in the Caribbean in case her mother contacted them. Eleanor would be at wit’s end by now, analyzing how she’d lost control of her daughter. “I’d prefer you call me Alana.”

“All right.” His mouth curved slightly. “Noah is okay with me.”

His stare was surprisingly captivating, and she forced herself to turn away before she made a fool of herself. God forbid she start acting like one of his groupies. She pushed the door open the rest of the way. Three steps over the threshold, she froze.

The entire room consisted of two jail cells, each one furnished with nothing more than a cot and a toilet.

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