Page 57 of Don't Burn Bridges
“And?”
She hated giving him even that much.
“I don't know yet. I need a few more days. I want to see if there's a chance he'll do the right thing before I talk to a lawyer.”
Troy didn't answer right away. He studied her face, the smug amusement fading into something more calculating, as though fitting another piece into a puzzle she'd never wanted him to see. The silence stretched long enough to make her wish she'd lied anyway.
His crooked-toothed grin returned. “I like that plan. Lawyers could drag this out for years. Cozy up to him first, and maybe he'll hand you a check to make you go away.”
For the first time since he'd arrived, a sliver of hope crept in. Maybe he would stay out of it. Maybe if she could convince him to leave Hazard Falls for a few days, she could still salvage everything she'd worked so hard to build.
Then she watched his expression change. The grin didn't disappear. It sharpened. He'd figured something out.
“Which means,” he said, drawing the words out, “me walking onto that ranch right now would blow the whole thing to hell.”
The air seemed to vanish from the room.
“Troy...” His name escaped as little more than a warning, but he ignored it.
“But don't drag your feet.” He scratched absently at the tattoo climbing his neck before meeting her gaze again. “I want my cut. You’ve got until the end of Monday to get the check from him and cash it at the bank, or I’ll take care of it myself.”
Her pulse climbed another notch.
As long as he could threaten to expose the truth before she had the chance to tell Shane herself, he held all the leverage.
“Don’t even think about screwing me over,” he continued. “Otherwise, I'll make damn sure Shane hears the truth from me first. And once I do that...” He shrugged, as if the rest hardly mattered. “Good luck getting a penny. I’ll take it all.”
The knot in Shylo's stomach pulled even tighter.
He wasn't bluffing. He’d found the one thing she couldn't afford to lose—not the inheritance itself, but the chance to earn Shane's trust.
He must have read the answer on her face because satisfaction crept into his expression. He pushed away from the headboard and stretched, looking more like a man settling into a hotel room than someone who'd forced his way inside. The mattress creaked beneath the shift in his weight, and the familiar sound made her want to vomit. Only a few minutes earlier, she'd been sitting on that same bed with Seth, talking about seeing each other again that evening. Now it felt as though Troy had contaminated every good memory she'd made there.
“And before you ask,” he said, getting to his feet, “I'm not going anywhere. I'm about broke, so I'll be staying with you until this gets sorted out.”
Her eyes widened. “No, you won't.”
He looked genuinely amused by the response. “Sure I will. I’m not sleeping in my truck again.” His gaze drifted toward the bed before returning to her. “Might want to ask for a room with two beds, though.”
“I am not sharing a motel room with you.”
He shrugged as though it made no difference to him. “Then get me another room.”
She had no idea whether or not to believe he was broke.
Troy had never been good with money. If he'd blown through whatever cash he had before leaving Brimley Flats, she wouldn't be surprised. Then again, she'd known him long enough not to trust much of anything that came out of his mouth. If he really were broke, she also wouldn't have put it past him to swipe a wallet, rob a convenience store, or knock over a liquor store somewhere between West Virginia and Kansas. He might’ve hit some casinos along the way too.
Whether he was lying or not didn't really matter. She wasn't about to share a room with him, and if paying for a second one kept him out of hers, she'd consider it money well spent. “Fine. But I'll pay for a room in Wexler. Or the next town over. Anywhere but Hazard Falls.”
If she could keep him out of town, there was a good chance nobody would connect him to her, especially Seth or Shane and his family. The fewer people who crossed paths with Troy, the better.
He laughed, the sound rough enough to scrape against her nerves. “You really don't get it, do you?”
Before she could answer, he crossed the room until barely two feet separated them. The stale smell of cigarettes and whatever he'd tried to cover them with invaded her space, forcing her to fight the urge to step back. She refused to give him that satisfaction.
“I'm staying close because I don't trust you,” he said. “The minute the asshole hands you a check, you'll disappear, and I'll never see a dime.”
“If I get anything,” she corrected, refusing to promise him money that didn't exist.
