by Cora Kenborn
I raised an eyebrow, and her low chuckle sizzled my already depleted nerves. Leaning closer, she brushed her lips against mine as they feathered the words across my mouth.
“Except for when you are behind me.”
A strange redness burned my skin. “Yeah, I guess that was kind of the opposite of romantic, huh?”
She couldn’t hide her amusement. “I don’t believe it. Julian James Bale, are you…is that…are you blushing?”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She pulled her long hair to one side and sat up a little straighter. “You have no idea how much.”
Riddled with embarrassment, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. The smile on her lips and the gleam in her eye both equaled disaster for me. “Well, you get your laughs now while you can, Miss Ryan. The next time won’t be so damn funny.”
“Baby, nothing about what happened was funny.” She brushed at a piece of hair stuck to the back of my neck. “To tell you the truth, I needed this. I haven’t felt close to you lately.”
“And now?”
“And now I feel like we can fix anything, or talk about anything. Is there anything you want to tell me, Julian?”
I held my breath as I faced her head on. “Phoebe…don’t.”
“C’mon, Bale. A few weeks ago, after the blow up with Ryker, you said our discussion wasn’t over. In fact, you said we had a very,” furrowing her eyebrows, she lowered her voice in a mock representation, “important thing we needed to talk about so I wasn’t to give a lame excuse.”
“I never said that.”
“You most certainly did.”
“Well, I didn’t say it like that.”
“No, you said it with smart-ass undertones.”
I held my hands up in surrender. “Fine. First of all, I never called bullshit on your story at the time, but you know how ridiculous that was, right?”
“You didn’t exactly give me time to think on my feet.”
“Just clearing that up. Don’t insult my intelligence like that again,” I warned. “Besides, Ryker can’t lie to me for shit. He sang like a fucking canary the next day.”
“Traitor. I’m totally kicking his ass.”
“You’re not going to like what I have to say next, so please just listen to me until I’m finished.”
“If you think…”
Placing my palm directly across her mouth, I shook my head. “See? Just like that. I said to wait until I’m finished. Do you listen when I talk, or are you always formulating a rebuttal?”
“Eph rull fahe or ahn ohp ma mouh, I deh ou.”
I wrinkled my nose at her. “What the hell did you say?”
Reaching up, she grabbed my wrist and raised her chin defiantly. “I said if you’ll take your hand off my mouth, I’ll tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
A confused look crossed her face. “Wait, what?”
“What you were going to say?”
“Nothing,” she insisted. “You were saying something.”
Growling, I grabbed my hair and let out a groan of frustration. “I swear, woman, you drive me crazy. You said if I took my hand off your mouth, you’d tell me.”
The devilish smile plastered across her face had me weighing options of shaking her in annoyance or fucking her senseless again. Blowing out a chestful of air, I gently pulled her off my lap and grabbed my pants. She watched as I pulled them over my hips and secured the zipper. Clasping my hands behind my neck, I looked down at her.
Her blue eyes tore into me. They were the same eyes I engaged in a battle of wills in a club in New York almost eight months ago. The same eyes I couldn’t forget. The eyes I’d gazed into in a hotel room after touching her for the first time, knowing things would never be the same.
I’d never be the same.
“Julian, what are you staring at?”
“You, princess. I’m staring at the reason I do what I do. I don’t know if you realize how important you are to me, personally and professionally.”
She blinked in confusion. “Professionally?”
I propped a hand against the wall. “You inspire me. I think of you and the lyrics flow. I’ve tried writing when we aren’t together, and the shit sucks. It doesn’t work. Nothing makes sense. But you make things make sense.” She just stared, her legs tucked underneath her skirt. “I want the nightmares to stop where I wake in the middle of the night with chest pains because I dreamed I’d lost you.”
“Julian, I told you I’d never leave you.”
“No, baby,” I explained, the memory paining me to recall. “You didn’t leave me in my dreams. You left everything in them.” I didn’t want to explain anymore. I didn’t want to describe the horrific nightmares I’d been having of Dalton finding her during one of my absences. The one where I came home and found her lying on our bedroom floor staring vacantly up at a ceiling she didn’t see.
“Julian, you don’t have to worry that—”
“I want you to go to North Carolina.”
She pushed herself off the floor, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What? North Carolina, why?”
“Phoebe, you’re a sitting target. You’re almost eight months pregnant and vulnerable. In North Carolina, you’ll have your sister and her family.”
“I thought we were family,” she accused sharply.
I sighed and bowed my head, prepared for a fight. “They can keep you safe while I’m gone.”
“Safe from what, Julian? What do you know that you aren’t telling me?”
I pushed off the wall to escape her probing stare. “Please don’t ask me any more questions.”
Raising her hands to her hips, she stalked forward until we stood face to face. “Well, tough shit, Bale. You give me a good reason for this sudden change of location.”
I turned sideways, placing both palms against the wall. “Why can’t you just do it because I asked you to?”
“Because I’m a reporter, and reporters always get their facts straight before blindly walking into a bunch of shit. We ask questions, and we expect to be answered.”
I tilted my head to the side and pleaded with tired eyes. “Please don’t fight me.”
She inhaled sharply. “I’m going upstairs. When you find a valid reason to back up this request, come find me. Otherwise, this discussion is over.” She wrapped one arm around the underside of her stomach and climbed the stairs, one slow step at a time.
Damn it!
There’d be no way to get her on a plane without telling her I’d withheld knowledge. No way to avoid telling her that Detective Jaxon Hough had used his FBI contacts to track her father’s trail of bodies from the initial murder in Maryland to our own back door. Apparently, everyone in Jaxon Hough’s life either owed him a favor or had some dirty little secret they’d do anything to keep from being exposed. He was a good man to have on my side, but a ruthless one to have as an enemy. I’d do well to remember that.
I’d have to tell her why seeing her in the hospital affected me like it did. Downplaying the death of Elisabeth Cayden had been difficult, but necessary. I couldn’t let Phoebe see the truth in my eyes. The truth I’d hidden from her for months.
I knew walking into that hospital room that Daniel Dalton killed Elisabeth Cayden. Even before Hough verified it.
She’d ask why I didn’t tell her when I first found out. I had no answer for that other than shielding her let me give her normalcy in a life that didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Pushing off the wall, I cursed low and headed into the living room. She needed to cool off. Later, we’d talk rationally, and I’d make her see that going to North Carolina was for the best.
I kicked my jacket out of my way with the toe of my boot. Bending down to pick it up, I groaned as the days and nights of exhaustion shot through me. A glance out of the corner of my eye collided with a deflected light. Blinking twice, I turned my head to the right and landed on two large shards of glass splayed on top of what seemed to be a million smalle
r ones. Crawling toward it, I ran my fingers over the largest piece and swore as the jagged edge sliced my thumb.
What the fuck?
My throat tightened as my eyes landed on the open window. It’d been busted from the outside, and dirt on the windowsill housed small droplets of blood that led from the mountain of glass, across the room, and up the stairs. I couldn’t hear anything except the thunderous beats of my own heart ringing in my ears.
“Jesus Christ.” My attention was drawn up the stairs where the trail of blood led. Droplets scattered on the plush carpet in a frenzied pattern. Then, one word shot through my head like an exploding bullet.
Phoebe.
“Goddamn it!” Pushing off the floor, I threw myself across the room and reached the bottom of the stairs with my pulse racing and stomach churning. Her gut-wrenching scream branded itself into my mind as if it were steel directly from the fire.
Chapter Twelve
Phoebe
I refused to be treated like a five-year-old by anyone, especially the man I was supposed to marry. My worries had been blissfully blank for the few minutes of passion we’d shared. He was a constant burning ember, and one drop of gasoline ignited into a raging inferno of lust.
Most of our fights ended in sex. Every aspect of life with Julian was full throttle. In those few precious moments, lying in each other’s arms, open and exposed, I always knew understanding could be found at the base of our connection. My body responded with an open invitation and offered itself for his taking.
At the top of the staircase, I stopped, wondering if he’d followed me, but I knew I’d given him no reason to. Why the hell would I go to North Carolina? My sister’s home wouldn’t be any safer than LA. In fact, it felt like returning to the scene of the crime—going from the frying pan into a vat of boiling acid. Why couldn’t he understand the danger wasn’t stationary? Moving wouldn’t remove the problem. The problem was me. I could move to Timbuktu, and all females in Timbuktu would be in danger. Wherever I resided, so did the threat.
Or was it as simple as his fear of me going into labor. If so, why didn’t he just ask Ryker to stay with me? There weren’t any more tour dates until after my due date. Julian had demanded it. All that remained were publicity junkets he and Zane could handle alone.
I admitted to being stubborn, but he still hadn’t given me a valid argument for his irrationality.
I sighed and entered our bedroom, needing a shower to clear my head. Stepping out of my maternity skirt, I kicked it to the side and rounded the corner to the bathroom. I fumbled for a towel on the rack behind the door.
Nothing.
Shit.
I knew there were clean towels in the guest room bathroom, and I muttered ramblings of hiring a housekeeper as I turned the corner. Fumbling again with the light switch, my toes dipped into warm, wet carpet.
What the hell?
Finally connecting with the switch, I quickly flipped it on and glanced downward. Slightly moving my toe to the right, I smeared it into a red horizontal line.
Blood.
My eyes burned a trail from my foot to the bed. Huge splotches of red scattered across the white carpet. A tattered yellow scarf draped across the floor, twisted into knots. My blood pressure rose as a gurgle started low in my stomach and worked its way up my throat.
Holding onto the doorknob, my knees wobbled, and the room started to spin.
Oh god. Breathe…breathe. Not again.
With everything spinning out of control, I did the only thing I could think of.
I screamed.
Chapter Thirteen
Julian
“Phoebe!” The last syllable of her name lodged in my throat. Climbing the stairs, I called her name again, this time with escalating panic. “Phoebe! Answer me, goddamn it!”
The only response was a sickening thud in the room to my right. Swearing repeatedly, I turned the corner and saw her on her knees, her palms reached out in front of her. Frozen, I gripped the wooden doorframe as her hand pressed into the red carpet.
“Oh god.” I tumbled into the room and fell beside her. Her eyes were clamped shut, her face white. Sweat rolled down her forehead and into the blood, the two liquids fusing together. I took her face in my hands. “Baby!” Turning her head toward me, I gently increased the pressure on her face. “Phoebe, open your eyes and look at me.”
She jerked her chin out of my grasp, her lips trembling. “Quiet…contraction.”
“Phoebe…”
She opened her eyes. “I said shut up!”
She took repeated slow breaths, her fingers still digging into the puddle of blood. My arms ached to hold her and take her out of this fucking house—out of Los Angeles. There was no question in my mind now—she had to leave. She’d get on that plane if I had to physically put her on it myself.
Her breathing finally regulated. Pushing off her hands, she crawled to the wall and collapsed against it. I immediately found myself at a loss for words…something I’d never been in my life.
I managed to speak one phrase. “The baby?”
She slowly blinked as a lone tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. “The room started to spin, that’s all.”
I sank beside her. “That’s all, she says.”
Lifting her hand, she traced a trail of blood from the tip of her middle finger, down her palm, and across her wrist. Shifting, she turned her palm against the wall, and ran it down the white paint. Streaks of red instantly dried to a brown stain.
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
I didn’t buy it. “No, you’re not.”
“I just got dizzy.”
“Phoebe, you need to go to the—”
“No!”
I pulled back and stared at her. “Why?”
“I’m not going to the hospital again. I’m fine, the baby is fine. Don’t make me go back there, Julian. I hate hospitals.” Her blank stare was fixated on the discoloration of the splotched carpet.
Swallowing, I fought back my own emotion. “Can you walk? We have to get out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t think you understand.”
Pushing herself off the wall, she threw herself at me, her fists closed. “You’re right! I don’t understand. But you do. I know you do. You think you can internalize everything and make it look pretty and perfect from the outside, but I know you. You aren’t hiding shit, so why don’t you come clean for once and tell me. I won’t shatter…no matter how weak you think I am.”
She’d obviously reached her breaking point. Something had to give, and one look at her face, I knew it wouldn’t be her. I swore and grabbed my phone out of my pocket. “I have to make a call first.”
“You do that.” She watched me like a hawk as I dialed. I lowered my eyes as a pre-recorded voice gruffly demanded the caller leave a message, which would be returned when he gave a damn.
“Hey, it’s me. There’s been a situation. I need you to call me back immediately.” Ending the call, I drew in a deep breath and returned her hard stare. Tightening my grip on my phone, I begged her one last time, my voice tinged with exhaustion. “We have to leave.”
“And go where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere other than here. Phoebe, someone broke into the house, there’s glass downstairs and blood everywhere. For all we know, they’re still here. We have to get out, please.”
“Then call the police.”
The phrase blindsided me, and I knew my face betrayed every ounce of it. “I can’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
“Julian, I’m giving you one last chance to tell me everything.” When I refused to look at her, she kneeled in front of me, dropping defenses as she placed a palm against my chest. “This isn’t working.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t need your protection. I need your trust. If we’re going make it, we’ve got to trust each other. Right now, we
don’t.”
My voice cracked as she shattered my world. “That’s not fair.”
She tumbled from her knees to a sitting position against the wall. “It’s not fair to either of us. I took a huge leap of faith moving here, and I don’t regret it. But if you can’t meet me halfway, we don’t have a chance in hell.”
A storm brewed behind my eyes. One that had been building for months. I raised my voice. “What are you saying? Do you want out? I wasn’t aware what we have is that easy to walk away from.”
“Don’t you dare put this on me,” she said calmly.
I needed the phone to ring. I needed verification before I broke what was left of her trust. I had to buy time, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how to do it.
Watching me closely, she took the upper hand. “I went to Griffith Park.”
Coming off the floor, I grabbed my hair. “You fucking did what?’
Squaring her chin, she repeated herself. “I went to the Griffith Park Merry-Go-Round. There, it’s honesty time. Here’s my confession. The night I made up that shit about Ryker getting arrested, I waited until he fell asleep, then swiped the keys.”
“For the love of god, why?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The image of her alone where that girl had been found, stabbed and lifeless, tore at me until I could barely see.
“I had to see it for myself,” she whispered. “I knew, Julian. The minute I heard the broadcast, I knew he did it. I don’t have proof, but I know he’s here.”
There it was…the perfect lead-in. The perfect opportunity for me to confess. She’d handed it to me on a silver platter. All I had to do was dish out my dirty conspiracy secret with Jaxon Hough in hiding the truth of her father’s whereabouts.
“Phoebe—” My confession was interrupted as my eyes settled on a shiny object that caught the reflection from the dresser mirror. Bending to pick it up, I closed the blade and clamped my hand around it. “Motherfucker.”
“What’s wrong?”
I helped her up from the floor, retrieved her skirt, and guided her toward the stairs. “Go to the car and lock the doors. I’ll be there in a minute.”
