I don’t know what to do.
Everything in my life is spinning out of control. Everything has gone so very wrong. I feel as if it’s my fault when I know it wasn’t my fault at all. It’s victim-blaming, right? The victim does it and then the rest of the world has an invitation to do it as well. But then, I haven’t told anyone what happened for me to be blamed. The truth is that I feel guilt. I went down a path I should have never traveled. I was wrong. I was a bad person and I deserve everything that brings me. But if I confess, I hurt him and probably many others. If I don’t tell, someone else is certainly going to be hurt. Like I was hurt. Someone else will end up like me. I’m sure there has been someone before me, someone who suffered in silence and let this happen to me. I feel so damn angry with whoever that was. I don’t want someone else to feel that about me. I don’t know what to do and if only these pages could answer me and tell me what to do.
God, I have to tell him. I have to go to him. It’s the right move. Isn’t it? I want to throw this book against the wall, but then I’ll be even more alone. Maybe I’ll call him now. Maybe I’ll just sit on this and think. How did I end up here? I wish I could go back to the times I spent with him, asleep with him, awake with him, naked with him. I should have never told him I loved him. I should have never let him know I saw everything. He wasn’t ready for me to see everything.
That’s it. Nothing more.
I flip several pages back, looking for entries that tell me what this means, but nothing in the recent pages read with this tone at all. In fact, they’re about the auction. I skim and it’s clear she was excited about the event. I go back to the final entry, a chill running down my spine as I read: He wasn’t ready for me to see everything.
Just like Dash.
I swear so many times Allison’s words have spoken to me. In this case, it’s a reminder to not let Tyler’s words get to me. Tyler keeps pushing every button there is to push with me and Dash, and more and more I feel like it’s really about him and Allison, not me and Dash.
CHAPTER THIRTY
My attention returns to the journal and Allison.
I read the entry I’ve just read again and decide that it’s possible she ran from her problems. I let that simmer a moment, but reject this possibility and do so out of logic, not emotion. I don’t feel it’s likely that she’d leave the man she loved without talking to him. Of course, that theory assumes she didn’t talk to Tyler. Maybe she did and he shut her out. I scan the passage again and turn to two sentences: If I don’t tell, someone else is certainly going to be hurt. Like I was hurt.
Unease burns in my belly with the words, like I was hurt.
I grab my phone and dial Dash. He answers on the first ring. “Miss me already?”
“No, I mean yes, of course, but—it’s been a weird morning.”
“Already?”
“I had a conversation with Tyler that kind of ties into why I called.” I don’t give him time to ask questions or comment adding, “I still have that journal I found. And before you say anything, the talk with Tyler just triggered my worries about Allison again therefore I grabbed it from my purse—”
“You’re carrying it around?”
“Yes, well, I guess I am. The point is the final entry—it’s—I don’t know what it is. I’m going to take a photo and send it to you and just let you read it. Hold on a minute.” I shoot the photo and text it to Dash. “You should get it any second.”
“I got it. Give me a minute to read.” He’s silent for a good thirty seconds before he says, “I’m not sure if this makes me feel like she ran or got herself in trouble by talking to the wrong person.”
“I know, right? I felt the same. Should I talk to Tyler about it and ask what he knows?”
“He’ll want to see the journal. Are you prepared to show it to him?”
“It’s bad enough that I’m reading it and showing part of it to you. No. Not now. I don’t think so. There has to be another way for me to bring it up. I could say I heard a rumor, maybe?”
“Maybe,” he says, “but before you do anything we need to pause. Neil texted me this morning anyway. He wants us to meet at lunch. Can you still make that happen?”
“Yes, I’ll make it happen. Does he have news?”
“He wants to update us on what he’s discovered, but he was matter-of-fact about it.”
“How very FBI agent of him. Does he have news?” I repeat.
“I’d tell you if I knew, baby, but bring the journal.”
“I don’t want Neil to have it,” I say, appalled at the idea.
“I get that, but if we had chosen to file a missing person’s report, they’d want it. Better Neil than an entire police department.”
“I need this journal, Dash,” I say, the word “need” clawing at me. “I feel a bit like I’m her only advocate and maybe one of the only people who could understand some of what is inside.”
He’s silent a moment, disapproval ticking through the line before he says, “Make copies if you can. If not, I’ll have him make them and bring the journal back.”
“Tell me I’m worrying for nothing.”
“I’ll wait until after I hear what Neil has to say. You tell me what happened with Tyler.”
“Only if you promise me you’ll let me handle Tyler.”
“That depends,” he says, his voice hard as stone. “Did he put his hands on you or hit on you?”
“No.” I hesitate, thinking about that one moment with Tyler when he’d said, “there’s a lot of things I want to do with you.”
“Not really,” I add.
“Not really?” Dash snaps. “What the hell, Allie?”
“He didn’t. It’s not that simple. He told me I had to be in or out with you because you’ll fuck up again and basically, paraphrasing, of course, I don’t get to cut and run from my job, if we break-up. Again, not exactly what he said, but that was how I read his message. It’s very confusing because why does he care? I mean, in one breath he warns me away from you, and in the next, he’s telling me to commit. I think. He’s very confusing.”
“What else?” he asks tightly.
“He told me I can only work for Hawk directly. He won’t let me have one foot in the door and one out with Riptide and New York versus Hawk Legal and Nashville.”
He’s silent two beats before he asks, “And you said what to all of this?” his tone unreadable, cautiously controlled, no doubt.
“Not much. As little as possible. We are not his business and besides that conversation wasn’t about me or you. It was about him and Allison, and on that, I did speak. I told him I knew that. I told him to call her. He told me she hates him. Maybe she went to him about whatever happened and he reacted poorly and she just had enough. She left. You have no idea how much I want to believe that or how much I can’t seem to actually believe it. I don’t know why this is nagging at me. But since I found the journal, hearing her words in my head, knowing how alone she is, just really makes me feel like she needs us.”
“Which I understand. But if you’re right and she got into trouble, my problem with all of this is that you’re in the middle.”
“I’m really not.”
“Unless you are. We have no idea what she was talking about, but I don’t like how it sounds. Someone else will get hurt, like I got hurt. Those words, Allie. I do not want that someone else to be you.”
“Which is why I need to figure out how to talk to Tyler. On that note, are you going to comment about what Tyler said about you or us?”
“What did it mean to you, Allie?”
“He doesn’t know who we are together, Dash. I do.”
“What did you say to him about us? Don’t tell me you said nothing.”
“All I said was that I’m all in. I’m not going anywhere.”
He’s silent a moment and then he says, “I’ll see you at lunch, cupcake.”
“Okay. Yes. But for the record, I know you’re bothered by all of this and I want to talk about it. But
you need to go write and I have to work.”
“Yes,” he says. “We need to talk. And yes, to all the rest, too.”
“I love you, Dash.”
“I love you, too, Allie. More than you know.”
He disconnects.
He is not pleased. Tyler is not pleased. And I have this sensation of being inside a bubbling pot about to boil over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The minute Katie realizes I’m back at work, she’s at my side and drilling me with questions about the auction. Everyone seems to find me shortly after she does, from Millie Roberts at the charity organization, to clients participating in the auction with various inquiries. This makes copying the journal in private a challenge. Thankfully, I remember that the upstairs rooftop where the event is to be held not only has a copy machine in one corner, it’s also closed for use to the employees. With this in mind, just before lunch, I tell everyone I’m leaving and instead head there, purse on my shoulder, journal in my purse.
Once I’m inside the rooftop area, I give it a once over and decide it really is going to be a perfect spot for the auction and thankfully, I got notice today that the hotel refunded us completely. Now invitations can be printed and delivered, which needs to happen pretty much now. With all this and more bouncing around in my head, I rush to the copy machine, plop my purse on the table next to it, and pull out the journal. I’m deep into the process, almost done, in fact, when I hear, “You must be the new Allison.”
I jump with the unfamiliar male voice and look up to find a tall, good-looking man with sandy brown hair and striking green eyes standing beside me. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I—ah, who are you? No one is allowed in here.”
“You’re here,” he says, as I turn to face him and him me.
“Yes, but being here is a part of my job.”
“I work here as well,” he assures me.
I’m aware of how tall and broad he is, how well-fitted his suit is, which could indicate he’s a principal in the company, or not. I don’t know. Which is why I don’t scold him again. “I am, in fact, Allison,” I say, prodding him for an introduction, which he offers.
“I’m Benjamin. Benji to my friends, which I’d like to call you.” He laughs. “I hated that nickname in my youth, but I guess in time all things can grow on you.”
He’s mid-thirties, I believe, perhaps older, and I do know the name. I just don’t know why.
“I had a few of my clients donate to the auction,” he states, as if he’s reading my mind, and that’s when I realize he’s one of the agents.
“Right,” I say, remembering an email or two exchanged with him. “I remember. Thank you for doing that.”
“My pleasure. I’ll help any way I can.” He glances at the copy machine. “Looks like Allison left you some notes.”
I quickly grab the papers and straighten them, just to look like I’m working, not hiding the words on the page. “Lists and lists of contacts as potential donors. Katie is going to split them up with me.”
“I always thought that journal of hers was personal. But knowing Allison, it makes sense it was work. She was nothing if not devoted to this place.”
“You knew her well?”
“We knew each other and I know this is a big job and you’ve been thrown into this. I can have my secretary help.”
“No, but thank you,” I say surprised by the generous offer, but also a bit suspicious. “We’re a good team, me and Katie. Tyler assigned her to help me full-time for now. We can get it all done.”
“Tyler,” he states, a quirk to his lips. “You actually call him Tyler? No one else is allowed to. What’d you do to earn that honor?”
I laugh nervously. “Not to his face, I don’t. It’s confusing to say Mr. Hawk to anyone who isn’t him when his father is also Mr. Hawk.”
“His father favors his first name. Those two are nothing alike.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I’ll keep those opinions to myself,” he replies dryly. “What do you think?”
“I’m too new to have an opinion.”
“Good out,” he teases and he doesn’t seem to have any intention of leaving. “Funny how your name is Allison.”
“Allie,” I say. “I go by Allie.”
“Allie,” he says. “Are you staying with Hawk Legal?’
“I haven’t decided.”
“Can I take you to lunch? Maybe you can fill me in a bit more on your needs and I can be of service.”
There is something highly suggestive in his tone and the way he’s looking at me. “I’m having lunch with Dash Black.”
“Oh right. This is his charity. I don’t know him. What’s he like? An arrogant prick? Most of our clients are.”
“Well, I actually live with him, so, no. I don’t believe he’s an arrogant prick.”
“Well, open mouth and insert foot. Good thing I didn’t actually call him a prick. And actually, isn’t he related to Bella?”
“Half-sister,” I say. “Fortunately, she doesn’t think he’s an arrogant prick either.”
“I heard he had some big PR piece today. I’m a little more interested now. I think I’ll read it. The lunch offer is open.” He starts to step away and then says, “You look so much like her. I wasn’t surprised she left, but then, you two are so alike, it’s as if she was still here.” He walks away and I turn to watch him leave.
Why does the way he said “it’s as if she’s still here” send a chill down my spine? I hug myself, bothered by everything about this encounter. And he knew she kept a journal? I’m creeped out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
When I arrive at the bookstore, Dash and Neil are already at a table talking. At least, I assume the man with him is Neil. I’ve never actually met him. Adrianna is behind the counter and I wave to her. “You want your usual?” she calls out.
“Yes, please,” I say, which translates to a ham and cheese croissant and a diet soda, therefore justifying the cupcake that will follow. Everyone knows if you drink a diet soda, a cupcake is allowed. It’s logical.
I arrive at the table and Dash and Neil both stand up. Neil is about Dash’s age, and also like Dash, is wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He’s tall, muscular, but lean, and his hair is buzzed, almost as if he just got out of the Army, which I assume means he’s ex-Army. He shakes my hand and says, “You follow orders horribly.”
“So says my mother right before I remind her I’m an adult.”
The two men laugh, deep rumbles of masculine laughter, and Neil says, “Point taken.”
Dash kisses me, his hand on my back, especially possessive, which doesn’t strike me as having anything to do with Neil. It’s about Tyler. He helps me with my coat and we share a look that is all kinds of hot. It’s also punched with unspoken words related to that talk I had with Tyler.
We all sit down and I look between both men, already recognizing a comfort between them. They don’t just know each other. They’re friends and I know for a fact Dash doesn’t call many people friend. I’m fairly certain he cut people off after his brother died, but I’ll have to dive a bit deeper into that later. “What do I need to know?” I ask.
“I put together an email file for both of you,” Neil replies. “The most significant point I have to make is that Allison’s phone last pinged here in Nashville. I’ve tried to locate where it’s coming from, but these pings represent a general area. Which,” he adds, “wouldn’t concern me outside of the fact that it’s no longer pinging.”
All the more reason to be concerned, I think, but I try to stay hopeful. “Could that mean she got a new phone?”
“It’s possible,” he says, “but I don’t like the way she just disappeared. And if she wanted to cut people off, she could just change her number.”
“You said she was texting.”
“That stopped as well,” he states. “And we really can’t know who was doing the texting.”
“Who wa
s she texting?”
“A friend of hers from her hometown. A couple of random people. Nothing that’s worthy of note. All of which could have been done to make it look like she was okay when she was not.”
“Then you’re worried,” I say, stating what seems to be the obvious.
“Worried enough,” he confirms. “She has no living family that isn’t way down the chain of connections. I talked to her friends back in her hometown and no one has heard from her.”
“She’s what we would call an easy victim,” Dash adds. “There’s no one to look for her.”
My mind instantly replays the passage I read from Allison’s journal and somehow the words are embedded in my memory. In times like these, I miss my mother more than ever. I also realize my friendships here in Nashville are all plastic. There is no one I feel comfortable telling my secrets. Let’s just face it, that’s why I started writing a journal. I have no one.
“Except me,” I say, knots in my belly over her emotions. “She only has me and we never even met.”
“It’s no different than a member of law enforcement having a missing person become personal,” Neil offers. “It can become an obsession. And often it’s why answers are found.”
“How many times is the person found alive?” I ask.
Neil looks at Dash and Dash looks at me. “Not enough.”
I appreciate the honesty, but it also twists me in knots.
“Did you bring the journal, baby?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I copied it.” I reach into my bag and hand a folder to Neil. “Something weird,” I add, looking between them. “I copied this in the rooftop event room where no one is allowed. One of the agents, Benjamin—I need to look up his last name—was just suddenly there. He recognized Allison’s writing. He even said he thought her journal was for personal reasons. I told him it was her business notes. It was weird, creepy. He asked me to lunch. He offered to help me with the auction. He told me I look like her.”
When I Say Yes Page 11
