Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3)

by Michelle Irwin

  My lip curled up into a snarl. “So ya went straight out and slept with my best friend?”

  She shook her head and rested her hand on my arm. “It wasn’t like that.”

  I tugged free of her grip, unable to cope with her touch while the confusion and anger raced through me. “Then how was it, Cass?”

  Her hands fell back to her lap, and her gaze followed them. When she spoke, her voice was almost silent. “I was upset. We were both drunk. We spent a couple of weekends together, and then agreed we couldn’t do it anymore ’cause it wasn’t fair to you. Cash couldn’t even look at ya.”

  “Fair to me? Fair to me woulda been not sleepin’ with my supposed best friend in the first place.”

  She pressed her hands to her face as her tears fell thicker than before. “It wasn’t fair for you to break up with me with no warnin’ either. On the phone. While you were on the opposite side of the country.”

  Her words struck hard, but mostly ’cause they were the truth. Until that night in the hills of Sacramento when I met Phoebe, I’d thought Cass and I were happy. I’d thought we’d be together for life. I’d never questioned my decision to wait until after we were married before givin’ in to our desires, but neither had I doubted that I’d eventually propose and we’d be married before too long. I was certain we’d be happy enough.

  From the moment I saw Phoebe on her bike, “happy enough” wasn’t gonna be good enough for me no more. It had to be all the way happy or not at all. I decided I wouldn’t ever settle for near enough again.

  Despite the realizations I’d made as I’d laid beside the stunnin’ girl with the seafoam eyes, Cass was unfortunately blindsided by it all. She hadn’t known the way my perspective had shifted in just a few short hours. The fact that I’d done it from a distance woulda only made things worse. She’d refused to speak to me for a long while after that phone call. Right up until she turned up on my doorstep, pregnant.

  I understood that my revelation and our breakup had to have come as a shock to her.

  Just like it mighta come as a shock to Xavier if Phoebe had called him to tell him she was breakin’ up with him for me. If he hadn’t suspected it could happen, it mighta blindsided him.

  If that sorta shock made Cass do somethin’ uncharacteristic and sleep with Cash . . . maybe it coulda driven Xavier outta his mind too. Maybe even enough to hurt Phoebe. It didn’t seem to gel with his certainty that she’d find her way back though.

  Unless he meant in the next life . . .

  Without another word and fightin’ the risin’ urge to be sick, I put the SUV back in Drive and headed back onto the road. I had some phone calls to make and people to see.

  THE ATMOSPHERE BETWEEN Cass and me was thick and heavy when I got the car back on the road. It took a while before the questions I needed answers to burned too much to ignore any longer. They were answers I wasn’t sure I wanted to know as badly as I needed to hear them. “Why were you arguin’? What’d Cash say about the baby?”

  “That he wished I’d told him earlier.” She stared steadfastly out the passenger window as she spoke.

  Her words filled me with hope that maybe he’d do the right thing by her. Cash wasn’t exactly known for his fidelity or his long-term relationships, but maybe the promise of a baby could change that.

  “That he’da tried to convince me not to keep it if I had.”

  My blood boiled so fast I had to twist the steerin’ wheel in my grip to give myself an outlet. “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  No wonder she was gettin’ cross with him. She’d told me often enough that although the baby was a surprise, it was a happy one for her. She was lookin’ forward to motherhood as much as it scared her.

  “Phoebe told me I should tell him, told me that he might like the chance to get to know his child.”

  Phoebe’s story of her dad’s time away from the family played at the edges of my mind, and I could understand why she woulda given that advice.

  “What am I gonna do, Beau?” Cass sobbed.

  “Nothin’ different. The father wasn’t ’round before. He ain’t ’round now. What’s changed?”

  “Now I know he doesn’t want to be ’round. That he would have preferred I had an abortion to ‘make the problem go away, like others have.’”

  “Cass, if Cash doesn’t wanna be a daddy to your baby, that’s his loss. It ain’t yours. Nothin’ has changed. You’re still welcome to stay at the Lake Retreat as long as ya need.” I didn’t mention the trust I’d set up for the baby—the one that was only waitin’ on a name and date of birth to be finalized.

  “Ya ain’t gonna throw me out for sleepin’ with your best friend?”

  “If he was still my best friend, I might.” I winked at her to show her I wasn’t bein’ serious. “But I’m realizin’ more and more that Cash ain’t who I thought he was.”

  Then again, was anyone in my life who I’d thought they were anymore?

  “Just try to relax, Cass. There ain’t no point stressin’ about it tonight. Get some sleep. It’ll be a while before we get home.”

  IT WAS a little after two in the mornin’ when we arrived at the apartment we shared in North Carolina. After parkin’ the car in front of our two-story apartment and grabbin’ my bag out of the back, I opened the passenger door and gave Cass a gentle shake to wake her.

  “Are we there?” Her voice was groggy as her eyes fluttered open.

  “Yeah. Are ya gonna be all right to get inside?”

  She nodded, but leaned against me as we walked to the front door. I was glad she was able to get some rest. I didn’t think I’d have the same luxury. I’d barely had a night that wasn’t filled with dreams and nightmares about Phoebe.

  Once I’d unlocked the door, I helped Cass to her room. I settled her into her bed where she promptly fell asleep. Then I found my way to my room. Glancin’ around the space, it became clear it wasn’t what I needed. There was very li’l of me in the room, and nothin’ at all of Phoebe. The whole space was a blank canvas; my real life was back in Georgia. I’d never felt that so clearly before.

  I crawled into bed and grabbed my cell. First, I started one of the Phoebe-inspired playlists on my phone—keepin’ the volume low—and then I googled her name. The photos she’d taken for me—the ones that had ended up online—were buried in the results, but I was able to find them within a handful of clicks.

  Knowin’ now that they had been taken exclusively for me, even if they hadn’t remained that way, gave me a tiny thrill. For the first time since Max’s phone call, I looked at the images without my stomach twistin’ with the burn of jealousy. I set one of the photos as my home screen and then left the music to lull me to sleep.

  It worked, but only barely.

  I WOKE the next mornin’ earlier than ever and headed for a run to work out some of my stress. When I closed in on home, I stopped to call Mr. Reede and tell him about my epiphany regardin’ Xavier. I didn’t think the kid was bad, but who knew what he coulda done if Phoebe had actually told him they were over. Who knew what he mighta been coverin’ up. When he didn’t answer, I called the police myself.

  Thankfully, I got to speak to the detective in charge. I told him my plans for the next few days, let him know I was available to talk if they needed to clarify anythin’ about the rumors circlin’, and I offered him my alibis in the form of at least a dozen staff I’d seen or spoken to durin’ the days after Abby’s death and right up to the day I left for Daytona.

  I mentioned Xavier, his history with Phoebe, and what he’d said at the track. I had no idea if the detective was takin’ me serious or thought I was just tryin’ to shift the blame, but I told him anyway.

  Either way, I’d had my say and there wasn’t much more I could do but keep an eye on the situation. I slipped my cell back into my pocket, knowin’ I’d done all I could for the time being.

  When I pushed the door open, I saw Cass was awake and startin’ to cook breakfast for us both. I had planned on hea
din’ straight for a shower, but the stack of pancakes was a li’l too temptin’ to resist.

  “It’s my way of apologizin’ for not lettin’ ya know about Cash sooner,” she said as she placed the food in front of me.

  “I ain’t mad about that no more. It ain’t my place to dictate who ya can and can’t be with. It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “Would you have preferred it was some big beefy biker I’d never meet ag’in who knocked me up?”

  “It wouldn’ta made a difference really,” I admitted.

  “What are you gonna do today?”

  “I dunno. I really should go into the office and see what the fallout is.”

  “You sound thrilled by the idea.” She fit the words delicately around a mouthful of food.

  “I’d rather try to plead my case with Phoebe’s daddy.”

  “D’ya think you’ll have much luck doin’ that?”

  I scoffed. “I think I’d have better luck tryin’ ta win a race by drivin’ backward.”

  “I dunno why he can’t see that ya couldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Starin’ down at my pancakes, unable to meet her gaze, my stomach churned. “That ain’t true.”

  “What d’ya mean? Ya ain’t tryin’ ta tell me you’re a serial killer, are ya?” She chuckled, provin’ how ridiculous she found the statement.

  “Course not. But I did hurt Phoebe.”

  She froze with the fork halfway to her mouth and stared at me. “What?” The fork fell to the table and clattered on the plate.

  “Angel, Phoebe’s friend, tol’ me how unhappy Phoebe was. She hated it here. She hated me. I hurt her, every day you and me carried on with our engagement.”

  “Oh.” Relieved laughter followed the sound. “I thought . . .”

  Despite our friendship, even Cass doubted me.

  The only person who still had any faith left in me was Angel—that was only if it hadn’t been shaken by Phoebe’s daddy. I wasn’t sure I could face her only to find that she’d forsaken me too. It was gonna be easier to not face her at all.

  That meant avoiding Phoebe’s apartment, unless she’d already flown home in the last two days. Still, it was easier to avoid Mr. Reede, Phoebe’s apartment, and Angel. That thought sealed my plan for the day. With the twistin’ in my stomach complete, I shoved the plate of food away and stood. I was already halfway across the room as I started talkin’. “Thank ya for makin’ breakfast, but I ain’t hungry no more.”

  “Beau, I didn’t—”

  I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence because I closed my bedroom door and headed straight for the shower. If I was gonna head into Richards Racing to try to start some damage control, I wanted to be clean, pressed, and ready to cope with the stuff that was likely to be heaped on top of me.

  A LITTLE over an hour later, I had Cass drive me to Phoebe’s apartment block to collect my truck. Not darin’ to go upstairs, I headed straight back out again to go to Richards Racing. The whole way, my gaze darted around as I watched for paparazzi or anyone that was likely to cause me issues.

  I managed to avoid the worst of it until I hit the gates around the headquarters, where a pack of at least twenty photographers stood in wait. The instant my truck rolled into view, they clamored to get a photo. Thankfully, the security guard waved me straight through. I was certain I woulda had a window full of microphones and microrecorders if I’d had to wind it down even a fraction. I weaved through the rows of cars to my spot, anxious to get inside and out of sight.

  Keepin’ my head ducked, I made my way toward my office. Unlike any other mornin’, I didn’t have a chorus of hellos greetin’ me. There were no cheers or commiserations for the races on the weekend. All that greeted me were deathly silences and open glares.

  Once more, I was reminded of how Phoebe musta felt until the day she’d turned it all ’round by provin’ she knew the car better than Jase and his crew. I vowed that if she were to return safe, I’d do everythin’ I could to ensure she never felt that way again. Not only at Richards Racing, but anywhere she went. I’d fight the fight for her, and at her side.

  When I reached my office, I shut the door behind me and leaned against my desk to catch my breath. Maybe returnin’ to North Carolina, bravin’ work in general, was a bad idea. I shoulda gone straight to Georgia, where I coulda breathed properly and been surrounded by memories of Phoebe. I coulda gone out on the boat and watched the stars. My breath caught in my throat as I thought how different that’d be without Phoebe there with me. Perhaps it was better I’d returned to work to give me somethin’ to do.

  While I was leanin’ against my desk, a flash of somethin’ silver in my shelves caught my eye. I pushed away from the desk and made my way ’round to it. Whatever it was, it was caught between the bottom of the books I had up there and the shelf. Nearin’ the object, I saw it was a short silver chain.

  Liftin’ up the books, both the braclet and an envelope tucked beneath it fell onto my desk.

  There was somethin’ familiar about the short silver chain, but I couldn’t place what at first. It was only when I turned it over and saw Phoebe’s name and the words, Kidney Tx.

  It was a punch in the gut, and it hit me so hard, I dropped the chain onto my desk.

  It was the MedicAlert bracelet Mr. Reede had asked about the first time he’d spoken to me. She’d been wearing it the last time I’d seen her. I remembered because she’d played with it when she was nervous, a habit I wasn’t sure she was even aware of.

  Why was it in my office though?

  And how’d it get in there?

  The answer was clear, but confusin’. Someone had to have put it there. But why? Were they tryin’ to frame me? The more I thought on it, the more I had no doubt it was the same person who was the “eyewitness” who’d apparently seen me with Phoebe back at my retreat after her interview.

  But why make me the scapegoat?

  If the chain was Phoebe’s and someone had planted it on my desk, that meant whoever had taken her also had access to Richards Racing. It confirmed my suspicion that her disappearance so close to the first race wasn’t a coincidence. They clearly not only wanted her gone, but they wanted to pin it all on me.

  I was an idiot. I’d fallen for the trap by puttin’ my fingerprints all over everythin’ without thinkin’ about it. There wasn’t much I could do though. Tryin’ to clean the silver would only make me look guilty when I called the police.

  My gaze fell to the other object. A plain envelope that’d been beneath the chain. I had no doubt the items were linked. Whoever had Phoebe wanted me to discover them, or at least wanted me to be caught with them.

  Even though I knew it was a bad idea, I pulled off my shirt and used it to grab the envelope. The flap was merely folded over and not sealed, so I lifted that to look inside. What I saw in a brief glance was enough to force bile into my throat. My hold loosened, and I dropped the envelope.

  As I did, the contents spilled out. The photos I’d glimpsed fluttered to the floor, givin’ me a lingerin’ view of the sight I wish I’d never seen.

  Phoebe. Bound and gagged.

  Her arms were secured by metal cuffs that looked tight enough to bite into her skin. She was dressed in the same clothes I’d last seen her in—the skirt and shirt she’d worn when she’d driven away from my property in Georgia. Only they were torn and tattered. Long strips had been ripped through them in places and her skin had been bitten by the end of a whip or somethin’ similar. It was red and raw, with blood dotted along the material that clung to her body.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered as my gaze was drawn to her eyes. Those stunnin’ seafoam eyes I’d fallen in love with were filled with fear and loathin’ as she stared straight at the camera.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I needed to call the police and Darnell Banks in case there was anythin’ he could find. I needed to call Mr. Reede—even though those photos in my possession would likely appear to confirm my guilt. That didn’t matter
though, not if it helped get her back.

  Despite the people I needed to inform, all I could do was stare at Phoebe starin’ back at me.

  When were these photos taken? Were they recent? From when she was first taken? Did they mean she was still alive, or had somethin’ happened after they’d been taken?

  My hands shook and my knees buckled. Bile rose thick and hot in my throat.

  Even though I didn’t want to see more, I had to know if they got worse. I flicked to the next photo. On the ground in front of her was a gun, pointed in her direction. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks wet with tears. It was a warnin’, that much was clear, but what was it warnin’ me to do?

  “What’s goin’ on in—” Cash’s voice cut off, no doubt seein’ the photos on the floor. “Holy shit, man, what the fuck did you do?” He shut the door behind him.

  I shook my head, mute from the shock that locked my body in place.

  Eventually, I managed to force out the words, “They ain’t mine.”

  He bent down, and before I could tell him not to touch the photos, his fingers were over them all. If he had done somethin’ to her, and then planted the photos, he now had a perfect excuse for his fingerprints being on the photos.

  “You need to destroy these,” he said, gatherin’ them all up into a pile. “Holy fuck. You’ll go to jail if anyone else sees them.”

  “I gotta take them to the police. There might be a clue somewhere in there that’ll help them find her.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Whoever put these in your office probably knew you’d take them straight to the police. They’re probably counting on it. It’ll be used as evidence against you.”

  “I ain’t guilty.”

  “Guilty or not won’t matter, not when you’ve got a bracelet that belongs to a missin’ girl and photos of her bein’ tortured.”

  Somethin’ he’d said struck me hard. “How’d ya know I had a bracelet?”

  “It’s there on your desk.”

  “How’d ya know it was Phoebe’s though?”