Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3)

by Michelle Irwin

  Feelin’ a little more determination after the call with Angel, I finally called my publicist back. Belinda chewed my ear off for over twenty minutes. She ran through every story and article, discussed ways to spin the articles, and advised me to lie low and try to wait for it all to blow over.

  Now she had the information direct from me, she was ready to draw up stronger battle plans. Just like everyone else though, it seemed her focus was on damage control, on keeping my life in order. I wanted just one other person to see that my career, the resort, all of that stuff, didn’t matter. Phoebe was what was important in all of it. Gettin’ her safe, and keepin’ her that way. That was what mattered. Until she was found, the rest was meanin’less.

  As I neared the end of the conversation, somethin’ Belinda said about the team and sponsorships reminded me once more of somethin’ I’d thought before the race in Florida. Even if my world had ground to a halt, I couldn’t stop. It would be irresponsible. Phoebe mighta been the important one in it all, but she wasn’t the only one it impacted.

  I had to keep things movin’. I would be missin’ part of myself until I knew she was safe, but I still had a duty to everyone else. Even though I’d debated skippin’ the Atlanta race, it wouldn’t be fair to the team. Unless they refused to support me, I had no right to avoid my duty.

  When I’d ended the call, I realized it was the conversation I needed to have, even if I hadn’t wanted to have it.

  With the new sense of responsibility burnin’ in me, I went about all the tasks I’d been ignoring since before I went back home to Georgia to look after Abby just after Christmas. There were so many mundane things that had built from being small tasks into monumental challenges, especially when my mind was on my cell phone sittin’ silent in my pocket. I hadn’t expected any instant information, and yet I couldn’t stop myself checkin’ it every few seconds just in case any word came in that the photos had helped in some way.

  Midmornin’, I checked at the window, and the paparazzi were still there. The faces changed, but the clamor didn’t.

  Cass and I had lunch together, a mostly silent affair as we were both lost in our own thoughts. We sat together at the small round dining table where we’d shared so many meals as we looked to the future before I’d met Phoebe. And where Cass had listened to me rant and rave about the things Phoebe had done each time I saw her again.

  So much was different now; so much had changed. The apartment had never felt like home, not like the Lake Retreat did, but it felt less like one than ever before. Especially with the people camped at the front door.

  If I was gonna be pinned down, I didn’t want it to be in this lifeless place.

  “What d’ya say to headin’ back to Georgia tomorrow?” I stared through the glass of the table to focus on the patterns on the rug. “We’ll take both cars, and I can follow behind ya in case ya can’t make it all the way.”

  “If ya think it’s for the best.”

  “I need to be at home. Where I can feel her near me.” I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “’Sides, I have to be in Atlanta on the weekend for the race anyway.”

  Her brows shot up halfway to her hairline. “You’re still gonna race? After what happened at the 500?”

  “I have to be there for the team. If they choose not to let me on the track, that’s their issue. I can’t ignore my responsibility. What would Phoebe say if I did?”

  Cass gave a small chuckle. “Considerin’ she dragged herself outta your bed ’cause of her responsibilities, I think I have an idea.”

  Although she hadn’t intended the words to be callous, they were the reminder of the last mornin’ I’d seen Phoebe. The way her body had fit against mine as I leaned in to press her against the car. I closed my eyes and swallowed as the image of her little wave in the moments before she disappeared came to mind.

  “I’m sorry, Beau, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine, Cass. I just need some time alone.” I pushed away from the table and headed for my room.

  When I grabbed my cell phone to put on Phoebe’s playlist, I noticed the time. Angel had said somethin’ about Mr. Reede goin’ in front of the media around this time. I headed back out to the livin’ room.

  “What’s the—”

  I ignored Cass and turned the TV on, flickin’ around a few of the news channels hopin’ that at least one would be coverin’ the story. If there was anythin’ positive about me bein’ implicated, it was the coverage the case was gettin’ now. It would have easily passed into a simple missin’ persons—albeit a slightly higher profile one than usual—but her case probably woulda disappeared from the public eye in next to no time.

  “—aware of the fresh allegations against her teammate, Beau Miller.”

  The end of Mr. Reede’s statement stopped my channel surfin’. I dropped the remote and clutched the back of the sofa as I watched him talk. His blue-green gaze stared straight down the barrel of the camera. His skin was pale and the bags under his eyes were big enough to be a matchin’ luggage set. The fingers of his right hand played with the wedding ring on his left. The situation with Phoebe and the distance from the rest of his family seemed to be takin’ their toll.

  “At this time, I want to stress that he is helping police with their investigation, but he is not an official suspect. Our biggest priority is trying to find out more information about the circumstances surrounding Phoebe’s disappearance.”

  An image of Phoebe splashed up on screen. It was an official photo from work, of her in a team polo covered with sponsors’ logos, including the namin’ rights sponsor—the flower delivery service, Fleur Amelia. With her hair parted to the side and pulled into a low ponytail, she looked no fuss and all business. The hint of a smile twisted her lips, and her eyes held a sparkle of excitement. No doubt she was thinkin’ of her first race—the one she never managed to compete in.

  “We’ve canvassed her building and have a few new leads as a result of those investigations. I would like to take the time to thank everyone for their ongoing support in bringing my daughter home. There might be someone who knows something and hasn’t come forward because they don’t think the information they have is critical enough to make a difference. We’re asking once again if anyone saw anything suspicious, no matter how small it might seem, please report it.”

  I wanted to know what their new leads were. Was it somethin’ I mighta been able to help with? Someone I could confirm was a threat? Not for the first time, I wished I was involved in the investigation. Maybe I could help. Maybe we could’ve found her already if we were working together.

  After Atlanta, I’d consider what I had to do to get him back on my side.

  I jumped as Cass’s hand came to rest on my back. “D’ya still wanna go home tomorrow? We can stay here a few more days if ya like?”

  “There ain’t much I can do here to help anyways. Mr. Reede doesn’t want me ’round. But I’ll let Kate know I’m goin’ just in case the police wanna speak to me.”

  “Beau, I’m sure—”

  I held up my hand to silence her. “I know what you’re gonna say, and I appreciate it, but I can’t hear it now. I need truth, not statements that are just tryin’ ta make me feel better.”

  She wrapped her arm around my waist. “Okay. Just know that I’m here if you need anythin’.”

  I nodded and then headed back to my room to call Kate. When I finished on the phone with her, I got ready for leavin’ the next mornin’. I needed to be home and surrounded by my memories of Phoebe to find some peace.

  Not that anythin’ would give me peace from the images that burned inside my head ever since I saw the proof that she was with someone who intended to cause her harm. It was only blind faith and the promise I’d made to myself that stopped me from fallin’ to pieces and acknowledgin’ the fact that she was probably already gone.

  CASS AND I left North Carolina early the following mornin’. It was difficult to get out of the house with the paparazzi behind us, but worth it. Bec
ause of the throng of people, I told her we’d just take the one car. It would be easier. I helped Cass out first, leadin’ her to the passenger side door and seein’ her in. She locked the door behind her. Then I muscled my way through to mine, tryin’ to block out the unfriendly questions. A few photographers rushed to their cars, no doubt to follow us, but I ignored them. I figured even if they followed us to Georgia, they couldn’t cross onto my property.

  Most of the drive was quiet. There was very li’l we had to say to each other anymore. The silence was as fractured as everythin’ else in my life seemed to be. Tryin’ to ignore the cars around us. Some gave up after we left North Carolina, but some stuck with us even then.

  Within a few hours, we were so close to home I could almost taste it. Just a few more miles, and I could get out on the lake and relive my memories, or drown in a bottle of Fireball. It could go either way.

  Neither would bring Phoebe back to me, but that task seemed too impossible as it was. The cold light of mornin’ had made it seem more difficult than ever. Especially with the dreams I’d had all night—watchin’ her die over and over in different and more terrible ways.

  We reached the driveway for the retreat and I drove straight in, just like always. It was only when I saw the few remainin’ paparazzi stop at the road that a thought struck me.

  “The camera,” I muttered.

  “Huh?” Cass asked.

  “The camera. The one at the road. The one linked back to security to record the license plates of all incomin’ cars.” It was a secure link I didn’t control—one I had no way of tamperin’ with.

  An independent third party who could verify my innocence. And they kept records for at least six months, so goin’ back three weeks wasn’t gonna be a huge stretch.

  “What about it?”

  “It can prove Phoebe didn’t come back here. And that I didn’t leave until days after she’d disappeared.”

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I tossed out a quick “bye and thank ya” to Cass and ran to my house.

  The first thing I did when I got inside was to call the security company and ask that they not only comply fully with the North Carolina police department, but that they contact them and offer the tapes of the road. Then I called Kate and told her about the tapes and passed on the contact information for the security company so she could get a log of all cars in and out of the property since the day Phoebe left.

  Once I’d finished on the phone, I headed for a shower. After I’d finished, and with a towel wrapped around my waist, I opened my closet to grab a new shirt only to be brought to my knees by the photo of Phoebe taped inside. At once I was struck by the love in her eyes and the smile that curled her lip when she looked at me. The fun of that day, the discovery of one another, all rushed through me, smashin’ against our current reality.

  Darlin’, I’ve failed you.

  The thought was enough to send me to my knees. I slid to the floor and buried my head in my hands. I bawled like a goddamned baby and realized that despite my promises, there wasn’t much point in facin’ the world without her.

  FOR THE NEXT three days, I hid out like a coward. I didn’t take any calls. Didn’t leave the house, not even for emergencies in the retreat—Mitch and Joe knew how to handle all that as well as I did. I shoulda been gettin’ ready to go to Atlanta for the next race—shoulda been there already—but I couldn’t find the motivation to do anythin’.

  The guest numbers dwindled as the paparazzi grew thicker by the front gate. They didn’t technically impede anyone’s arrival, but people came to the Lake Retreat for peace and quiet, not to have photographers shovin’ cameras in their car windows as they drove by.

  I tried to call Phoebe’s daddy at least once a day, but went straight to voice mail each time. Seein’ he was no doubt ignorin’ my calls, I sent him a text pleadin’ with him to keep me in the loop.

  When I tried to call the police to see if they had any leads, I was told they couldn’t discuss the case with me further. All I received was advice to contact them if anythin’ else came to mind, and make myself available if they needed me. Outside of that, I was meanin’less to them. Not part of the case. Not someone needin’ to be informed on their progress. Not anyone important.

  The press still hadn’t moved on from their suspicion of me. The allegations over the contents of the photos I’d turned in to the police just added fuel to the fire. There were suggestions they showed Phoebe’s dead body.

  Every day, another new piece of “evidence” came to light. Everything from my sister’s death to my high school girlfriends were trotted out as proof of what I mighta done to Phoebe. None of my ex-girlfriends had anythin’ specifically bad to say about me other than the fact that my eye was always roamin’ for the next pretty face.

  And that’d been true. Until Cass. She was the first woman to capture my heart as well as my eye. But even she’d had nothin’ on the way Phoebe had twisted through me and made me hers. The absence of Phoebe was like a physical loss, had been ever since she’d ridden away early one July mornin’ last year.

  On Saturday, I decided there was no way I was goin’ anywhere near the race. I didn’t care about the sponsorships, the car, or the team. Nothin’.

  I should’ve, but I didn’t.

  All I cared about was gettin’ Phoebe back, and there was no way I could even try to do that without bein’ inundated by the media as soon as I tried to leave my property.

  I was trapped like a goddamned rat and there was nothin’ I could do about it. Even a trip out onto the lake—somethin’ I’d attempted no less than five times since arrivin’—was too overwhelmin’ without Phoebe. She was my anchor the last few times I’d gone out, and the absence of her was more noticeable there than anywhere else.

  Knowin’ the liquor delivery woulda arrived at the restaurant already, I snuck in and grabbed the extra case of Fireball I’d ordered for myself. I headed back to my house before anyone could argue with me. I didn’t need no arguments or anyone tryin’ to convince me to head to the track before the race on Sunday.

  I placed the box just inside my front door and stole a glance ’round my house. If Joe or Mitch saw the condition of my livin’ area, they probably woulda kicked my ass. Plates and trays from the restaurant were stacked up near the door, ready for me to take back—each a casualty of Cass’s desire to see that I kept eatin’. Blankets and pillows surrounded my sofa because I hadn’t returned to my room to sleep since arrivin’.

  With a sigh, I opened the box and slipped out one of the bottles of Fireball. Once I started sippin’, I didn’t wanna stop. I put on the playlist I had of songs that reminded me of Phoebe and sat nursin’ the bottle. It was the last thing I shoulda been doin’, but the only thing I could.

  Needin’ to shut out everythin’ else, I sat drinkin’ myself into oblivion as I listened to the same two dozen songs over and over. Just like I had in the days after she left me the first time with nothin’ more than a note to say not to contact her.

  It was the same way I coped after Abby’s death. At least until Phoebe came and gave me a healthier distraction—tryin’ to win her back.

  I was onto my second bottle when the pinks and oranges of dawn peeked through the window and I still hadn’t slept.

  Couldn’t sleep.

  And couldn’t find it in myself to care.

  All I cared about was the memory of Phoebe and the next swig of the whiskey. Each fresh mouthful wiped away the images of the Polaroids and left me able to recall other memories of her.

  Soon day passed into night again as I dozed on the sofa.

  The only thing that drove me from the couch was the need to relieve myself. Other than that, everythin’ was meanin’less. Food was tasteless, so I didn’t eat. Drinkin’ anythin’ but the Fireball stole away my buzz, so I didn’t drink. Sleep only brought on painful dreams of happier times, so I didn’t go to bed.

  I showered and brushed my teeth whenever I was lucid, but then I rea
lized bein’ lucid was an invitation for memories of the photos of Phoebe’s torture to come back, which sent me back to the bottle. It was a vicious cycle, and one I didn’t know how to break.

  Whenever I was awake, I was drinkin’, and when I did manage any sleep, I was dreamin’ of her. I was sure that night passed into day again, maybe more than one, but I’d lost track of the hours and days. All I was still countin’ was bottles of Fireball, and I was up to six.

  My last bottle.

  A few times while I lay in a pool of my own self-pity, someone or other knocked on the door and tried to draw me out of my funk. Each time, I merely threw an empty bottle at the door and shouted at them to go away.

  Near the bottom of the sixth bottle, Phoebe’s voice interrupted my wakin’ moments too. At least, I thought I was awake. Maybe I was asleep. I had no real way of knowin’ which was which no more.

  “What are you doing?”

  My eyes refused to stay open or focused long enough to grant me the opportunity to see her face. “I missed ya, darlin’,” I murmured.

  “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  “Nah, darlin’.” The words were barely a whisper, and were followed by the thought, I’m tryin’ ta remember how the curl of your lip felt against my fingertips.

  “Well, that’s what you’re doing. And you in here drinking yourself to death isn’t going to help anyone.”

  She reached for my hand and tried to pull me upright, but I resisted and tugged her down onto me instead. She landed on me awkwardly and with a complaint on her lips.

  “Beau, I—”

  I pressed my mouth to hers to claim what I needed.

  An exclamation of surprise left her as my lips moved against hers, but I swallowed it and continued my assault. I poured every part of me into the kiss. The torture of more than three weeks of not knowing where she was or who she'd been with surged from me, carried on the tip of my tongue. It took until then for her to kiss me back.