Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3)

by Michelle Irwin

  “They found Phoebe's hire car this morning out near Sister’s Cove.” The words were barely issued, near silent on his exhalations. “They—they think it’s been there for about a week or so by the look of it. It’s been torched.”

  My fingers gripped the cell tighter, knowin’ there was no celebration in his tone. It wasn’t news that they’d found a lead. There was somethin’ more.

  I understood why his voice was dead when he continued, “There was a body inside.”

  My breath caught and every fiber in my being locked into place. Denials ran through my head, but my tongue was frozen solid. The news stabbed at my brain over and over, viciously tryin’ to break through the armor of denial.

  “They don't know if it's her; the body was unrecognisable so they can’t say yet with any certainty, but they strongly suspect it is.” The clinical tone was still in force. No doubt it was the only way he could get through the information. “They're checking dental records and DNA to confirm it.”

  His voice broke as he said the last few words, and then I was listenin’ to a grown man issue inhuman sobs. It was the sound of a man who’d lost his daughter. A man who’d lost all hope. Who’d lost everything. Mixed into his cries were words not intended for me. God no! and Why! were repeated over and over.

  The information stabbed at my mind again at the sound, this time breakin' through the wall. The muscles that had been locked released with an almost violent eruption, quivering and shaking so much I dropped the phone and sank to my knees. The airport around me faded from my vision as my eyes filled with tears.

  Gone.

  She was gone.

  I HAD NO idea how long I was kneelin’ on the ground before hands closed around my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. Cash was there in front of me, talkin’ to me, but I couldn’t hear what he was sayin’. All his words were drowned out by the ones I’d likely hear over and over for the rest of my existence.

  “There was a body inside.”

  She’s gone. The words ran on repeat through my head, and then I realized I was speakin’ them aloud. Over and over, they spilled from me.

  With Cash’s coaxin’, I finally found the rest of the words that would help him make sense of my actions.

  “Come with me,” he said, draggin’ me to my feet. He shoved me onto a seat in the middle of the airport. A few minutes later, he returned with a Coca-Cola in his hand.

  “Drink this,” he commanded. “I think you might be in shock.”

  If I was in shock, it was hardly unjustified. I did as he asked though, drawin’ down the cold drink until it made me wanna be sick.

  I stared without seein’ as he guided me to his rental car.

  How could she be gone?

  With the sugar from the Coke workin’ through my system, my defenses were bein’ rebuilt.

  Maybe it’s not her. Maybe it’s a coincidence that someone else was in her rental.

  I knew how ridiculous it sounded, but I had to hold on to the tiny sliver of hope offered by the fact that her death was still unconfirmed.

  It made sense. After all, why would whoever had her make her call me a week ago only to—

  My mind refused to focus on the rest of the thought as the timeframe echoed with what Phoebe’s daddy had said. The idea struck me with such intensity it knocked the wind from my chest and left me gaspin’ for air.

  What if it was my fault?

  Phoebe had asked me to stop lookin’. She’d told me that she’d be safe if I did. And not even an hour later, I’d offered a reward for any information that helped find her.

  What if the car bein’ there a week wasn’t a coincidence . . .? What if it was a retaliation?

  “I’m gonna be sick.”

  Cash cast me a glare across the car, no doubt tryin’ to assess how serious my statement was.

  “Let’s just get to the track,” he said.

  I leaned forward and put my head against the dash as the thoughts tore at my mind and ripped into my heart. Of course that’s why it happened. It was my fault. She was gone, and it was because of me. I’d made the ultimate betrayal.

  From the beginnin’, all I’d seemed to do was hurt her. If she was in front of me, I’d apologize for everythin’ I’d done and then spend every second tryin’ to make it up to her.

  “I guess Cass told you about us,” Cash said, no doubt tryin’ ta break through the cycle of my thoughts.

  With the anger at myself rushin’ through my limbs, it was all too easy to find the right level of heat when I said, “Yeah, she did, and I can’t believe you.”

  “If I’d thought you were gonna get back together, I wouldn’t a done nothin’, but ya seemed pretty certain it was over after ya met Phoebe.”

  Her name on his lips, so casually tossed out as if it meant nothin’, was a tippin’ point. “I don’t give a damn that you were with Cass. How could you have tol’ her that you woulda tried to get her to have an abortion? ’Specially when she’s been so happy about the baby.”

  “Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that. It was a shock, that’s all. How exactly am I supposed to react to findin’ out I’m gonna be a daddy?”

  “Like a fuckin’ man and not a coward.”

  Cash blinked at me as the words left me, almost as if he hadn’t expected them. He probably hadn’t, but I was done with his situation. If he wanted to make thoughtless decisions, someone needed to call him out for that stupidity. If it took speakin’ in a language he’d understand to make him see it, then I would say it with whatever I needed to.

  “I—” At first his voice was harsh and filled with a rage that matched my own, but after he’d cut himself off, it was softer. “I probably deserve that.”

  He raked his hands through his hair. “I want to make things right between you and me. It’s been strained ever since Phoebe came along.”

  Once again, the way he said her name caused me to clench my fingers tight. I took a deep breath rather than reactin’ though. “Ya can make things right between you and me by makin’ them right between you and Cass.”

  “How though? I’m pretty sure she’s never gonna speak to me ag’in.”

  “Apologizin’ wouldn’t be a bad start.”

  “What, ‘I’m sorry I knocked ya up’?”

  “Not for gettin’ her pregnant, ya ninny. For the things ya said to her.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I guess. I just don’t know what to do. I mean, you know I think Cass is great, but she’s not the one. At least, not for me, ya’know.”

  I shook my head at his complete stupidity. “I don’t recommend usin’ that in your intro.”

  “I’ll call her when we get home from this weekend.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that for a few days. She’s gonna be havin’ the baby soon, and she don’t need you addin’ to that stress right now.”

  He nodded. “I guess you’re right. Are you gonna be okay to race?”

  “I’m gonna hafta be. I can’t afford to miss three in a row.” Even as I said it, I felt guilt twistin’ inside that I was gonna go do somethin’ so meanin’less when Phoebe was gone. I shoulda been back in North Carolina, waitin’ at her father’s side for more information.

  For the rest of the weekend, I tried to focus on anythin’ other than my cell phone as I waited for the call that would shatter my world. The one that would confirm Phoebe was dead, and that it was my fault for not listenin’ when she asked that I stop lookin’ for her.

  When I climbed behind the wheel, I said another silent prayer. It was only as I was finishin’ up that I realized it wasn’t any god that I was prayin’ to—it was Phoebe herself. It had been the other day too. She was my deity; her love the only religion I wanted to follow.

  After the weekend—which had been a disaster from a racing point of view—I got back to North Carolina and went straight from the airport to Phoebe’s apartment. I knocked on the door for nearly ten minutes before it opened. I woulda given up, except I could hear noise from inside and knew someone was there.


  I stepped back as Mr. Reede appeared in the doorway. He smelled like a still and staggered on the spot.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Have ya been drinkin’?”

  His jaw clenched as he stared at me. Fire flashed in his seafoam eyes, and then he threw the door open. “What the fuck else am I supposed to fucking do?”

  “This ain’t helpin’ no one.”

  “Tell me how the fuck you think I’m supposed to fucking react to the news that my daughter is fucking dead.” He stumbled and fell to his knees with his head bowed.

  My breath caught in my throat and a chill stole over my limbs. “D-did ya get confirmation?”

  His body shook with a mirthless laugh. “No, but I don’t need it. It’s her car. Who else is it fucking going to be?” He lifted his head and levelled his stare at me—although through me was probably more appropriate, considerin’ the lack of focus in his gaze. “I let her come over here to her fucking death.”

  Despite his words, relief washed over me.

  “Do ya think drinkin’s gonna help?” It was hypocritical considerin’ I’d been in the same position just a few weeks earlier, but I didn’t wanna see Phoebe’s daddy givin’ up that way. Even if the worst had happened, he had other people to worry about—other people relyin’ on him back home. Alyssa herself had said he was her support.

  “Of course it fucking doesn’t.” His fingers were curled into tight fists, which he smashed against his chest while tears welled in his eyes. “There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to drown out this fucking pain. I always knew it was a possibility I could lose her early, but not like this. Not fucking like this.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Bring Phoebe back to me.”

  “If I could do that, sir, I would in a heartbeat.”

  “I need to know which sick sonofabitch stole my daughter. I need to feel his bones break beneath my fucking fists. I’m so goddamn sick and fucking tired of waiting and being goddamn patient. I need to know who did this to her, and I need to make them pay.”

  “I understand. I feel the same way.”

  “There’s gotta be something I’ve fucking overlooked.” He climbed to his feet and stumbled to the table. Newspaper clippings, printed pages, handwritten notes, maps, and Post-its were littered over the surface.

  “I think ya need to get outta here for a while,” I said. “It ain’t healthy.”

  He dragged his hands across the paperwork, brushin’ the majority off the table in one sweep. “I don’t need to fucking go anywhere! I just need to find him.”

  I tried a different tack. “Have ya spoken to your wife recently and let her know what the police found?”

  “No. How the fuck am I supposed to say anything to her? What the fuck would I say? ‘Hey, Lys, I’ve got something to tell you . . .’ I’m not gonna be the one to tell her that her baby is gone. I can’t—I can’t be the one to break her heart like that. I’ve hurt her too much before.”

  I couldn’t imagine what it would be like having to give that information to someone you loved. “If the confirmation comes in that it’s her, I can be the one to tell her mama if ya need me to.”

  “What?”

  “I’m already the villain. To the press. To you. What’s one more person hatin’ me if it saves ya some heartbreak? I spoke to her mama before, and I’ll take that hit ag’in if you need me to.”

  “I’m not a fucking coward.” He tugged at his hair. Before I could say anythin’ more, he stalked to the kitchen counter and snatched up the bottle of whiskey there.

  It was so darn temptin’ to demand a drink as well. I couldn’t though. Not only because I promised Angel, but also because gettin’ drunk wouldn’t help no one or nothin’. And Phoebe’s daddy bein’ drunk didn’t either.

  “Angel said ya knew the siren call of the bottle. But she thought you were strong enough to resist it,” I challenged.

  He pointed the bottle at me. “I don’t need you or Angel fucking telling me what I’m strong enough for.”

  For a moment, it looked like he was gonna take a swig, but then he spun around and hurled the bottle at the wall over the sink with a growl. It hit the tiles with a crash, smashin’ into pieces and crackin’ the tile. The amber liquid spilled down the wall as he turned back to the counter and leaned against it with a sigh.

  “Angel’s right though. I shouldn’t be drinking. If she was still here, I wouldn’t have touched the stuff.”

  “Why not?” It coulda just been that he didn’t want to risk her bein’ unprotected if he drank himself silly, but there was somethin’ in his tone, and a shadow behind his eyes, that made me think there was more to it.

  “It’s not my place to say.”

  “Is it somethin’ to do with Angel havin’ someone hit her?” I recalled previous statements by Mr. Reede about Angel deservin’ better than another person gettin’ drunk ’round her, and Angel’s comment about kisses being better than fists. It was too easy to put two and two together.

  “What did she tell you?”

  “Not much more’n that.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Then it’s still not my place to discuss it.”

  I clenched my fists. “Is she goin’ home just to be hurt?”

  “She’ll be okay. We’ve all tried to help her, but she doesn’t want to be helped, so she goes back.”

  “Who’s hurtin’ her?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “I wanna make it my business. She’s Phoebe’s best friend, and a sweet young girl. If she’s bein’ hurt, someone needs to help her out.”

  “You know, some people might like this sanctimonious Boy Scout shit you’ve got going on, but right now, it’s the last thing I need.”

  “I need to help someone. To do somethin’. Or I’m gonna go crazy waitin’ for information about Phoebe.”

  He slammed his hand down on the counter and rounded his gaze to me. “Why are you talkin’ like there’s still a chance?”

  “Because until I know for sure that it’s her, I can’t give up hope. Hope is the only thing keepin’ me goin’ right now. Without it, I’d give up everythin’.”

  “You really believe there’s any possibility that the body found in her car won’t be her?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but I can’t give her up. Even if the police confirm it, I don’t know if I’ll be able to accept it. I need her in my life. We’ve hurt each other too much with silly mistakes, but no one has ever made me happier than she has, and I believe that goes the same for her. And I know I probably shouldn’t say that to you ’cause you’re her daddy, but I need to say it to ya because I need ya to understand how much she means to me. There ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. Nothin’ I wouldn’t give up to make her happy. If I’da known about her plan to come to the States, I probably woulda suggested I go to her. Least, I woulda after seein’ how much everyone means to her and how much she means to y’all in return.”

  “How can I trust that you’re not just saying this shit to me just to keep me off your back? How can I know that you didn’t torch her car?”

  “I guess ya can’t, but there ain’t gonna be any way for me to convince ya other than to do everythin’ I can to bring Phoebe back, and then to make sure she knows, without a doubt, how loved she is.”

  He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t think I’ll hear from the police until tomorrow at the earliest. If you’re intent on chasing false hope, why don’t you come back after breakfast and we can discuss other ways to raise awareness and try to get information. I think there’s more we can do than to talk to everyone in this building. You can help me do up a list of everyone she’s been in contact with, however briefly, during her time here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He groaned. “And cut the fucking sir crap.”

  “Yes, sir. In the meantime, I’d like to find out what’s goin’ on with Angel.”

  “It’s not really
any of your business.”

  “I can’t turn a blind eye to her bein’ hurt. Not if it’s the one thing I can talk to someone about.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you Angel’s number. She’s an adult, if she wants to tell you her story, that’s her choice. But don’t be surprised when she tells you to fuck off out of her business because she doesn’t want the help.”

  Ten minutes later, I left with Angel’s number and a promise to return the next mornin’ to go over all the notes Mr. Reede had.

  After stoppin’ at the store for some groceries, I headed back to my apartment, ready to eat, shower, and sleep. But first, I texted Angel.

  It’s Beau. Phoebe’s daddy gave me your number so we could keep in touch.

  After I sent the message, I threw on a steak and tossed together a salad from the stuff I’d grabbed. I was just pourin’ myself a glass of red wine to go with it when Angel texted back.

  Why, hello, Mr. Howdy Doody. Did it occur to Mr. Reede to check that I was okay for you to have my number first?

  I chuckled at her message. She certainly had the same spirit as Phoebe. A spirit I hoped would see Phoebe through whatever was happenin’ to her. He didn’t mean no harm. Besides, I was insistent.

  If you wanted my number that bad, you could’ve just asked me.

  Before I could respond, another text came through from her. My chest swelled the instant I opened it and a photo of Phoebe filled my screen. Her eyes sparkled and her lips were curled up into a broad smile—one I’d only ever seen her wear in her happiest, most private moments.

  That’s a photo I took the last time I saw her. I was going through my camera today and found it. I set it as my home screen.

  Her text came through right when I was doin’ the exact same thing. Have ya got any others? It might help to get a few different photos out there.

  I had an ulterior motive for askin’ for them, but I was certain Angel would understand that without me needin’ to say it. Her reply came shortly after in the form of a request for my e-mail address. I texted it back.