Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3)

by Michelle Irwin

  Nothing new?

  I stared at the question for a while, tryin’ to figure out the best way to answer it. I didn’t wanna lie and say no, but I didn’t think she needed to have the same fear and worry Phoebe’s daddy and I were livin’ with hangin’ over her head. I decided to answer with as much of the truth as I dared to give her. Maybe. They found her rental car, but we’re waiting on more information.

  A second later, my cell phone rang. The number that flashed on screen was the one I’d just been textin’.

  “Are you kidding? They found her car? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I hadn’t even managed a hello before the run of questions started.

  “We ain’t got much information. There’s no reason to jump to any conclusions.”

  “But were her things in there? Where was it?”

  “I can’t say, sweetness. All I know is the car was burnt out.” And so was the body inside. I didn’t voice the words that I longed to ignore.

  “Holy shit. This is huge. This could be the break. I guess the police are investigating it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “God, I hope the sick fucker’s fingerprints are on there, and they nail the arsehole and find her.”

  “Me too.” My bigger, more immediate hope though was that the worst-case scenario didn’t come to pass. We talked about the discovery a li’l more, and then I checked with her about her flight.

  “There’s somethin’ else I wanted to ask,” I said eventually, unsure exactly how to broach the subject even though it was the reason I’d asked Mr. Reede for her number.

  “What’s that?”

  “Who is it that hits ya?”

  “What?”

  “Back in Georgia, ya said kisses were better’n fists, and Mr. Reede has spoken to ya about drinkin’ and the siren call. So I’m askin’ ag’in, who is it that gets drunk and hits ya?”

  “I-I’ve gotta go.” She hung up before givin’ me any information.

  I would get to the bottom of it, but I didn’t wanna break my new friendship with her either.

  Before I put my cell away, I sent one last text. You can trust me, sweetness, I ain’t gonna hurt you.

  Her reply came fast. Find Phoebe for me, and then I’ll give you my secrets.

  I KNOCKED ON Phoebe’s door a little after nine the next mornin’. I had no idea what time “after breakfast” meant to Mr. Reede, but I needed to get into it. After my talk with Angel the night before, which had lasted over thirty minutes in the end and hadn’t resulted in the one answer I’d most wanted, I was more determined than ever to do anythin’ I could to bring Phoebe back for us all.

  When he threw the door open, it was with a relieved smile and a glimmer of hope back in his eyes. “It's not her.”

  My heart ran up a flag of victory, determined to celebrate that we might not have lost her after all. She might still be alive out there. In the hands of someone with evil intent, but alive. I crossed the room to the dining table, where all the paperwork Mr. Reede had strewn across the floor was rearranged in neat piles once again.

  I was so busy celebratin' that news that it took a shamefully long time for the other fact to register. She mighta been alive, but there was a body in the car. Someone had died. Someone else's girlfriend maybe. Someone's daughter. Maybe even someone's mother. And I was celebratin' the fact that she wasn't Phoebe. I sank down onto one of the dining chairs.

  “Do they know who it was?” Guilt ate at me even as I asked the question. I wanted to do somethin’ for the woman’s family.

  “They're still checking against missing persons, but it’s not her.” He closed his eyes, and I didn’t doubt he was reciting the words over and over in his head. “There was something else though. The trace you ordered on the call to your phone. The PI said that the number was registered to Richards Racing.”

  I nodded at the information. It wasn’t a surprise really. I was certain it had to be someone involved with Phoebe’s life, and she hadn’t had much opportunity to get to know anyone who wasn’t linked to me, the sponsors, or Richards Racing.

  “To you,” he added.

  “You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.” I was sick of the false accusations. How could I convince anyone that I wasn’t guilty when more and more evidence seemed to be pilin’ up against me? From lyin’ “eyewitnesses” to cell phones that I couldn’ta used, everythin’ seemed designed to make me look as guilty as sin.

  I pushed myself up from the table and paced to Phoebe’s livin’ room.

  “I don’t know what to tell ya, sir, other than to say once again I didn’t have anythin’ to do with this.” I spun around, ready to plead my case again. I was happy to be involved again finally, and I didn’t wanna screw that up.

  He nodded. “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my doubts about you. But now . . . with the way the evidence keeps turning up at the most convenient times, it just seems almost too perfect, you know?”

  “You think I’m bein’ set up?”

  “You wouldn’t be the first person. It happened to me before, years ago. I used to race against this sadistic sonofabitch. Eventually he took my place on the team and made my life a living hell.” His lips curled into a snarl.

  His words reminded me of my own thoughts about the timing of the car being found. “Did the police say how they found Phoebe’s rental car?” I asked, tryin’ to put my thoughts together before voicin’ them.

  “An anonymous tip.”

  “D’ya reckon it mighta been the person who has her that tipped them off?”

  His lips formed a straight line as he contemplated my question. “Maybe. But why would they do that?”

  I shrugged as I shifted closer to him again. “As a warnin’?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve just been thinkin’ about the timin’ of it all. I got Phoebe’s call to say to stop lookin’ for her. The next day, her rental was found. D’ya reckon that’s a coincidence?”

  “Probably not. But that— Oh God, there was a woman in there. That means whoever has Phoebe must have . . .” He paced to and fro, his fists clenching and releasing. After a breath that did nothin’ to calm him, he spun to me. “The sick fuck! Okay, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this. Who could’ve cloned your work phone number?”

  “I don’t think it changes our list from before. Cash and Xavier were both in Vegas when Phoebe called though, so it can’t be them. That just leaves Jase.”

  “Where does he live?”

  I didn’t know, but even if I had I wasn’t sure it woulda been the best idea to tell Mr. Reede at that time. If he went anywhere guns blazin’, he’d probably only end up hurt, or would end up gettin’ Phoebe hurt. With the confirmation that the body in the car hadn’t been her, we had to assume she was still alive. At least for the moment.

  Before I could respond, he continued, “I’ll talk to the police and to Darnell. Maybe I can get them to investigate.”

  “In the meantime, why don’t I—” I cut off when my cell phone rang. “’Scuse me.”

  Walkin’ away from Phoebe’s daddy, I grabbed my cell from my pocket and then swiped to answer it.

  “It’s happenin’, Beau,” Mitch said. “Joe is drivin’ Cass up to the hospital now.”

  It was just what I needed. “Do ya need me to come home?”

  “How are things going there?” he asked in response.

  “We mighta had a breakthrough, and I’d like to see it through. But only if ya don’t need me.” I felt an obligation to be at Cass’s side after everythin’, but I didn’t wanna walk away from Mr. Reede and the lead we had now.

  “I think Joe has it all under control, but I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  “Thank ya, Mitch.” I hung up and spun to head back to Mr. Reede’s side, only to find him watchin’ me with open curiosity. “Uh, Cass is headin’ to the hospital. They wanted to let me know.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Wh
at’s the situation there? Is the baby yours?”

  It was somethin’ we’d never aired between the two of us. Not properly. But I had nothin’ to hide, so had no problem airin’ it. “No, sir.”

  “Then why create the trust? Why the lies when Phoebe came here?”

  “The trust is ’cause Cass was Abby’s nurse before she was anythin’ to me. The funds are comin’ from Abby’s estate.”

  “Abby was your foster sister, wasn’t she?”

  Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I ran through my history and told him about the accident, about Mabel’s death and Abby’s life, especially near the end. It would be easier if he knew everythin’, so he didn’t think I was tryin’ to hide anythin’ from him.

  “Abby’s death was the reason Phoebe returned to Georgia after droppin’ Angel at the airport,” I explained. “She put everythin’ on hold for me. That’s how I knew she loved me, even if she still wasn’t willin’ to admit it. As for the lies.” My chest ached as I sucked down a breath. “It seemed . . . easier to pretend I wasn’t affected by Phoebe’s presence after everythin’ that happened with Max. Every time I was near her, I just wanted things to go back to the way they were, but my damn pride wouldn’t let me be the one to fall to the ground and beg her to be exclusive to me. Course, if I’d known then what I do now, I woulda. Fact, I woulda never let her go in the first place.”

  “So if the baby’s not yours, whose is it?”

  “That I can’t say. That’s between Cass and the daddy.”

  He turned thoughtful for a moment before nodding. No doubt realizin’ it was no different to him not tellin’ me the rest of Angel’s story. “I can understand that. Are you sure you don’t want to go down to be with your friend? She’ll need plenty of support. It’s not easy going through childbirth, especially without the father around.” A shadow passed over his features and I had no doubt he was thinkin’ about when Phoebe and her twin were born.

  “She’s got Joe with her and Mitch back at the retreat. They can offer anythin’ and everythin’ I’d be able to, with the added bonus of not bein’ distracted and wantin’ to be somewhere else.”

  “Okay.” He nodded before pinchin’ the bridge of his nose. “Well, if that’s settled, I’m going to make these phone calls.”

  While he disappeared into the bedroom, I moved to the sofa and buried my head in my hands. Despite the positive information, we were no closer to rescuing Phoebe than before.

  WHILE MR. REEDE was on the phone with the police and the PI, I sent Angel a text letting her know the rental car had definitely been Phoebe’s, that she wasn’t inside, and that we weren’t any closer to findin’ her. The last part was as much truth as it was lies. After all, we mighta had a stronger suspect than before, but we still had no proof. Nothin’ to link Jase to her disappearance.

  I spent the rest of the day helpin’ Phoebe’s daddy put the photos Angel had e-mailed onto our Missing Person notices to go into the newspapers. It was clear the lack of action was drivin’ him insane, but at least he could see reason behind not chargin’ into the situation, guns blazin’.

  Once we were done, I canvassed the buildin’ again, takin’ one of the photos Angel had sent. I’d learned from Mr. Reede that the police had done what they could, but hadn’t gone door to door on the property, and the PI had been busy “following other leads,” which I took to mean followin’ me. It meant there mighta been an untapped source of knowledge in the building.

  One by one, I approached every apartment, startin’ with the ones on her floor. Or at least the ones who answered their doors. The person in the apartment closest to hers was someone I most wanted to talk to, but they didn’t answer.

  Each time someone answered the door, I got one of three responses: abuse for hurtin’ Phoebe and tryin’ to cover it up; starstruck gazes and autograph requests; or blind indifference. No one seemed to know nothin’ about Phoebe.

  I’d barely hit two floors by the time I had to call it a day. Rubbin’ my eyes, I headed back to Phoebe’s apartment to say farewell to Mr. Reede—who insisted once again that I call him Declan—and left with a promise to start again the next day.

  Later that night, I got a text from Joe to confirm Cass’d had her baby. A little girl—Hope. Somethin’ we all needed lots of. Joe’s text listed out all the vitals, but I only cared about the one that said both mama and the li’l un were doin’ okay. I arranged for the delivery of a gift basket to the hospital and let the lawyer handlin’ the trust know the details. He’d need a signature before long, but there wasn’t a rush.

  The next three days were spent gettin’ through all of the apartments in Phoebe’s building. Each day, I would start by tryin’ the ones that weren’t home the day before. It was all a great big failure, with no new information gained but more precious time gone. We were approachin’ the six-week mark and were no closer to findin’ her.

  It was on the Thursday that I finally got another lead. That was when I could finally speak to the person who lived nearest to Phoebe. A man, probably ’round my age, answered the door. When I showed him the photo of Phoebe, he nodded appreciatively and told me that he’d seen her. I asked whether they’d seen anyone ’round her place the day she went missin’. He shook his head and told me he was on vacation that week. That he’d already told the police the same thing.

  “You never saw no one there? No one causin’ her trouble?”

  His mouth twisted and he glanced back into the apartment for a moment. “Well, I saw you around here a few times. It sounded like there were some raised voices each time. And there was that other guy. I saw them kissing in the hallway a few times.”

  Xavier. It was the reminder of what he’d said to me, the claims he’d laid over her.

  “Nothin’ else?” I asked through gritted teeth. “No one leavin’ her presents?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, there was a courier who’d come past and leave little gifts in front of her door.”

  “Courier? What company?”

  “I don’t know. The uniform shirt was a pale purple though, and the logo had an F and an A.”

  From his description, I was able to the guess the logo. I knew it well, together with the color. Fleur Amelia. The sponsors of Phoebe’s car. Was someone there leavin’ her the gifts? Was her disappearance somethin’ to do with them? But why?

  Because I had to fly to California, I passed the information on to Declan and Darnell and then arranged for the race. It was tearin’ me in half havin’ to trek all ’round the country for races I didn’t care about no more, but I didn’t have much choice. I had to keep things runnin’.

  Days ticked by. Week seven started, and there was still nothin’. Textin’ Angel and helpin’ Declan kept me sane and on the track, but they were the only things that did it.

  Despite his need to stay to find his daughter, Declan climbed on a plane back to Australia after bein’ in the States for seven weeks. His wife needed him. His family and business needed him. It wasn’t possible to put his life on hold any longer. It was another sign that the world was movin’ on without Phoebe in it. The whole globe would just keep turnin’ as if there weren’t something fundamentally wrong. He left me the key to Phoebe’s apartment and instructions to keep him in the loop.

  Another week passed.

  The bags under my eyes grew. The worry draggin’ me down was crushin’. I woke more often than not in a cold sweat as visions of Phoebe bein’ hurt—bein’ tortured—filled my nights.

  Still, I kept up with my promises and ran all the races I needed to. My results weren’t as good as previous years, mostly because I no longer had the fire in my belly to win. It’d been snuffed out, only to be reignited in my desire to find Phoebe.

  Almost two weeks after my discovery of the link to Fleur Amelia, Darnell called Declan to advise he’d been able to track down the delivery driver. None of the deliveries were on the books, so there was no official record, but the driver confirmed the flowers and gifts had been p
aid for in cash by someone by the name Jason Freeport. Jase. The asshole who’d attacked Phoebe. Apparently he’d even given the driver the door code so there’d be no delays in gettin’ the items right to Phoebe’s door.

  The PI passed the information on to the police.

  Then . . . nothin’.

  The whole process was maddenin’ and slow. Phoebe was out there somewhere, and everythin’ that might find her seemed to move with all the speed of molasses.

  Eight weeks.

  Nine.

  Another flight. Another city—Tennessee this time.

  Another week without answers.

  The end of April brought an arrest, but still no sign of Phoebe.

  Jase was dragged down to the police station in front of cameras who were barely interested in the whereabouts of a missin’ girl any longer. It was the fresh scandal that drew them, and not in the same numbers as before. It didn’t bring us closer to findin’ the most important thing. I no longer cared about the how or why—that anger had long burned itself out—now, I just wanted her home. Angel felt the same way and expressed as much in her texts. Cass expressed her concern for me whenever I checked on her, but she had bigger things to worry about. Her cute-as-a-button li’l un, for starters.

  Slowly, information filtered out about the arrest. Some of Phoebe’s hairs and drops of her blood were found in the passenger seat of Jase’s car. He maintained his innocence, but his protests included so many slurs against her I didn’t have an ounce of pity for him. Even if he was as innocent as he claimed, callin’ her such terrible names, sayin’ she deserved whatever she got, left me unwillin’ to care what happened to him.

  Declan flew back over to the States after Jase’s arrest. The rest at home hadn’t done much for him or his hold on sanity. The bags under his eyes were as black as the ones smudged across my face.

  “You look like shit,” he said as a greetin’ when I met him at the airport.

  “Well, you ain’t no oil paintin’ either, sir.” It was almost atonishin’ how readily we’d fallen into a pattern of acquaintanceship after he’d realized all the lies about me were untrue.