Decay (Phoebe Reede: The Untold #3.2 Declan Reede: The Untold Story #6)

by Michelle Irwin

My phone rang and I closed my eyes as Beau’s name flashed on the screen. Although my first instinct had been to call him, I no longer wanted to talk to him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to drink until I forgot everything said at the police station. Until Phoebe walked back in the door—happy and healthy.

  “I have some news.” The words sounded as dead as I felt inside as they left me.

  He hesitated, no doubt taken aback by my abrupt tone, but I couldn’t give him more. I had no spare words or emotions. “What is it?”

  “They found Phoebe's hire car this morning out near Sister’s Cove.” I was reciting facts, not allowing any of the numbness to fade and allow the hurt to flood in. “They—they think it’s been there for about a week or so by the look of it. It’s been torched.” I drew a deep breath to prepare myself for the next words that had to leave. “There was a body inside.”

  Silence echoed on the other end of the line, and I was thankful for it.

  “They don't know if it's her,” I continued. With every word, a little more of the reality seeped in and pushed the numbness back. In its place, claws and teeth crept through my veins. “The body was unrecognisable so they can’t say yet with any certainty, but they strongly suspect it is. They're checking dental records and DNA to confirm it.”

  The last nine words were where the dam in my brain burst, freeing all of the pain in a rush.

  “Oh God!” I cried out as the flood washed through me and drowned me. She was gone. The weeks of waiting, the rise and fall of my hope, everything had led to the point where I had to admit my baby was gone. I dropped the phone to the bench as a howl of grief left me. How could it come to this? How could this be the end? I sank to the floor, still clutching the bottle of whiskey.

  For the first time in years, I broke a promise to my wife—I drank to forget.

  A BANGING on my door pulled me from the alcoholic haze I’d slipped into. For God only knew how long, I’d been lost in the amber fluid, drowning every thought and trying to wash away the hurt. Every hour that passed without information from the police was another hour spent in hell, but at some point my phone battery had died and I hadn’t bothered to charge it.

  When the banging continued, I rolled off my makeshift bed on the couch and hunted for my phone, plugging it in to charge. My head felt too big for my body and I was barely able to stand upright as I juggled the charger cord into the too-small phone. For days, I’d alternated between obsessively double-checking every detail on every piece of paper in my notes and getting so drunk I couldn’t even see the stacks of paper anymore.

  Even after the phone was plugged in the pounding continued, and it dawned on me that it wasn’t just in my head. I stumbled to the door and pulled it open. Standing on the other side, looking tired but otherwise unaffected by the discovery of Phoebe’s body, was Beau.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I asked, ready to close the door and get back to the last of my bottle.

  “Have ya been drinkin’?”

  Could his voice really be filled with so much disgust? Or was I projecting?

  Either way, I reacted to what I heard. My fists curled at my sides and I stepped toward him—at least I tried to, but my legs didn’t quite work right. “What the fuck else am I supposed to fucking do?”

  He took a step back and scowled. “This ain’t helpin’ no one.”

  They were words I knew well—so similar to the ones I’d said to Angel when she talked about using alcohol for her problems. “Tell me how the fuck you think I’m supposed to fucking react to the news that my daughter is fucking dead.”

  Hearing the words out loud sent the meaning behind them slamming into my heart like a bullet and drove me to my knees.

  Phoebe was gone.

  His body stiffened and his face fell. “D-did ya get confirmation?”

  I snorted. As if it would make a difference, hearing it officially. It wouldn’t change anything. Beau didn’t see it that way though, and told me all the reasons I shouldn’t be drinking and shouldn’t give up hope. He was right with all of them, but that didn’t make them easier to hear. Once again, I’d given up on Phoebe. Worse, I’d allowed myself to be uncontactable to Alyssa, who had to be beside herself with worry not being able to contact me.

  After agreeing to meet with Beau again the following morning, I saw him out and tried to sober up. Then I sorted my shit out, booted up my PC, and headed for a shower. Once I’d finished in the shower, I headed back to my computer and checked to see if Alyssa was online.

  Her gaze travelled my face. “Dec, what the hell is going on?”

  Although I’d worried not too much earlier how I could tell her about the car and the possibility that the body inside might be Phoebe, when I looked into Alyssa’s eyes, I couldn’t not tell her.

  “I’m sorry,” I started, raking my hands through my hair as I made my admission. “I fell to pieces and I let you down.”

  “What happened?”

  “The police found Phoebe’s hire car.”

  Her hand found her mouth and her eyes widened. “And?”

  “They don’t know for certain who it is, but there was a body inside.” I had to lead with the hope.

  “Oh God.”

  “There’s still hope. It might not be her.”

  “But it might be?”

  I dropped my gaze to my lap and nodded. “I don’t know when we’ll find out for sure.”

  When I glanced back up at her, so many different emotions crashed against each other over her features.

  “I let her down, Lys. I let you down too. I fell back into stupid habits, and I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  She waved off my words and gave me a watery smile. “We’ll talk about it when you get home.”

  We talked around in circles for a while as we tried to plan for our next steps depending on what the police told us. My eyes filled with tears as we spoke about what we’d need to do to bring Phoebe home if it was her in the car.

  “Do you need me to come over there with you?”

  “I can’t think of anything I want more, but I don’t think you should. The kids don’t need to be without us both if it turns out that it is her.”

  Alyssa closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. Without any resolution, I promised I’d call her as soon as I had more information.

  IT WAS before eight the following morning when I got a call from the police liaison. Among everything else she said, there were only three words I cared about: “It’s not her.”

  Those words, although they signalled heartbreak for another family, made me want to leap for fucking joy. It didn’t mean that Phoebe was out of the woods—we were still no closer to finding her. It did mean that the tiny spark of hope that kept us all pushing for more details wasn’t snuffed out.

  I’d barely hung up from the police when I had another phone call, from Darnell this time.

  “I got the details of the trace back on the number Beau said Phoebe had called him from.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s his phone. Or at least a company phone from Richards Racing that’s registered to his name. I’ve tried calling the number, but there’s been no answer. It makes me think the phone she called from might be a clone.”

  There was merit in his assumption. Something niggled in the back of my head. It was all too neat. The arrows pointing in Beau’s direction were lining up too easily, and at just the right speed, as though someone was laying out breadcrumbs for the police and Darnell to follow.

  It reminded me of my situation years ago when I was at Sinclair Racing—the way the photographers followed me around and made a number of situations look as bad as possible so that Danny Sinclair would give me the arse. Could someone have had it out for Beau the same way? Was Phoebe caught in the middle of that? Or had Beau been assigned the role of scapegoat because he was an easy target due to everything that had happened between him and Phoebe?

  Ultimately, the reason didn’t matter. The
fact that the number had come up registered to Beau was oddly the final thing I needed to convince me of his innocence. Why would he give us that information if he knew it would point back to him?

  When he arrived as we’d agreed, I was filled with new hope and ready to get to work. Within no time at all, I’d told him of my belief in his innocence, he’d offered a theory about the timing of the anonymous tip to the police about Phoebe’s hire car, and then we’d shortened the list of culprits down to just one.

  Jason Freeport—the arsehole who had abused Phoebe.

  I GLANCED UP through the airport, knowing that Alyssa would be somewhere in the bustling crowd. Almost two weeks had passed since Beau and I had shortened our list of suspects to just one, but unfortunately, us believing in Jason’s guilt wasn’t enough for the police to act. The case had stalled, and my time in the States was up. I’d left everything in Beau’s hands—something I would have thought inconceivable just a few short weeks ago.

  When I spotted Alyssa, I picked up my suitcase and ran toward her. I didn’t care how many people I pushed out of the way to get to her, after so many weeks apart—days and nights filled with mental torture and a rise and fall of hope I’d never experienced before—I needed her in my arms.

  I dropped my suitcase a metre from her and swept her up into my arms. She buried her nose against my neck, and a sob left her as I held her tight. We didn’t say a word to each other, just clasped each other so hard it was like we’d never be torn apart again. There were no words from either of us though, because they would only ask questions neither of us could answer.

  When I set her back on her feet, an apology was on my lips. I’d broken my promise to her—to my whole family. I’d failed to bring Phoebe home.

  “Do they know she’s not with me?” I asked.

  “I told them she’s still missing. I don’t think Parker really understands. Brock is starting to blame Phoebe for being gone.”

  “I’ll talk to him—”

  “Don’t. I think he gets it. It’s just his way to express his feelings. Who else is there to be angry with? An unknown person? I’m just glad he’s laying off Max for the time being.”

  Being with Alyssa in person made it clearer just how much the worry had ravaged her. The grey in her hair was more pronounced and the bags under her eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. Her cheeks were sunken and I wondered whether she was eating like she should have been. It would have been typical of her to ensure everyone else was fed and looked after even at the detriment of her own health.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. No matter how many times I said the words though, they didn’t feel like they were enough. They didn’t convey the depth of sorrow that ran to my core, nor did they help.

  “Let’s go home. There are some people there who are anxious to see you.”

  “Even though I failed you all.”

  “No, Dec, you didn’t fail. We just have to have patience.”

  It was clear her statement was nothing but a platitude to stop my guilt, but I let it rest as we walked through the airport to the short-term parking.

  The drive home was as silent as our initial reunion. There was nothing to say. Nothing would change the situation. Even walking in the door at home, it was the same. Mum was there to take care of the kids while Alyssa picked me up, but she just greeted me with a nod and a hug. The whole house was sombre and the absence of Phoebe was a palpable presence in the family. It was like we were all in mourning.

  Worse, there wasn’t anything we could do to change the mood until we could move on. Our limbo, where we had no real idea whether Phoebe was dead or alive, was a permanent shadow over the house, and that was unlikely to change until something happened.

  Weeks passed. Angel came to stay and during one visit thanked me for making up with Beau. Darnell called me regarding a lead Beau had discovered—details of a delivery driver who’d confirmed he was delivering the gifts to Phoebe on behalf of Jason Freeport. I texted and called Beau and Darnell as often as I could even while I went back into the office to try to catch up on everything I’d missed in the weeks I was away.

  Slowly, life caught up with us and left us unable to stay in the bubble of grief that wrapped around us. The media stopped asking about Phoebe’s absence and talked about race preparation again. The world moved on and didn’t care anymore. Everything moved on without pause. We did what we could to keep the tourniquet tight around the wound of Phoebe’s kidnapping so that we didn’t bleed out, but it didn’t help the grief. It didn’t stop Alyssa’s tears at midnight or my own that followed shortly after.

  Eden and Morgan found their way back together and Max went back home with them for the short term. When Eden arrived to pick him up, her gaze was filled with remorse and she whispered her wish for Phoebe to be found soon. I took her comfort because she needed to give it to me, but it was too little in the face of everything to change anything for me. There was no comfort to be found with the absence of my daughter hanging over me every day, threatening to fall on me like the sword of Damocles.

  It was almost the end of April before I got news of an arrest. Jason had finally been taken into custody. Without needing to discuss it, both Alyssa and I agreed I had to head back over. I needed to hear firsthand what he’d done to my daughter and be there to help her get justice.

  I boarded a plane within a day of finding out the information and a little over a day later, stepped into the airport at Charlotte, North Carolina, where Beau was waiting for me. With things finally happening, I was anxious to keep them moving.

  I’d barely arrived when we both got news they were letting Jason go free.

  I called the police and demanded answers. All they could tell me at first was that they had received information that it couldn’t have been Jason.

  Darnell had a little more information for me though. Apparently the delivery driver had stated that the guy the police had arrested wasn’t the same one who’d placed the orders.

  As Darnell read out the description of the guy the police now wanted, it nudged against a memory, but I pushed the thought out of my head. There was no way my old enemy could have found a way to get to Phoebe. It was impossible. It had to be impossible.

  “Apparently they brought the delivery driver in to identify Jase, and he says it’s not him. The guy he dealt with was older, apparently around his midforties,” I recited to Beau after I’d hung up from Darnell. “Tall and thin, and had dark features.”

  Beau stalled in the doorway to Phoebe’s apartment. “Bee.” His voice was low, uncertain—as if he was trying to figure out the meaning of the word.

  I spun to face him. “What?”

  “That description. It fits Bee. Dale’s brother-in-law, and Xavier’s stepdaddy.”

  Xavier’s stepdaddy matched the description? Had I been right in my theory about an accomplice when I’d had it about Beau, and just wrong in the co-conspirator? “His name is Bee?”

  Beau shook his head and went on to explain that it was a nickname for a driver who’d come from Australia and used to race trucks.

  My heart fell to my feet and my throat clamped shut as I was assaulted with a thousand worries. The description matched Hunter Blake, my old enemy and the one person in the world who’d want to see me suffer, and now Beau was talking about trucks—the category Hunter was racing in the last time I’d heard anything about him.

  “What’s his real name?”

  “Hunter.”

  The breath rushed from my body and I wished for it to be nothing but a crazy fucking coincidence. Some other fucker named Hunter who just happened to have come from Australia to race in the same category. I was clutching at straws, but I couldn’t even comprehend the thought that Phoebe might be with that fucking arsehole. Worse, that she’d been with him for almost three months.

  If he’d been ready to slip a mickey into a girl’s drink in a bar after knowing her for a few hours when we were young and stupid, what would he do to someone completely at his mercy
if given three months? Especially if that someone was my daughter.

  I wanted to throw up.

  My head spun, but I had to know. “Wh-What’s his last name?”

  “Blake.”

  Oh God! I clutched at my stomach as my breath shortened. My mind went blank and dread crept over all of my limbs. What could I do if Hunter had my baby girl? I screamed and ranted, and couldn’t recall a single word as they left my mouth.

  The need to purge grew and I raced to the bathroom. Over and over I heaved, as if expelling everything in my stomach would shake the ghosts of the past that had lodged themselves in my chest.

  When I was empty, I staggered back out to Beau. He needed to know—needed to understand how dire Phoebe’s situation was. How bad it had been for the last three months.

  Images played in my mind—Phoebe in place of the brunette stranger I’d rescued from his attention that night so many years ago. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  The memory of the photo I’d seen at the police station so many weeks ago scratched along the surface of my mind. That was weeks ago and in it she’d been tied up and gagged. She’d shown clear signs of torture. Was there any chance she could still be alive? Even if she was, what might she have suffered in the days and weeks since?

  As hard as I tried to deny the prospect that Hunter had returned and had Phoebe, it was impossible. The facts lined up too perfectly. My heart thrummed in my chest and my stomach churned. Despite everything that had passed between us, I was glad of Beau’s presence because he had no knowledge of Hunter’s depravity and was able to remain calm. The worst thing we could do was the exact thing I wanted to do—drive straight to his place and pound on the door demanding Phoebe be returned.

  If we did that and she wasn’t at his property, she could be gone forever. If he was the only one who knew where she was, he could clam up and we’d never find her. If we went rogue and ignored police procedure, we’d likely end up in jail as well. Or worse—instead. If that happened, Hunter would be free to do what he pleased to Phoebe. To Alyssa. Beth. Nikki.