by Pamela Ann
“Wait, why are you saying this? What have I done?” The familiar sinking feeling of fear immediately set in, reeling me back to its dark embrace. I was left confused, freefalling from the ultimate high of happiness and brought back all the way to the bottom of hell. I was left in the state of chaos, in the state of panic, and I had no clue how it all had come about.
“You haven’t done a thing. This is all my fault for leading you on for this long, but you must know, Isobel, it’s high time we let this go. It has gone on for far longer than I had expected.”
But...
But we were having such a marvelous time together. How could he pull the plug now? It was already too late, way too late for me, anyway.
“Please, I don’t understand. Hours ago, you were here—with me—and now you’re telling me to move on and forget about you? What happened? Did I do something wrong?” I was stuttering and a complete mess. I felt as if he simply tilted my world from its axis, unbalancing my entire existence.
“I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. Do take care of yourself and never forget what I told you—don’t ever try to contact me again.” His severe, harsh voice immediately silenced the sobs as I listened to the emptiness on the other end of the line.
He had hung up after dropping such news to me.
Had he wanted to end it, why couldn’t he have opted for the less dramatic end by doing it here before he left, face to face, without leaving me in a state of confusion with a measly phone call that didn’t answer a damn thing I asked of him? It was peculiar, and as much as he wanted me to believe this was what he truly wished for me to do, I knew something was amiss. There was something there he wasn’t telling me, and I needed to know why for sanity’s sake.
Left in a state of immense shock, I thought of the only thing that could somehow shed some light on this odd situation. I knew Hugo ran hot and cold, but this was rather too much and a bit out of character even for him.
Glancing down at my phone, I took a moment before tapping the screen, calling the one person who could hopefully provide some answers to my troubled heart and mind.
“Isobel!” Julien’s upbeat voice somehow made it feel a little easier to voice out my concern.
“Hello, Julien. I hope I’m not intruding. If I am, I can call back some other time.” It was in the middle of a working day after all, a thought that never occurred to me until seconds ago.
His easy laugh vibrated through my ears. “I am busy, but let’s just say that I’m more curious why, out of the blue, the beautiful Miss Isobel decided to ring me.”
This was my cue, so I took it.
Breezing through my story, I basically explained that Hugo had wanted to meet me in Paris for a day, and when he left, I had thought everything was fine up until I got that troubling call where he simply asked—demanded—that I move on with my life as if I mattered too little for him.
“Let me get this straight,” Julien said, clearing his throat as he tried to piece the puzzle together. “Hugo asked you to meet him in Paris. You both spent the day in the hotel since this is typical Hugo, and the next day, he decided to cut you off. I’m not sure what I’m more confused with: you not seeing that this was bound to happen since Hugo Xavier is notorious for such motives or this feeling I’m getting that you’re taking him more seriously than you’re supposed to.”
Why did he have to make it as if our affair was sordid? It wasn’t like that. I knew it might look it from the outside, but I knew and believed there was more to the story. Hugo wouldn’t simply demand this after showering me with affection like he had done last night.
“I know you’ve probably heard this story before, but something changed. I don’t know what it is. After he left the room, he actually bothered to ring me. At first, he was sweet, but after I thanked him for the flowers, his mood immediately shifted, and from then on, he was colder than the arctic.”
I was expecting him to tell me I was being too irrational, that I was being a typical woman who didn’t want to accept being rejected by the great lover himself; instead, I was left with silence, making me even more uneasy and suspicious.
“Hugo doesn’t do flowers, Isobel,” he finally uttered.
His answer did me no favor. What was with this flower business, anyway? Who else would give me a bed full of them? I had no one else to think of but Hugo.
“No, you don’t understand. You see, I found these wild flowers on my bed, but when I thanked him for them, things immediately became weird with him.”
“It’s chamomile.” He simply supplied, as if he instinctively knew what it was already before I even began describing it.
“Yeah, I thought as much. I know it’s not a typical flower to give to someone, but I thought the gesture was sweet, and I wanted him to know that.”
There was a sharp intake of breath before he said, “Was that the first time you got them, Isobel?” There was something in his tone that didn’t put me at ease. Actually, it was unsettling me even more.
I nodded as if he was there, as if he could see me. “Why? What’s wrong?”
He wasn’t saying anything, yet I could feel his energy over the phone. Maybe it was the way he was breathing, but there was something threatening about it all. When he did decide to speak, confusion settled in.
“Did he ever talk about a woman named Louise Deniau?” he inquired darkly, like it was a subject they didn’t discuss, like it was forbidden to speak about it.
“I don’t think so.” If he did, he probably wouldn’t directly address it, but in a sub-context sort of way.
“Well, she died…” he trailed off, leaving loud alarm bells ringing in my head.
Sympathetic, I truly felt for the departed woman. It would be so terrible to die, but I didn’t see the connection between this woman and myself.
“That’s really unfortunate, but—”
“She was murdered, actually,” he uttered succinctly.
Murdered?
The word hung between us. He was letting it sink into my thoughts, probably wanting to scare me off. Regardless, my curiosity won out, and I simply had to ask him.
“Who killed her?”
“No one knows. There were no other suspects other than Hugo. He was the last person to see her and the person who found her, as well.”
What was he trying to get at? He was insinuating something, and I wasn’t sure I was following his lead.
“What are you trying to say … that Hugo killed her?” I wasn’t trying to get defensive about Hugo; however, this was such a complicated subject, and he was bordering on accusatory tones. It just felt wrong when the man in question wasn’t there to defend himself.
“No, of course not, but I do believe he could’ve prevented it,” he instantly scoffed, clearing some of my doubts away.
Everything in me stopped functioning altogether as I breathed out my next question. “What do you mean by, ‘he could’ve prevented it’?”
“The last time we had a conversation that referenced what happened then … Well, he said he should’ve listened to the warning … before he found her floating in the bath in her own blood.”
Warning. What warning? He wasn’t making sense when he was divulging the answers.
“What sort of warning did you think he meant, Julien?” I pressed further, desperate to find out what Hugo was hiding from me.
“What do you think those flowers were, Isobel?” His deadpan voice felt as if it hit me with a large brick of ice. “Like I stated before, Hugo Xavier doesn’t do flowers.”
Nothing was making sense. The flower was a warning? From whom? It surely wasn’t from Hugo, was it? This was rather confusing.
“I don’t understand any of this.” There were clues, but the puzzle was a mess. I didn’t even know where to begin with it.
“Neither do I, but you’d be best to pay heed. I’m not sure what those flowers signify, but it’s sending a loud message to Hugo. He doesn’t have a choice at this point but to let you go. So, whatever he advised
you to do, don’t hesitate to do it, because however you want to look at this, you’re next.”
Meaning I was the next target to be a dead woman floating in her own blood.
A part of me wanted to pay heed, but what chances were there that this could really happen twice?
Maybe he had it all wrong. Maybe something was troubling him, and it seriously wasn’t related to the flowers or his dead ex-lover.
“That’s just silly.” I didn’t want to believe any of it. Everything seemed too surreal. These things didn’t happen in real life, merely in overdramatic movies, especially not in Hugo Xavier’s life. This was an unsavory joke.
“It might seem silly if you think of it, but there’s nothing to laugh about if you end up dead, Isobel,” Julien grated on, his voice clear as crystal.
There was a chilling note to his voice that somehow injected common sense into me.
But, you see, the last thing I truly wanted was to separate myself from Hugo once again after he and I had reunited here in Paris. This reunion had been significant for us. We had come this far. Not only that, but we had fought to get here. Hell, I had fought for us to get here by baring everything, risking my pride and inhibitions. Then it seemed that, the moment we were in a great place, this unfortunate thing happened.
So here I was, tackled with the most trivial of dilemmas in the City of Light, the City of Love, and in the most beautiful suites Paris had to offer. I was surrounded by the soft, lush blooms that merely moments ago had sent my pulse soaring, transcending me to a place beyond my capacity, beyond my wildest dreams and imagination.
After all that, here I was, staring into oblivion, at a loss from what I had just learned could end my life. Where did it begin? How did it manage to catch me? More importantly, who was after me? Who was the person who had murdered Hugo’s ex-lover if it wasn’t Hugo? Or was this a sick attempt to make me leave him, to simply push me out of his life by using twisted tactics because of some spiteful lover who wanted revenge? I might not know any answers now, but I did intend to remedy that problem soon.
I glanced around my luxurious surroundings, feeling as if I was caught in something I had no idea how to get out of or how to make sense of. Because, according to Julien, I was soon to become a dead woman if I didn’t pay heed.
I was circling the ring of fire, and I didn’t have any clue how to come out of it unscathed or if I would come out at all.
They did say all was fair in love and war, but I simply had to know, who was I at war with?
Vanquished
(The Encounter Trilogy)
Coming July/August 2015
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More books by Pamela Ann
The Torn Series Order:
Scornfully Yours
Scornfully Hers
Frayed
Blasphemous
Undeniably Yours
Scorned
Fixated On You
Christmas With You
Unveiled
Crushed 2015
Damaged 2015
The Chasing Series:
Chasing Beautiful
Chasing Imperfection
Chasing Paradise
Chasing Forever (Lucy & Toby)
Chasing Mrs. Knightly: Epilogue
Lily’s Mistake
Loving Drake
Loving Lily
British Billionaires Series:
Falling For My Husband (Callum & Stella)
Falling For Ava (Reiss & Ava)
Falling For The Enemy (Sebastian & Allie)
Formula Men Series:
Monza Luca di Medici
Nice Jacques Bertrand TBA
Barcelona Andrès Franco TBA
Pieces: A Duet:
Pieces of You & Me
Pieces Of Us
Havoc (Dark Erotica)
The Encounter Trilogy
Bartered
Unleashed
Vanquished
*** Upcoming Stand-Alone Novels ***
My Summer in Venice Coming 2015
The Woman in The Closet
The Nut Job
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Pamela Ann
Falling For Ava
(British Billionaires)
Copyright © 2014 by Pamela Ann
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Chapter 2
Craig
“Reiss—” She looked gob smacked, seeming erratic as she wildly stared at me. “It’s you. It’s you, isn’t it?” The random woman persisted while I gave her a thorough perusal before I cleared my throat and shook my head, flirtingly smiling at the beautiful woman before me.
“Name’s Craig, but I could be Reiss if you like,” I smoothly provided, knowing well enough that women did this sort of trick to get my attention.
She adamantly shook her head, disbelieving. “No. No. Your face—” she stammered the words out, frantic. “And, and your eyes!” Her gorgeous eyes roved all over my face as they started to water. “How is this possible?” she hissed as her tears welled, brimming to spill over soon. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
All right, this had gone too far because she looked like she was about to have a breakdown. Right here. In the middle of a bar.
“Apologies, but you must’ve mistaken me for someone else. I would truly appreciate it if you’d stop and not cause a scene,” I cautiously warned her, not feeling so jovial any longer.
Tonight, of all nights, I decided to come out, even though everything in me protested that it was best to stay out of the social arena. My gut inkling had never steered me in the wrong direction, but tonight I made an exception because it was Brandon’s, one in my small circle of trusted friends, birthday night. I couldn’t very well say no when he suggested he wanted to go for drinks before adamantly suggesting he wanted to have dinner precisely at midnight and not a minute more. It was thirty past ten and we all had been feeling the pangs of hunger even though he had been severely providing us with inconceivable amounts of strong alcohol.
The beautiful, distraught woman shook her head before gently wiping the wetness on the sides of her eyes, trying to regain some clarity and composure. “What did you same your name was?”
Gritting my jaws, I gazed down onto her delicate face. “Craig Chambers, and if you have any more questions, you can easily Google me.
“Chambers …” she reiterated before looking pale.
“Will that be all, miss?
We’d all gladly appreciate it if we could get back to our conversation.” My crude, dismissive approach caused hurt to appear in her eyes, as if I had just slapped her.
“Of course,” she apologetically whispered, still looking dazed. “Forgive me.” She stared into my eyes before apologizing towards my companions. “Have a lovely evening. Again, I’m sorry.” She made a tight smile before hastily wiping her face and rushing towards the exit, looking distraught and out of sorts.
Staring after her, I took a moment to clear my head before I heard Brandon’s voice break through my train of thought. “If you don’t plan on going after that poor, gorgeous woman, I will. She certainly looked beyond distraught to be out there on her own right now.” He didn’t need to warn me again before I found myself taking the same route as she had, following her out the door.
The second I stepped foot outside, I reprimanded myself for being so thoughtless. What this woman was going through was seriously none of my business, but all of my doubts vanished when I saw her aimlessly walking with her head bent low, arms wrapped around her as she tried to cross the busy street.
