by Lexi Ryan
Unknown Number: It’s time to sever ties. Either you do it or I will. I could rip Max from your life as easily as I did Kent.
Nix: You can’t control me. I can go to the police.
Unknown Number: I will yank Mr. Hallowell from your life as easily as I did your fiancé. Only involve people you’re willing to sacrifice to the fire, sweet Phoenix.
When I look up, my heart is pounding hard, each beat like a fist to my sternum. Max is standing in front of me with my wine and all I can see is a man I would die to protect.
* * *
Max
“I want to tell you something,” I say, setting the wine on the table in front of Nix. “I spent my entire time in line at the bar working up the courage, but I want you to know.”
She blinks at me. “What?”
I take a long drink and then a deep breath. I’m pretty sure I’m already making a mess of this, so I put my glass on the table and take her hands. “I’m in love with you.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s not like that.” I swallow hard. “You’re amazing. I’ve been walking around trying to pretend my life is complete, but it’s more like I have this jagged edge that’s been sawing into me since Hanna left. You don’t just soften that edge; you eliminate it. We fit. And the hurt is gone when I hold you.”
Her lips part. “Max . . .”
“I’m in love with you. You’ve had enough shit in your life lately that I thought you might like to hear something good.” I attempt a smile, but it’s shaky. I expected a little more reaction from her, and she looks stunned.
“I can’t do this,” she whispers.
The floor might as well have just been snatched from beneath my feet. “What?”
She flinches and turns away. “You and me. I can’t do this. You’re sweet and I really like you, but this . . . I can’t. I shouldn’t have ever let it go this far. We have to end this.”
“What just happened?” I look to the dance floor and back to her. “What changed since we left that dance floor?”
“Nothing changed, Max. You are wonderful, and I’ve never met anyone like you. But I don’t think that you and I want the same things at all.”
“We don’t know that yet. We haven’t even . . .” Fuck. I can’t do this. I feel like I’m groveling, and I swore I’d never let myself get in this position again. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
I step closer, but she shakes her head and presses a palm to my chest, as if to remind me to keep my distance. “Look at me and tell me you don’t feel anything for me.”
“You know I do. But can you look at me and tell me you’d be happy with this relationship never going anywhere. You need a woman who will be your family. I can’t be that woman.”
“Yes you can. You’re just scared.”
“You promised,” she whispers. “You promised me that if I needed to end this, you’d let me go.” She shrugs, as if this is just another meaningless conversation we’ll both forget tomorrow. “I’m sorry, Max. I never meant to hurt you.”
Those words ring so familiar that it’s all I can do to stay upright as I stumble back. “Right.” I fist my hands to keep myself from grabbing her shoulders and kissing her until she remembers how good we are together. But who the fuck cares if she likes my kisses? What does it matter if I turn her on? Or that she thinks I’m a nice guy. Being nice never got me fucking anywhere.
She looks around, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. “I think I should go now.”
“I’ll take you home.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. This is hard enough.”
“Can we have all the groomsmen to the back for some more pictures?” the DJ asks through the speakers.
“This isn’t about us. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Patrick is in custody, right?”
Fuck. I can’t do this. I can’t stay here all night, smile for the camera, and pretend the woman I love didn’t just rip my heart out and stomp on it. But insisting on being with her when she wants me gone would be so much harder. “I’ll text Cade. He can take you home.”
She nods, and I open the messages on my phone to ask Cade if he can pick her up. Ten minutes later, he sends me a text letting me know he’s waiting outside.
I do as I promised. I let her go. I stand there, the party raging on behind me as I nurse my drink and try to figure out how the hell I managed to once again lose my heart to a woman who doesn’t want it.
* * *
Nix
“Why your place?” Cade asks as he pulls up in front of my house. “I thought you were staying at Hallowell’s.”
I shrug. “I think it’d be better if I stayed in my own bed tonight.” I climb out of the car and he follows me.
“Why?”
“We broke up.” I try to keep the words even, but betraying my heart is too painful and my breath hitches on up.
“You broke up? Why?”
“We just want different things.” He wants to be with me, and I want to protect him.
“You’re not sleeping here alone,” Cade says.
I shake my head. “Sure I am. You got the bad guy, right?” I’m not sure how I’m managing this conversation without letting my voice shake, but I am somehow, and instead of waiting for Cade to agree, I head straight to the house, unlock the door, and disable the alarm.
I flick on the lights, walk into my kitchen, and feel like I’ve stepped out of a nightmare and into one much worse.
I don’t realize I’m screaming until Cade is wrapping his arms around me, my back to his front. I can’t stop staring at the scene waiting for me on my kitchen island.
“Breathe,” he whispers in my ear. I obey, and he slowly turns me in his arms to face him. He’s tall, and when he tightens his arms around me, my cheek rests against his chest, right between his pecs. “Breathe,” he repeats. Then he must see it, because his whole body stiffens and he curses softly.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the image is burned onto my eyelids.
He desecrated our graveyard last night.
“Fuck,” Cade breathes. He’s already ushering me back out the front door. He closes up the house and lowers me to sit on my porch swing. I’m shaking. Not just a little. I’m quaking with whole-body tremors that I can’t stop.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, as if that might banish the image from my head, but it doesn’t work.
Cade is on the phone, shooting clipped commands that I don’t bother to process.
He ends the call and sits next to me on the swing, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. Sweet. He’s a sweet guy. Not as sweet as Max, but . . .
Oh, God. Max.
I will yank Mr. Hallowell from your life as easily as I did your fiancé. Only involve people you’re willing to sacrifice to the fire, sweet Phoenix.
Cade strokes my hair and tucks me into him protectively. I wish he wouldn’t. I bring evil and horror and deserve none of this kindness. But my mouth won’t form the words to ask him to stop.
“She’s in shock,” Cade says to someone.
I force my eyes open and see a tall uniformed officer on my porch.
“I’m Officer Wrigley,” he says, offering his hand.
I blink at him before realizing I’m supposed to shake his hand.
“Are you okay?” the officer asks.
I nod, then shake my head. “Tell me it’s not real.”
A second officer emerges from my house, a grimace on his face. Where did he come from?
“Call Hallowell.” Cade tosses his phone to the other officer. “He’ll want to be here.”
Wrigley grunts. “Got it.”
Desperate to escape this nightmare, I squeeze my eyes shut, only to open them again.
I don’t think I’ll ever again be able to close my eyes without seeing Kent’s partially decomposed body sprawled on my kitchen island.
Twenty-Seven
I leave the reception and rush to Nix’s house as fast as I can.
Cade greets me on her front porch. Behind him, Nix is on the swing, curled into a protective ball, her face tucked into her knees. It fractures something inside of me to see her like this—drained, terrified. Defeated.
My strong, brave, amazing Nix is curled up like a child who knows the boogie monster is real and doesn’t believe there’s anything she can do to defeat him.
“Baby,” I murmur. I sink to my haunches in front of the swing and tuck her hair behind her ear.
When she lifts her head, the misery in her eyes chunks off a piece of my heart. No tears. Still not one fucking tear. Any other woman would have flooded the city. But the misery is there.
She opens her mouth to speak and starts shaking violently.
I sit beside her on the swing and pull her onto my lap and wrap my arms around her. “I’m here,” I whisper into her hair. “Breathe, baby. I’m here.” I rub her back with slow circles, and when I feel the violent tremor of her muscles beneath my hand, I know she’s having a panic attack.
She clings to my chest and I exhale a sigh of relief. It would have killed me if she’d asked me to let her go when she’s like this. I would have if that was what she needed, but it would have been the hardest damn thing. But since she’s good with me holding her, I continue rubbing her back, whispering into her hair, and reminding her to breathe until her chest rises and falls evenly and her trembling has subsided.
Nix’s head is against my chest, her eyes closed, her fists clenched and curled into her body. Her shoulders loosen and her hands relax.
That’s when I see it. The edge of a picture is peeking out from her fingertips.
I slip it from her hand, and the image staring back at me causes my stomach to hitch. It’s an engagement photo. One of those poses where the woman’s hand is positioned just so on the man’s shoulder so the whole world can see the rock on her finger. The man’s in a khaki sports jacket. He’s a big guy, built like a linebacker, but with a smile that counterbalances any intimidation that might come from his size. And he’s looking at Nix as if she made him believe in miracles. And she’s looking at him like . . .
“He was an amazing guy,” she whispers.
I’m so enthralled by the picture that I’m surprised to hear her speak.
“I want to get her out of here,” Cade says. “Okay if I have an officer take her to your place?”
Nodding, I hand him my keys. “What happened?”
He turns to Nix. “We’ll meet you over there. Wrigley will be by your side the whole time.”
Nix dutifully uncurls and extricates herself from my arms before standing. I miss having her there, but I’d rather take her home and hold her in my bed. I just want to keep her close and remind myself that she’s safe.
Before she leaves, I press a kiss to the top of Nix’s head, and she closes her eyes and quakes under me.
Cade inclines his chin toward the house. When we step inside, two more officers mill about, taking pictures and doing whatever those guys do. This is New Hope, not New York City, so there’s not exactly a crime scene investigation unit to send out.
I’m not sure what I expect, but the sight that greets me in the kitchen doesn’t just turn my stomach. It chills my blood.
There’s a dead body on Nix’s kitchen island—not a fresh kill, but a rotting corpse. As if it’s been pulled from the grave but hasn’t decomposed enough to keep me from identifying him.
That’s the guy from the picture.
“This was her fiancé?” Cade asks. “The coroner is guessing this guy was killed six years ago. Single shot to the back of the head and then buried, which is why he’s not decomposed beyond all recognition.”
“He left her a note and told her he couldn’t marry her and that he was moving to South America.” A sharp chill jackknifes down my spine. “He didn’t write that note, did he?”
“I would guess not.”
“Patrick’s work?” I ask.
Cade shrugs. “That’s our best guess. He must have planted it here before we picked him up this afternoon.”
I turn toward the door. Nix keeps her doors locked and has an alarm system in place. “He had keys to her house somehow, right? But you confiscated those. How did he get in this time?”
“The locks don’t appear to have been tampered with. Maybe he had another key stashed somewhere.”
“What about the alarm?”
He shakes his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. We called the alarm company and they said it disabled about thirty minutes before we picked him up. Maybe she came over for something and forgot to re-enable the alarm. Or maybe the guy is just that fucking good.”
“That’s a lot of maybes.” Fuck. I don’t like this. “What’s this supposed to be? A confession?”
Cade looks at me as if I’m a fool. “It’s a threat.”
That doesn’t sit right with me. If Patrick has the skills to come and go in my house or hers, he could have abducted her, hurt her or worse, any time he wanted. “But what does he want?”
“He wants Nix,” he says slowly. “That’s the only thing he’s spoken to the officers—a demand to speak with Nix.”
* * *
Nix
The whole night passes in a blur. At some point, Max arrived in his living room, and I knew he had to have seen what was in my kitchen because his face was sheet white. Cade asked me questions. Did I recognize the body? When was the last time I saw the deceased? Did Kent have any enemies? Now he and Max are talking on the front porch.
“I promise you, we’re taking this very seriously,” Cade says. Max says something I can’t make out, and Cade replies, “I agree. Get her to stay here tonight. We’ll see what we can find out. We’re talking to the neighbors to find out if anyone saw anything.”
Max murmurs something else.
The front door squeaks as it opens and Max comes inside to sit on the couch next to me. His fingers skim the photo in my hand. I’d forgotten I was holding it. I took it out of my purse after I saw his body. I wanted to believe it was someone else. Anyone else. I needed to see his face again.
For years, I couldn’t think of Kent without the kind of bitterness that comes with being betrayed by someone you trust more than anyone else in the world, but now that bitterness has evaporated under the hot lights of the truth and guilt has filled its space.
Max removes the picture from my grip and squeezes my hand. That simple gesture makes my throat go thick.
“Kent was murdered.”
“Nix,” he whispers. “That wasn’t your fault.”
I lift my eyes to meet his gaze and slowly withdraw my hand from his. “But it was.”
“Patrick is a madman,” he says. “You cannot take responsibility for his crimes.”
But it wasn’t Patrick. Patrick was only trying to warn me. All these rune signs were a warning from Patrick about Camelot, and I completely missed his message. But what about the night at the church? What about that fire?
“Kent was murdered,” I repeat. I bite my lip hard. I should have known. Why didn’t I ever question that note? It was his handwriting, but you hear about people being forced to write letters all the time. Yet I believed every word.
Was it just too easy to believe that I’m that despicable?
“Let’s get you to bed,” Max says.
I shake my head. “No. Not here. I’ll get a hotel room.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous and foolish.”
Oh God, I can’t do this. My heart is breaking and I need to protect Max, but it hurts so much. “They have Patrick. I’ll be fine.” I stand up and head toward the guest bedroom to grab my bag. It’s best that Max wakes up tomorrow morning and I’m no longer a part of his life. I curse the optimism that made me believe I might escape any of this—Patrick, Camelot, or the flames that never left my nightmares.
“There’s still too much we don’t know.” Max follows me. “You
’re not staying alone in some hotel room.”
“Fine. I’ll find somewhere else.”
“What happened?” he asks softly. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“Nothing, Max. I’ve just had a long fucking night. I don’t need the added awkwardness of sleeping in the same house as my ex.”
“Don’t.” He steps forward, invading my space, and dips his head until I’m forced to look him in the eye. “Break up with me, fine, but don’t fucking lie to me about what’s going on here. There’s more to this situation than unrequited love. You don’t want to be with me, fine. But I’m going to protect you. Whatever it takes.”
“Then let me go and stay away from me.”
“Anything but that.”
“I’ll stay with Cade.” I don’t mean to, but I look at his face as I say it, and the hurt in his eyes bowls me over. I want to puke. “Would you call him while I pack, please?” My voice cracks on the please, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
He pulls his phone from his pocket, turns on his heel, and leaves the room.
I close my eyes and hold my hand to my aching heart. I am so in love with this man, and I will hurt him over and over again if that’s what it takes to protect him and his little girl.
Twenty-Eight
Max
Cade’s taillights fade into the distance and I feel empty. After heading back into the house, I collapse on the couch and stare at the ceiling. I know in my gut that Nix is hiding something, but I can’t help if she won’t tell me what.
Drawing in a deep breath, I decide what I need to do.
It’s after two a.m., which means it’s after eight a.m. in Paris. I pick up the phone and dial Meredith’s number.
“Allo?”
“Meredith?”
“Hi, you! Oh my God, what time is it there?”
I sink into the couch and close my eyes. “After two, Sunday morning.”
“Why on Earth are you still awake? Are you rediscovering your bachelor ways and closing down the bars?”
