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“Phoebe?” Zane grabbed my shoulder.
“Where did she go?”
“Where did who go?” He held his phone away from his ear and pushed his other arm off the side of the building. Impatience and desperation clogged my brain.
“The woman! The woman and the baby!”
“Phoebe, no woman or baby came out of that door. I’ve been here the whole time.”
The restraint that hung by the barest of threads finally broke. “Yes, there was! A woman sat behind you with a baby in a yellow blanket. It was Iris. I know it was her because she hiccupped three times and sneezed just like Iris always used to do. Only Iris did that, Zane.” I shoved him in the middle of his chest, sending him sprawling backward into Faith.
“Phoebe!” she called out, her face in shock.
Pushing off Zane one last time, I ran in the opposite direction, screaming Iris’s name.
I’m not crazy.
I knew my own child.
“I’ll kill you, Penelope Hammond, you bitch!”
I ran until I couldn’t breathe. I ran until strong tattooed arms grabbed me from behind as I collapsed, scraping my knees on the pavement. Gravel imbedded into my palms and I continued screaming until nothing was left.
***
Access Live caught everything outside the coffee shop on camera, because it topped their broadcast later that night and highlighted news reels until the sun came up. I fielded texts from Gage, and half a dozen other people asking what had happened. They veiled their comments with concern, but I knew they really wanted to ask if I’d lost my damn mind.
Maybe I had.
A lengthy text from Chloe informed me the crime documentary, Predator Confidential, had contacted her again, offering to do a special report on Iris’s abduction. They’d hounded us with interview requests since they ran an unauthorized documentary about my stabbing back in college.
They could fuck off too.
I texted them all the same canned response and curled up on the couch. Ever since Julian left, I hadn’t been able to sleep in our bed. It seemed final. Almost as if sleeping in it without him solidified the fact he wasn’t coming home.
Around three a.m. my phone vibrated with another incoming text. I knew who it was before I reached for it.
Julian: Just saw Access Live recap. Maybe it’s time to talk to a professional.
No greeting, no ending.
I turned off my phone and cried myself to sleep.
***
“Jaxon!” With my nose stuck through the side of the curtain, I screamed for him again. Ever since the infamous scarf delivery, all incoming mail had to be screened. It didn’t matter if it was the US Postal Service or a parcel delivery, officers stood outside the door and scanned identification of every delivery person holding anything.
And a package was quickly approaching the driveway.
Jaxon appeared by my side freshly showered. He’d been my rock since Julian left—always respectful, but protective. I had no idea what happened with his marriage, but as far as I was concerned, his wife was an idiot.
“Shit,” he mumbled, pulling me away from the window. “Sit down.” He motioned the agents over, and Everson stood over me as they disappeared outside. Satisfied with their interrogation, they brought the package inside.
Forty-five minutes later, they’d dusted it for fingerprints and set it on the table. I stood up to inquire why we hadn’t opened the damn thing when the front door opened to flashing cameras and a chorus of paparazzi shouts.
Dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt, Julian slammed the door in their faces and scowled. With red-rimmed and sunken eyes, he looked like shit.
He looked perfect.
