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Chapter Four
Julian
After bringing Phoebe home and checking on her for the fifth time in half an hour, I rested my head against our bedroom doorframe and watched her sleep. A familiar fire in my body ached for her. The woman had a hold on me like no one ever had, but she needed rest.
I still had a hard time believing after all the bullshit in the last two years, fate had somehow intervened and handed me a dream on a silver platter.
Or wrapped in sheets, as the case may be.
Thoughts of going back on tour made me sick. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Protecting my family was crucial. Glancing at her long dark hair falling over the side of the mattress, I tightened my jaw and closed my eyes. I promised she’d be safe, and I’d failed miserably.
I reluctantly pushed away from the wall and walked downstairs, cursing my ignorance. I thought moving her across the country would give us an advantage in getting ahead of the bastard. The band had talked about making the move to Cali for years, so it seemed like the perfect solution. Opportunities in New York were too limited, and our label, Circa Records, owned an office in Los Angeles.
It’d been hard to leave my manager. I’d been with Helena four years. She’d put up with a lot of shit from me following our bandmate’s death and my subsequent year of asshole antics. I refused to leave without a recommendation, so she’d given me the name of a new manager in LA with her best wishes. Soon, I’d be meeting with Kristina Graham of Graham & Associates Management Agency. Even the name sounded tight-assed. I hoped Miss Graham knew what the hell she was up against.
I barreled into the kitchen and flung open the refrigerator door. Snagging a beer, I popped the top with a flick of my wrist. Taking two lengthy drinks, I pulled out my cell phone.
Missed calls? None.
Why the hell did I pay people if they couldn’t fucking find him? His ass should’ve been the one dumped in Griffith Park—if not burning in hell. Cursing under my breath, I hit another speed dial button.
“Damn it, Bale, I told you I’d call when I knew something.”
“That’s not good enough. I need to know now.”
There was a pause as a door closed on the other end of the line. “I’m doing the best I can. There isn’t much to go on. It’s like trying to find Waldo in a crowd of goddamn Waldos.”
Pacing, I placed the bottle on the dining room table and palmed the back of my neck in frustration. “Hough, I’m leaving, and I’m no closer to finding this son of a bitch than when I got on the plane in Phoenix. I can’t leave her like this. Can’t you understand that?”
Detective Jaxon Hough of the NYPD lowered his voice. “Believe it or not, I can. I used to be married, remember?” A tired sigh overtook the line. “Look, I want to find him as much as you do.”
“I doubt that.”
“Don’t interrupt me. The man is a waste of air, and not only is it my job, I consider you and Phoebe friends. When someone threatens my friends, I take it personally.”
“Well, take it personal as fuck and find where the son of a bitch is hiding.” I sank onto the leather couch. I didn’t doubt him. Jaxon Hough helped catch my stalker in New York when I trusted no one. I just couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept and wanted to argue.
“Bale? You still there?”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t do anything stupid.” I finished his thought before he could form it. “I won’t be reckless, but I won’t be complacent. I’ve seen first-hand what he can do, Hough. He took a blade to his own daughter. She cost him his freedom, then I put a damn spotlight on her. He’s coming to settle the debt.”
“I’ve got the FBI on this now. Dalton won’t touch Phoebe,” he promised.
“What are you going to do, issue a restraining order?” I laughed. “I can give you seven reasons why you can wipe your ass with it.” I shuddered as the jagged scars on her stomach came to mind. Recalling our conversation in the hospital, I lowered my voice in case she’d woken up. “Look into the Griffith Park Merry-Go-Round murder from yesterday—”
“Julian, that’s not my jurisdiction,” he interrupted. “Call the LAPD, I’m sure they have way more information than—”
I clenched my teeth. “I don’t trust anyone in the LAPD. I trust you. I’m telling you, check deeper into the Griffith Park murder. Phoebe is convinced it’s Dalton’s handiwork. I downplayed it, but it’s right up that sick fuck’s alley.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
I knew I’d pushed him far enough. “Thank you. Call me anytime. I don’t care what time, I’ll answer.”
“You can’t keep her in the dark, Bale.” His tone shifted from friendly to authoritative. “Remember how well that worked with Tanna LeMyre?”
I resented him bringing up my stalker. I’d always regret keeping it from Phoebe. I came close to losing her over it, and I didn’t like it thrown in my face. However, he had a point. “She knows I’m concerned, and I’ll tell her when I know something concrete. Until then, I refuse to upset her and risk the pregnancy. I’ve got a kid to think about, Hough. You have a son, you get it.”
“Yeah, I get it,” he agreed reluctantly. “But I still think having her followed by shady gang members is a bad idea. It’s going to blow up in your face.”
