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She blinked in confusion. “Professionally?”
I propped a hand against the wall. “You inspire me. I think of you and the lyrics flow. I’ve tried writing when we aren’t together, and the shit sucks. It doesn’t work. Nothing makes sense. But you make things make sense.” She just stared, her legs tucked underneath her skirt. “I want the nightmares to stop where I wake in the middle of the night with chest pains because I dreamed I’d lost you.”
“Julian, I told you I’d never leave you.”
“No, baby,” I explained, the memory paining me to recall. “You didn’t leave me in my dreams. You left everything in them.” I didn’t want to explain anymore. I didn’t want to describe the horrific nightmares I’d been having of Dalton finding her during one of my absences. The one where I came home and found her lying on our bedroom floor staring vacantly up at a ceiling she didn’t see.
“Julian, you don’t have to worry that—”
“I want you to go to North Carolina.”
She pushed herself off the floor, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What? North Carolina, why?”
“Phoebe, you’re a sitting target. You’re almost eight months pregnant and vulnerable. In North Carolina, you’ll have your sister and her family.”
“I thought we were family,” she accused sharply.
I sighed and bowed my head, prepared for a fight. “They can keep you safe while I’m gone.”
“Safe from what, Julian? What do you know that you aren’t telling me?”
I pushed off the wall to escape her probing stare. “Please don’t ask me any more questions.”
Raising her hands to her hips, she stalked forward until we stood face to face. “Well, tough shit, Bale. You give me a good reason for this sudden change of location.”
I turned sideways, placing both palms against the wall. “Why can’t you just do it because I asked you to?”
“Because I’m a reporter, and reporters always get their facts straight before blindly walking into a bunch of shit. We ask questions, and we expect to be answered.”
I tilted my head to the side and pleaded with tired eyes. “Please don’t fight me.”
She inhaled sharply. “I’m going upstairs. When you find a valid reason to back up this request, come find me. Otherwise, this discussion is over.” She wrapped one arm around the underside of her stomach and climbed the stairs, one slow step at a time.
Damn it!
There’d be no way to get her on a plane without telling her I’d withheld knowledge. No way to avoid telling her that Detective Jaxon Hough had used his FBI contacts to track her father’s trail of bodies from the initial murder in Maryland to our own back door. Apparently, everyone in Jaxon Hough’s life either owed him a favor or had some dirty little secret they’d do anything to keep from being exposed. He was a good man to have on my side, but a ruthless one to have as an enemy. I’d do well to remember that.
I’d have to tell her why seeing her in the hospital affected me like it did. Downplaying the death of Elisabeth Cayden had been difficult, but necessary. I couldn’t let Phoebe see the truth in my eyes. The truth I’d hidden from her for months.
I knew walking into that hospital room that Daniel Dalton killed Elisabeth Cayden. Even before Hough verified it.
She’d ask why I didn’t tell her when I first found out. I had no answer for that other than shielding her let me give her normalcy in a life that didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Pushing off the wall, I cursed low and headed into the living room. She needed to cool off. Later, we’d talk rationally, and I’d make her see that going to North Carolina was for the best.
I kicked my jacket out of my way with the toe of my boot. Bending down to pick it up, I groaned as the days and nights of exhaustion shot through me. A glance out of the corner of my eye collided with a deflected light. Blinking twice, I turned my head to the right and landed on two large shards of glass splayed on top of what seemed to be a million smaller ones. Crawling toward it, I ran my fingers over the largest piece and swore as the jagged edge sliced my thumb.
What the fuck?
My throat tightened as my eyes landed on the open window. It’d been busted from the outside, and dirt on the windowsill housed small droplets of blood that led from the mountain of glass, across the room, and up the stairs. I couldn’t hear anything except the thunderous beats of my own heart ringing in my ears.
“Jesus Christ.” My attention was drawn up the stairs where the trail of blood led. Droplets scattered on the plush carpet in a frenzied pattern. Then, one word shot through my head like an exploding bullet.
Phoebe.
“Goddamn it!” Pushing off the floor, I threw myself across the room and reached the bottom of the stairs with my pulse racing and stomach churning. Her gut-wrenching scream branded itself into my mind as if it were steel directly from the fire.
