Page 48 of The Billionaire's Promise

"Classy," I commented wryly. "Please restrain yourself."

"Hey, I said I wasn't going to do it. Doesn't mean it's not the truth."

I peeled myself off Vance and grabbed his discarded button-down from the floor. When we were having sex, I'd felt like a goddess, but now that it was over, I was back to being a mere mortal. This mortal woman was not walking around naked in front of Vance. Not in broad daylight.

Still a little embarrassed, I escaped upstairs for a quick shower while I let Vance handle feeding Rosie. On my way back down, I checked the mail at the front door, idly thinking about the contents of the fridge and wondering what we should have for dinner.

The mail was the usual junk, a few bills, and an 8.5 x 11 manila envelope with nothing on the front, no address and no postage. Weird.

I carried it into the kitchen, where Vance was feeding Rosie. Dumping everything else on the center island, I opened the envelope, only half-listening as Vance said, "You dodged a bullet when you ran upstairs. You don't even want to know what was in her diaper."

I drew the contents from the envelope and froze. I heard Vance say my name, but the power of speech had been ripped from my mind by the sight of the photograph in the unmarked envelope.

Vance’s parents, their dead bodies lying on the carpet in his childhood home. I wanted to shove the obscene thing away and throw it in the trash. I racked my brain for an excuse, any reason I could avoid showing it to Vance.

I knew what had been happening, about the picture of their bodies that had been delivered to Jacob. I knew this was important, and I couldn't just make it go away, but I couldn't bear for Vance to look.

"Magnolia. Magnolia, what is it?"

His voice filtered to my ears as if he was at the end of a long hallway. I pushed the photograph back in the envelope and closed it, laying it on the counter.

"I'll finish feeding Rosie," I said. "You need to bring that to the Sinclairs or the police."

Vance's eyes went dark, and I knew that he knew what was in the envelope on the countertop.

"Is it the same as before?" he asked, his voice low.

"I don't know," I said, leaning down to ease Rosie from his arms. "I didn't see the other picture, so I can't say it's exactly the same, but it looks like a crime scene photo of your parents."

The second I had Rosie, Vance stood in a surge and moved to grab the picture.

"Don't look at it," I said, suddenly desperate that he not see what was inside. “Don't. It's probably exactly the same as Jacob's. Why don't you let me drive it over to Sinclair Security? You stay here with Rosie. They can take care of it."

"It's okay, Magnolia. I've seen it before."

"It doesn't mean you need to see it again. Let me bring it to the Sinclairs, okay?"

"Everything's fine, Magnolia," Vance said, his voice distant, restrained. All his attention was on the plain, unmarked manila envelope in front of him. I didn't want to watch as he opened it and slid the picture out.

The first look had been more than enough, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Two bodies, obviously dead, lay sprawled on a Persian carpet. The man wore a suit and had a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. She wore a red dress, torn in the center of her chest by another bullet hole. Her long, white blonde hair was spread around her, shockingly pale against the dark carpet, her legs at an odd angle, knees to the side and feet askew as if she'd crumpled to the floor.

Vance stared at the picture in silence, his body stiff, his breath shallow and tight. Finally, he put the picture back in the envelope and said, "I'm going to take this in, then go for a run. I'll be back later."

I didn't remind him that he'd already gone for a run that morning, or that I could take a picture to the Sinclairs for him. I didn't say anything except, "We'll be here, Vance."

I wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him I loved him, but I didn't. Now wasn't the time. I just stood there, holding Rosie in my arms, and watched him stalk out the door, alone and hurting.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MAGNOLIA

Vance was gone for hours. I was in the kitchen when he got back, putting together a simple dinner of spaghetti with meat sauce, figuring he could reheat it when he turned up. He came through the front door wearing the same jeans and a different shirt, his hair wet from a recent shower. He'd either gone for another run or worked out.

I didn't ask. His eyes were shuttered, his jaw stiff. I didn't want to push. Instead, I said, "Hungry? Dinner’s almost ready."

"Yeah, starved. Do you want me to take the dog out?" I looked at Scout, whose head had popped up from his paws when Vance walked in the room. "Sure, it's been a while and he needs to get a little exercise."

Vance disappeared through the back door, Scout trotting behind him. I watched them for a few minutes as I stirred the sauce. Vance threw the ball again and again, patient, not minding the slobber or the way Scout would drop it just a few feet away, never into his hand. I always thought Scout had the idea his humans should run for the ball, too.