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"Yes."
It’s like a puzzle that is missing the pieces. I hate puzzles. So I’d hurt someone related to Brant Sharp. Maybe I'd finally snapped and tracked down that rich fuck himself and kicked his ass. Gotten a chance to fight for the woman that I don't really deserve.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
I stare at the ceiling, which has a grid of beams. Screw this asshole and his questions. They need to let me the fuck up, then maybe I'll answer some questions.
"Lee? What's the last thing you remember?"
"Fuck you. Give me my phone call."
After that, I keep my mouth shut and don't say a damn word. Hours come and go, and Baldy doesn’t give up—his skinny butt pinned to that velvet throne-looking chair, his creaky voice asking questions over and over, not giving up.
Finally, with the windows dark, dozens of questions unanswered, the doctor stands up with a sigh. His bladder is probably busting at this point. Setting down the blank notepad, he opens his bag, removes an item, and approaches the bed.
I jerk at the hot prick of metal and whip my head toward the doctor. "What was that you—"
BLACK.
Chapter 68
Two days have passed, and I can’t get Brant or Lee to answer their cell.
It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I broke down and drove to Jillian’s house. She answered the door in a lavender suit, every bit of her buttoned into place, but I could see the strain on her face. Her eyes were as bloodshot as my own. We both love him; I know that. I understand that she’s dealt with this for decades longer than I have. I know she’s mad at me for breaking the balance, for shoving the truth into his face despite the consequences. That decision, that action—I might be the one responsible for tipping the scale and causing his psyche to crash. Right now, he was out there somewhere, and potentially falling to a depth that he might not ever rise from.
In my moment of confession, I might have lost the man I love.
Had I? The unanswered question is killing me.
Jillian doesn't know where he is either. He hasn't called her or responded to her texts. She didn't verbalize it, but I could feel the weight of her blame. This was exactly what she warned me of and, for the first time, I deserve every bit of her scorn.
Together, we agreed not to call the police. To just wait and hope for him to surface. She's monitoring his credit cards and bank accounts, and sooner or later, he’ll use one.
He has to.
Chapter 69
At four in the morning, I wake with an idea. Rolling onto my back, I stare at the coffered ceiling as the pieces of a plan slowly click into place. As soon as a hint of light coats the walls, I sit up and reach for my phone. I consider calling Don, then decide on Marcus instead.
I dial his number and stand, moving to the large glass doors at the edge of the room and look out over the morning view. At this time in the morning, the water begins to glow amber and pink, with fog hanging over the water like a blanket of cotton balls. The view is incredible and one that I typically sleep through, and Brant always enjoys a cup of coffee in hand.
“Hello?”
I pull open the door and inhale the crisp cool air. “This is Layana. Are you busy?"
“I'm sleeping.” He doesn’t sound asleep. He sounds annoyed, but I don’t care. Right now, Brant’s safety trumps his sleep.
"I'm coming to you. Text me your address."
"Is this about Molly?"
Molly? I hadn’t thought about her in months. “Text me your address.” I hang up the phone and shove my feet into a pair of wool-lined boots. I move quickly through the halls to my office, where I steal a piece of paper from my printer, grab a gold Le Blanc pen from the desk, and pull open the second drawer of the left cabinet. Withdrawing the appropriate folders, I sit down at the desk and write down a list of details in my neat block font—a carryover from my prep school days. Folding the paper into quarters, I stand and push it into the pocket of my cashmere drawstring sleeping pants.
Taking the elevator down, I step into the cavernous garage. Lights automatically warm the space, highlighting the glossy hoods in rapid succession. Vintages beside luxuries beside exotics. My phone chimes with Marcus's address at the same time that I press the button and open the third garage bay.
Marcus had been the one who’d gotten rid of Molly. Hopefully, he could help me find Brant.
* * *
