Then I start trying all of the boxes, looking up every time I hear a sound, pausing my search, bracing myself for a security guard to come running in. No one does. Box after box refuse to open, until . . .
The key turns, and I inhale at the sound of a lock shifting. I open the box, tense, finding a piece of paper, and with shaking hands, I unfold it.
A letter.
From my father.
And with each word, my heart slows more.
Beau, If you’re reading this, you’ve found out something I desperately didn’t want you to know.
I’m so sorry…
“Beau?”
I still, staring down at the words before me, frozen. The voice behind me spikes both comfort and distress.
And then a sharp stab in my arm has me dropping the paper.
And everything is . . .
Black.
37
DANNY
James screeches up outside the hotel, and I’m out before he’s brought his Range to a stop, sprinting up the steps and bursting into the lobby, frantically scanning the space for Rose.
I don’t see her.
I turn on the spot, my stressed sweat starting to meet the collar of my shirt. “Where are you, Rose?” I say to myself, raking a shaky hand through my hair as I stalk around, dialing her. It goes straight to voicemail. “Fuck!” Have I got the wrong hotel? I run to the reception desk and thrust my phone at the woman, showing her the photo of Rose on the beach in St. Lucia that dominates the screen. “Have you seen this woman?”
The receptionist leans back, wary, her eyes jumping from the deranged man before her and his mobile. “I’m sorry, no.”
“Can I help you, sir?” A man steps forward, suited and booted, looking all important. I look down at the gold badge on his blazer. The manager.
“I’m looking for someone,” I say, showing him the screen. He doesn’t bless it with even a look, instead raising his chin. I mentally warn him not to be difficult. My patience is non-existent. He’s lucky I’m not already tearing up his hotel.
“I’m afraid guest confidentiality is something we take very seriously.”
“She’s not a guest,” I grate, my hand squeezing my phone. It’s that or this cunt’s throat. “Have you seen her?”
He still doesn’t look at the screen. Is he detecting the unexploded human bomb before him? The heat rises from my toes, burning the worry away and replacing it with something this prick definitely doesn’t want to see in his hotel. The woman moves back as I reach for the glass jug on the counter and wrap a hand around the neck, turning it upside down. The water pours out all over the marble counter and he looks at the weapon in my hand.
No second chances. And with that thought, I draw back the jug.
“Danny.”
My name breaks through the mist of fury and I still, ready to launch, and look back. James has Rose under his big arm. I drop the jug, letting it shatter everywhere, and jog over, my lungs tight, relieved. I grab her and haul her into my chest, squeezing the life out of her. “Thank God,” I whisper, over and over, looking to the heavens. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“We need to get out of here,” James says, taking the top of my arm, jerking his head back toward the entrance. I look over my shoulder and see the manager with a phone shaking at his ear. I turn Rose around, tuck her into my side, and lead her out onto the street where James has abandoned the car. We make it to the passenger side, and I release her, finally taking the time to check her over. Legs, stomach, chest, neck, face.
My eyes land on hers, just as she delivers a belter of a slap across my cheek, snapping my head to the side. “You promised to look after Amber?” she seethes.
I close my eyes and roll my jaw. It grinds, cracks, aches. “Now is not the time for your temper, Rose.”
I peek up at James. I’ve found mine. She’s fuming, but at least she’s safe and well. He gets in the car, his way of communicating we should leave, and I dare to look at Rose again. Her cheeks are stained with streaks, her eye makeup is smudged, her lashes sticking together.
“Don’t cry, baby,” I whisper. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Her shoulders jerk, she lets out a ragged breath, and I haul her back into me, cuddling her, holding her, making a mental vow to never let her out of my sight ever again. It’s wishful thinking, I know that. “Get in,” I order, opening the back door and helping her. She shifts across the seat, and I slide in next to her.
James pulls away immediately, glancing up at me in the mirror. I nod, turning to Rose and taking her hands. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what happened.”
She looks at James and reaches forward resting a hand on his shoulder. “She loves you.”
He looks away, his face pained. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
I see his nostrils flare, watch his knuckles go white around the steering wheel. “Please talk, Rose, before I smash this town up,” James says so calmly, it’s pretty fucking terrifying. The Enigma. I’m seeing more of him recently than in all the time I’ve known James.
“We went to Amber’s,” Rose starts hastily, releasing her hand from his shoulder, probably from being burned by the sheer temperature of his body. “She was at the apartment that Beau’s dad said he would buy for her. Hiding out, I think.”
I flick my eyes to James. “Go on,” I say, taking her hand as James takes a right and pulls up at the side of the road, turning in his seat to give Rose his full attention too.
“We couldn’t get into the elevator, but Beau figured out the code. It was the date of her mom’s memorial.”
What the fuck?
The looks flying around this car are non-stop, and I have a feeling they’re only going to increase.
“Amber was there.” Rose looks at me with a smidge of resentment that is really fucking misplaced right now. “She said some pretty awful things to Beau.”
“Like?”
“Goading her. About her dad, about the money. I tried to get Beau to leave.”
Something tells me she didn’t succeed. At least, not before . . . I can’t think it. “And?”
“And then she called me your latest whore.”
“And?” I ask, leaning back.
Rose’s lip trembles as she chews it nervously. “And I shot her.”
“Oh Jesus.” I rake a hand through my hair, slumping back in the seat.
“You shot Amber?” James asks.
“Yes.” Her voice wobbles. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was cooling down, talking myself out of killing her, then I opened my eyes and my hand lifted. I couldn’t stop it. I shot her.”
“So where’s the fucking body?” James asks.
My brain slowly gets over the shock and catches up. I turn my attention to Rose. She’s frowning. “We left it—”
“Rose, baby, we’ve just come from that penthouse. There was no body.”
“But it was there on the rug! We left it and ran because—” She stops, the lines on her forehead multiplying. James and I both wait for her to find the next words, words I’m pretty fucking certain we’re not going to like. “Because Beau’s ex-fiancé showed up.”