I follow him to the end of a long, dimly lit hallway to stand before apartment 7C. A cool breeze drifts in from an open hallway window. It should feel refreshing after my climb but instead a chill sweeps across me.
“Wait,” I demand.
Declan hesitates midswipe, the credit card he’s removed from his wallet wedged between the door and the doorjamb.
I’ve become an expert in compartmentalizing my pain. Storing it deep inside where no one, not even myself, can fully access it. Ignoring it as best as I can. Yet there’s a strong chance my sister’s inside. Reality might literally be about to stare me in the face.
All my questions . . . worries . . . answered.
For better or for worse.
You can do this.
I’ve survived Mama’s death, my sister’s abandonment, nearly being killed in Cabo.
Him.
No, survive isn’t the right word.
Come to trust him?
Come to lust after him?
Both.
“Okay?”
“Yes,” I manage to reply, staring at the open window at the end of the hallway.
“Stay here while I check things out.”
I hesitate. You need to know the truth, I remind myself. Why would Kylie have an apartment here in Dayton? How long has she been here? Is she . . . okay?
“Madelyn.”
“What?” I look up at him.
“Stop biting your lip. The apartment will be empty. Mark my words.” He presses a code to open one lock, then swipes the card downward on a second lock, turning the door handle before pushing into the apartment.
I follow along anyway, wondering what he’s trying to protect me from.
Declan disappears first into one bedroom, then the other, as I look around.
The apartment isn’t much to write home about. An old leather couch is pushed against one wall. An empty coffee table sits in front of it. No television. No carpeting on the hardwood floorboards. Just a couch, a side table with lamp, and a large, sturdy dining-room table and chairs. I glance inside the kitchen area. A half-full cup of coffee sits on the countertop next to a neatly folded newspaper. The print is too small to make out the date from where I stand.
Folding my arms across my chest, I cradle myself into a hug as I rock back and forth on my heels. Apartment 7C is as empty as I suddenly feel.
I inhale deeply, a fortifying breath. That’s when it hits me . . . the scent of Pine-Sol . . .
Declan returns to the open living room/dining area and kitchen. Newly cleaned kitchen, from the smell of it. “No one’s home.”
He approaches, and I stop rolling. With a finger, he raises my chin. I spy the frown lines across his brow.
“Relax. She’s not here.”
Relax? It’s as if he doesn’t really want us to find her.
But relief is already setting in. Kylie was here. She’s still in Oklahoma. And she is okay—clearly she’d take such care cleaning the apartment’s kitchen. Not exactly the actions of a woman in distress. She always said Pine-Sol made the worst of places—specifically our trailer—feel like the outdoors.
Declan doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he tells me, “Have a seat on the couch while I make a call,” before stepping back out into the hallway.
I sit and wait and wait, then head for the kitchen.
Rifling through the drawers, I find a pen. Then, removing a napkin from a stack neatly piled on the countertop, I write my sister a quick note.
K.—I’m looking for you! Going to Shelby. Please come find me first or I’ll be back. I love you, regardless of everything.—Madelyn
With a shaky hand, I leave the napkin next to the newspaper. What the heck is she doing here? My relief in knowing she’s okay is brief, overwhelmed by a rush of emotions taking hold of me. Confusion. Frustration. Anger.
I squeeze my eyes closed, struggling to remain calm. Drawing on everything inside of me to hold it together. The sooner I find her the better.
What has Kylie gotten herself involved in?
I want answers. I deserve answers.
My mind sifts and sorts, searching for something to grasp hold of, something grounded in logic and decisively clarified. Until all I can walk away with is this: Whatever my sister has done, I intend to get her out of it.
And I’m in the company of the perfect man to help me do so.
21
Declan
My stomach rumbles. I’m tired and in a piss-poor mood. Yet thoughts of checking us into a motel and getting up inside of Madelyn overshadow everything else. I can’t keep my goddamned hands off her. She might have eaten that ice cream, but I’ve been devouring her every sigh, every soft look, every inch of her.
Simple pleasures like sundaes aren’t my style. I’m the hot fudge drowning out the sweet vanilla. The guy with hands stained with blood the color of that fucking cherry.
A nasty bastard without a conscience.
Use her. Lure Kylie in. Then send Madelyn on her sweet-ass way. Before she winds up back on Hayden’s radar. If someone sees her . . .
Hell, I’ll probably be dead myself before long. Twice now I neglected to mention the minor detail of who I’m keeping company with when I reported in. No exactly breaking orders—bending them, like I’ve done numerous times because of her.
Yeah, the sooner this is over, the better.
Kylie has returned, though she likely hasn’t been holed up in Dayton for long. Too risky a move, her hiding right beneath our noses. Fortunately, my hunch was correct. She stuck around the States instead of doing the wisest thing and heading abroad. Going somewhere Hayden can’t touch her.
As if that place exists.
I played my hand. The Dayton apartment has a bird’s-eye view of the ice-cream shop. No way the traitorous bitch missed us.
The fact she’s returned says a lot. Kylie isn’t going anywhere without proof her sister is safe. Hell, I’ll even bet she kept tabs on Madelyn. Track her movements through her bank-account transactions—which is what I’d have done if Diego’s sister hadn’t agreed to provide updates. I might be the farthest thing from being family-oriented. But I know enough now to believe her disloyal ass is probably freaking out about now because Hayden’s brought me, his best hit man, into the picture, and that I have her sister.
What the hell did she expect?
Bad break for Kylie. Because the reason she’s returned to Oklahoma is folded up in the seat beside me, staring out the window. I made sure of it.
My pawn.
As soon as we hit Shelby, I parade Madelyn through town, beginning at the Pitt, where we eat lunch in silence. Well, she eats. I watch, my stomach in a knot as I anticipate the moment when I’m going to ruin her life.
I’m well aware of Madelyn’s every movement, how she hungrily scarfs down a chicken-salad sandwich, sucking the traces of mayonnaise off her fingers. Catching me watching, she gives me a shy smile. Yeah, my Madelyn isn’t so innocent anymore. She’s a damned temptress.
Because of me.
A sense of pride rises up inside me, but I knock it back. No sense wanting things I can’t have.
Afterward, we drive around town. To her credit, she keeps a tight reign on her curiosity and stays silent beside me.
And if my shit isn’t complicated enough, when we drive by the Pitt about a half hour later, I spy two Mercedes parked in broad daylight outside. Without calling in, I already know Hayden’s about to issue new orders.