She’s gone. My throat tightens with the realization and I pound my fist against the window.
She doesn’t have any evidence. My thoughts take over. She has no proof, and there’s nothing the police would ever find. She couldn’t possibly go to them. There’s no fucking way. But if not to the police, then where?
My heart’s racing as I pull over, and I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking.
That you’re a murderer. That you’ll hurt her.
I ignore the damning truth and keep pushing down the ache that takes over.
It doesn’t take long before I decide my next move should be to search her home. If not there, then I need to find her friend’s addresses. My tires squeal as I pull back onto the road, intent on finding her and bringing her back here. I don’t need anyone else trying to keep her away from me.
I lean over and click the radio off, only just now realizing it’s on and then turn the heat all the way up. I’m numb from the combination of the wintry air and the thoughts that won’t quit yelling in my head that I’m fucked. Turning on my blinker to head onto a busier street, I struggle to take in an easy breath.
Act normal. Come up with a plan.
There was a nasty rumor going around that Jules has had issues with alcohol ever since Jace’s death. I’d never talk about her as if she were a drunk, but I have to use something that would make people question why she’d accuse me of murder.
I tap my thumb against the steering wheel.
I don’t know if it would work. It’d be her word against mine. And there’s no real evidence.
But if I went down that route, I’d definitely lose her and everyone in this city would question if there was any truth to what she claimed.
My family name would be called into question.
My business reputation would be ruined.
More than that, the only person I ever loved would be my downfall.
A bitter huff of a humorless laugh leaves me as I look to my left and turn down the street.
I could go away for life if the police do believe her and look into it. If they find something, or if the person who sent that note comes forward with their proof. I don’t give a fuck about that, though. I haven’t known what love is since my mother died. But I know it’s what I feel for Jules.
I’ve given her the power to ruin me. That’s what true love is.
If I let her get away, she’ll do it.
She’ll destroy every piece of me.
As I struggle to come to terms with the realization, my phone rings from the passenger seat where I’d thrown it earlier. I lean over and pick it up, answering without looking to see who it is while I drive down Jules’s street.
“Hello,” I answer, hoping it’s her. Hoping she’s only asking for time or space. I won’t give her either, but at least then I’ll know we have a chance.
“Mason,” my father says.
“Father,” I say, feeling disappointment that it’s not her, followed by distrust. We haven’t spoken since I knocked him out in his office. What the hell does he want?
His voice is full of confidence but more than that, imperiousness. “I have a little something I think you want.” I pull up alongside Jules’s street but the only parking space available is a few doors down from her place, and I slow down to lean forward and look out the windshield. It’s starting to get light outside, but not so much that I wouldn’t see lights on inside her house. I scan the windows as I absently say, “And what would that be?”
“I got a call from Commissioner Haynes.” My body stills as my father continues.
His words snap my attention to him. Commissioner. “It seems your recent love interest has something urgent to confess.”
If my father thinks she’s a threat, that’s a much more concerning issue.
“She doesn’t know anything.” I’m quick to respond. I speed down the street, cutting someone off and they lean on their horn. I have to weave through the few cars out this early in the morning to get down to Fourth Street. I need to get to her. “Don’t touch her,” I say.
“I wouldn’t dare,” my father says, and I can practically see the smug smile on his face. Jules. I grit my teeth in anger.
“I imagine you’ll be here soon?” he asks with a thin veil of arrogance.
“I’m ten minutes from the station,” I answer grudgingly. I hate that he’s involved and interfering, but if he wasn’t, she would have talked. She has no idea what she’s done. She’s put herself in danger.
My foot presses down harder on the gas pedal with each passing thought. I need to get to Jules before she says a fucking word.
Jules
I’ve been picking at the same snarled thread on my sweater for nearly fifteen minutes now.
My sneaker taps nervously against the leg of the simple wooden table; they’re still damp from the snow. Something feels off and wrong. Crossing my arms, I look away from the mirror. Anywhere but the mirror.
The stranger in the car kept asking me over and over what was wrong, but I could barely speak. I was so cold, and nothing would come out except that I needed the police. I was lucky he pulled over and offered me a ride. The concern in his pale blue eyes was comforting but only so much that it allowed me to get in the car. His checkered sweater slid down his bony arms as he drove, and he kept looking over at me in the passenger seat. He had to be in his fifties, or maybe sixties. The wrinkles around his eyes told me he was at least my father’s age.
That comfort is long gone and a different sensation took over the second he stopped in front of the station. I have no proof, no evidence. I don’t know if anyone is going to believe me. I need to tell someone, though. I swallow thickly, realizing I don’t know where to begin or if a soul will believe me or do anything at all.
The old man stayed with me while a young officer gave me a blanket and told me it was all right. Whatever it is, you’re safe now. Dressed in his blues, the man was maybe in his mid-twenties and didn’t have a clue what I was there for. It was such a spectacle, but even though they were kind and open I still couldn’t spit out the words.
Then I was handed over to Detective Myer.
He’s much too young for someone in his position, clean-shaven and tall with dark brown eyes. He has to be around the same age as the officer who greeted me warmly. There’s no warmth to Myer, though; he’s all corded muscle, although he doesn’t have the broad shoulders or height to him to balance out his body. Even with his badge and prying stare, he doesn’t have an air around him that commands authority.
There’s something else as well, something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel as though I’m not safe. Like I should have changed my mind and headed back out into the snow and never stopped running. I don’t trust the detective. I didn’t when he told me to sit in here and twenty minutes later, what little hope and faith I had has faded.
Maybe I’m being paranoid and it’s all in my head, but it seems wrong he never asked any questions. He simply told me to follow him back here and sat me down while he went to talk to the commissioner. I’m alone and left wondering what the hell I’m doing here at all.
Guilt worms its way through every bone in my body. Every tick of the clock tempts me to get up from this table. I’m going to choke on my words. I can’t do this. They’ll never believe me and I can’t say the truth out loud.