“You’ll never guess who I just ran into.” I unload the groceries, lining up the produce next to Bennett’s sink.
He lifts a brow and shrugs. “Who?”
“Your brother and his wife.”
Bennett frowns. “Where?”
“At the grocery store … they cornered me by the heirloom tomatoes. It was the weirdest thing. Errol introduced them and then Beth started in about the four of us doing some double date and then your brother told her to let it go and then looked at me like I’m some side piece of yours and—”
“Please tell me you told them no.”
I rinse a tomato and pat it dry with a nearby towel. “Of course. Just odd that I’d run into him a second time in a week, you know? What are the odds.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “I know they just moved back to Worthington Heights, but yeah. It’s definitely strange.”
“Is he … following me?” I rinse a green pepper next. “You talk about him like he’s this villainous monster … and the way he looks at me …”
Bennett makes his way around the marble island, coming up behind me and slipping his arms around my stomach. Pressing his mouth against the side of my neck, he kisses me. And then he says, “I’ll deal with him.”
While his promise is reassuring, it’s also disconcerting that he didn’t exactly deny that his brother could be following me.
“I’d like to know, though,” I say. “Is he dangerous?”
“I told you, Astaire.” He kisses my neck once more. “I’ll deal with him.”
A moment later, he unpacks the second bag of groceries, and I retrieve a paring knife from the cutlery drawer. Honor comes this weekend, and we’ve only a few more nights like this … alone … and I want to enjoy every last minute of them.
I’m going to miss our solo time together, but I’m certain if we focus on the positive, all the excitement and goodness happening in our midst, things can only get better from here.
How could they not?
34
Bennett
I’m halfway out the door Tuesday when I get a text from my investigator: CHECK YOUR EMAIL. ASAP.
A quick glance at my watch tells me I’m on the verge of running late. Astaire asked me to meet her at this old theatre she volunteers at. She wanted to give me a private tour because it’s one of her favorite places in the world—her sanctuary, as she called it.
She told me not to get my hopes up, that it isn’t anything fancy, but what it lacked in showmanship, it more than made up for with its rich history.
I tap my email icon on the elevator ride to the lobby and wait for my inbox to refresh. A minute later, I’m sliding into the backseat of my SUV as George heads for Astaire’s part of town.
I manage to locate his email sandwiched between a company-wide email announcing donuts in the conference room and a few spam items my filter didn’t catch.
There are more attachments than I can count, so I start with the first.
Text message transcripts.
Pages upon pages.
All of them sent between Larissa and Errol, all of them going back years—to the moment I gave her this phone, in fact. She was twenty then, which means she would have been about a year away from becoming pregnant with Errol’s child. The years prior to that are unaccounted for, but judging by what I’m reading here, whatever the hell this is … was nothing new.
Tension sears through my shoulders and my jaw clenches as I scan random messages.
LARISSA: HEY!! I’M IN TOWN!! CAN I SEE YOU?
ERROL: ONLY IF YOU DO THAT THING WITH YOUR TONGUE AGAIN …
Further down the page …
ERROL: BETH’S OUT OF TOWN THIS WEEKEND. YOU UP FOR ANOTHER MARATHON? BET WE CAN BREAK THE LAST RECORD.
LARISSA: I HAVE TO WORK. :-(
ERROL: I’LL PAY YOU.
LARISSA: HOW MUCH …?
ERROL: FIFTY BUCKS A FUCK. SEVENTY-FIVE IF I CAN HIT IT RAW …
LARISSA: I’M NOT ON THE PILL ANYMORE.
ERROL: WTF NOT?
LARISSA: $$$
I swipe to the next page.
ERROL: SEND ME SOME NEW PICS. I’M BORED WITH THE OLD ONES.
LARISSA: CAN’T RIGHT NOW. MAYBE LATER?
ERROL:???
LARISSA: SORRY.
ERROL: CAN YOU CALL ME? YOU KNOW I LOVE IT WHEN YOU TALK DIRTY TO ME.
LARISSA: NOT RIGHT NOW. LATER?
ERROL: WTF IS YOUR PROBLEM LATELY?
ERROL: FIND ANOTHER SORRY ASS TO FILL ALL YOUR BIG BROTHER FANTASIES?
ERROL: YOU KNOW IT’S ONLY HOT WHEN IT’S YOU AND ME BECAUSE WE DON’T HAVE TO PRETEND IT’S FUCKED UP. IT’S ALREADY FUCKED UP …
ERROL: COME ON, LAR. I’M DYING HERE. IT’S BEEN TWO MONTHS. I CAN PRETEND SHE’S YOU ALL I WANT BUT IT’S NOT THE SAME.
LARISSA: I’M AT WORK RIGHT NOW. PLEASE STOP TEXTING.
ERROL: WHAT TIME ARE YOU OFF?
ERROL:???
LARISSA: 8
ERROL: I’M BOOKING A ROOM FOR US. I’LL TEXT YOU THE NUMBER LATER.
LARISSA: I DON’T THINK WE SHOULD DO THIS ANYMORE …
ERROL: WTF NOT?
LARISSA: I’M PREGNANT.
ERROL: YEAH. OKAY. WHATEVER. LOL.
LARISSA: [PHOTO]
ERROL: I’M ACTUALLY SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THAT’S YOUR POSITIVE PREGNANCY TEST AND NOT SOME PIC YOU STOLE OFF GOOGLE IMAGES?
LARISSA: YES…
ERROL: IT’S NOT MINE.
LARISSA: YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE I’VE SLEPT WITH THIS YEAR.
ERROL: THIS YEAR?! AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL SPECIAL? GOD, YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING SLUT.
ERROL: THE KID COULD BE ANYBODY’S.
LARISSA: YOU WANTED TO FUCK ME RAW LAST TIME, REMEMBER? AND YOU PROMISED YOU’D PULL OUT AND YOU DIDN’T …
ERROL: GET RID OF IT.
LARISSA: NEVER.
ERROL: PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE NOT SERIOUS.
LARISSA: IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO HELP ME, JUST SAY SO. I’LL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO GO TO OUR MOTHER FOR HELP …
ERROL: YEAH, RIGHT. YOU’RE NOT THAT IDIOTIC.
ERROL:???
ERROL: YOU STILL THERE?
ERROL: WHAT, SO NOW YOU’RE JUST GOING TO IGNORE ME?
ERROL: LARISSA.
ERROL: SERIOUSLY, DON’T GO TO OUR MOTHER. SHE’LL MAKE THIS TEN TIMES WORSE FOR YOU.
ERROL: LARISSA …
George brings the SUV to a crawling stop outside Astaire’s theatre. I swallow the burn of bile rising up the back of my throat. I’m not even sure if I can bring myself to read the other hundreds of pages worth of text messages, but something tells me they’re all the same.
It’s impossible to know how long he’d been grooming her.
“We’re here, Mr. Schoenbach.” George shifts into park.
Astaire waves to me from the sidewalk, bundled in her snow-colored scarf and gloves, bouncing on the balls of her sneakers like she’s about to give me a private tour of her own personal Disneyland.
I slide my phone away—for now, and then I force the dirty, disgusting messages to the back of my mind.
I’m going to enjoy my time with her.
And when I’m done, I’m going to ruin that fucking bastard.
35
Astaire
“Hey!” I throw my arms around him, and he greets me with a distracted peck on the cheek. “You ready?”