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“No sweat.”
I wander farther into the garden, puffing away on my Marlboro, lost in thought. I knew she didn’t look right when she got home. A panic attack? About what? Naturally, my mind goes to the man looking for her at the club. Has she seen something she didn’t want to see? Not told me something?
Churned up inside, I discard my cigarette and walk back into the kitchen, not speaking to James, Beau, or Esther, just passing through, my usual non-talkative self as of late.
I want some answers.
I take one step up the stairs and stop when I see Danny coming down them. I take in his face, the red scrape on his cheekbone over his scar, his shadowed eye. I know Lennox will look worse. Brave fucker. I don’t ask if he’s okay, it’s obvious—his eyes are ice, and his lips straight. “Higham’s not back tonight as expected,” I say. “Said he’d be in touch.”
“Fine.” He passes me, heading toward the office. He’s going to drink.
I leave him and take myself upstairs, checking over my shoulder constantly for company as I approach Pearl and Anya’s room. I knock lightly, not expecting to get an answer. And I don’t. “Pearl?” I call through the wood, trying the door. Locked. If I hadn’t seen her come in the house, I’d question if she was here at all. But I did. Not that Pearl knows. So she doesn’t want to see me? Or anyone? I pull my cell out and dial her, not taking it to my ear but listening for it ringing in her room instead. When it does, I knock the wood again. “Come on,” I say. “You’ve been found.” I cut the call and rest a palm on the doorjamb. I hear the door handle shift and it opens a little, just enough to tell me I’m not getting an invite inside.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, looking up and down the corridor.
“What are you doing?” I force my way in with care, and dip, getting her on my shoulder.
“Brad!”
I turn back around and march to my room, entering and lowering her to her feet. Where the hell do I start? “What happened?” I can’t drop Fury in the shit. Don’t want Pearl to think she can’t trust him. “When you got home, you looked worried.”
“I’m fine.”
I can see her walls coming up like iron, bulletproof shutters, her eyes avoiding mine. Fuck it, I’m not going to get anything out of her. So yes, I can drop Fury in the shit. “You had a panic attack outside the café,” I say.
Her mouth falls open.
“Pearl, those big hairy fuckers that follow you girls around all day are there to make sure you’re all okay. If you’re not, they’re contracted to report it.”
“Contracted?”
“Under threat,” I say. But that’s not the reason he told us. “He shared because he cares, Pearl. You’ve worried him, and now I’m really worried too. What happened, gorgeous?” I detect a definite wobble of her lip, a glaze of her eyes.
“It’s nothing.”
Oh, come on. She’s infuriating. I move into her, my palms resting on her upper arms, my body hunkering to make eye contact. “Tell me.”
She winces, swallows hard. Fucking hell. What the hell did she see? I move to the chair and lower, pulling her down onto my lap, and like a scared, fragile animal, she curls into my body, hiding, arms clinging on around my neck. I needed this. Needed her to trust me, even if only physically.
“Tell me,” I encourage softly, stroking her hair.
“I saw a man,” she whispers, pushing herself farther into me.
“What man?”
She’s quiet for a beat. Finding the courage to share. “A man on a gurney.”
“What?” I ask, confused. “On the street?”
“He was being wheeled to an ambulance. He had a wire in his arm, they were holding up a bag of fluids, and it just . . . triggered something. From the hangar. The line in my arm, the drugs so close to making it into my veins.”
“My love,” I whisper, holding her tighter.
“What if they find me?” she asks, her voice ragged. Her fear is very fucking real.
I’m stiff as a fucking board, my teeth about to pop from the force of my bite. “It’s over,” I grate, willing my body to relax.
“I know.” She frees herself from my chest and finds my face, her eyes scanning mine. I remain still, paralyzed by the need staring back at me.
