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A mirthless chuckle escaped Dante before he could catch it. “Part of me wants to chase after her.”
“But you didn’t,” Derek interrupted, reading Dante’s demeanor.
“No, I came here instead.” Dante blinked a few times before meeting Derek’s gaze.
Derek’s expression softened, a mentor’s empathy mingling with the pragmatism of experience. “You did the hard thing, Dante. Giving someone space is never easy, but sometimes it’s the only right move.”
Dante’s hand tightened around the glass, the whiskey still as he wrestled with his instincts versus his actions. In that office, with the scent of old books and the steady tick of a grandfather clock, he found a moment of stillness amid the storm of his uncertainties. Derek’s presence was a grounding force, a reminder that even the most turbulent feelings had to be navigated with care and patience.
The office was a capsule of calm, but Dante’s admission sliced through the quiet like a ripple in still water. “I worry she might do something rash,” he admitted, his voice tight with the anxiety that had gripped him since Rebecca walked out.
Derek regarded him steadily before pulling out his phone. “Drink that,” he ordered Dante, tipping his head toward the glass. His tone left no room for argument as he set things in motion with the swift tap of the keys.
Dante, though preoccupied with worry, obeyed, taking a sip of whiskey and letting the alcohol’s warmth spread through him as Derek spoke with Chief Lawson, asking that he keep an eye out for Rebecca’s whereabouts. After assuring the head of security that he’d get some reinforcements to help look for the missing guest, Dante listened as Derek made another call.
On the phone, Derek’s voice was a calm command. “Angel, round up some friends and find Rebecca for me.” He paused, listened, then continued, “No, she’s not in trouble.”
Another pause, a sigh, heavier this time, conveyed more to Dante than words could.
“Little one, please do as I say. Chief Lawson is going to go through the security footage to see if he can track Rebecca’s movements, but I would appreciate your help. It might be a matter of life and death.”
Dante’s grip on the glass tightened involuntarily, his pulse thudding in his ears. Derek’s use of such dramatic phrasing signaled the severity of the situation.
“Yes,” Derek spoke again into the phone, his free hand idly stroking the glass on his desk, a gesture of absent-minded concentration. “Please take her to the Littles’ Wing and keep her occupied. Thank you, angel.” With that, he ended the call and turned his full attention back to Dante.
“Don’t worry, my trickster will find her, and she and her friends will distract her. They’re skilled at that,” Derek assured him, his piercing gaze drilling into Dante. “Now tell me what you want and need.”
Dante took another sip. The whiskey’s burn was a stark contrast to the chill of his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice a mixture of resolve and resignation, “about quitting my job. Working with the DA’s office recently... it felt right. The pay is less, but there’s more satisfaction in getting justice for the victims.”
The confession unburdened him, his shoulders relaxing as he acknowledged this truth out loud for the first time.
Derek nodded but didn’t speak. He watched Dante, not with judgment, but with the consideration of a man who had seen many crossroads in his time.
CHAPTER 23
Rebecca’s feet carried her away with a mind of their own, each stride echoing the chaos swirling inside her. The Ranch, its comfort and the familiar faces, faded into the back of her mind, overshadowed by Dante’s confession.
The sun hung high in the Montana sky, dousing the landscape with its rays as Rebecca bolted out of the resort’s doors. She heard Erika’s voice trailing behind her, “Rebecca!” but the name sounded like it belonged to someone else, someone not consumed by a storm of betrayal and hurt.
She stumbled down the porch stairs, a misstep nearly sending her sprawling, but fear and adrenaline kept her upright. Her breath came in sharp gasps, her lungs burning with exertion. Each breath was a rasp, a whisper of turmoil.
Her legs moved relentlessly, pumping in a rhythm that beat out the words she couldn’t say. The ground beneath her was a blur, the sting in her eyes blinding her to the path ahead. Hot tears spilled over, and the saline taste mixed with the bitter flavor of betrayal on her lips.
She didn’t know where she was going. She had to move, to run from the pain, the doubts, the love that now felt so entangled with questions. The world around her was a kaleidoscope of color, light, and sounds.
Her legs powered her across the Ranch grounds, the afternoon sun casting long shadows that danced mockingly at her side. The breeze did little to cool her skin, flushed from exertion and emotions. She ran, not feeling the chill, only the scorch of Dante’s secret burning in her chest.
Gasping for air that seemed too thin, too sharp, she clutched at her chest. With the tightness in her chest and the tears flowing nonstop down her face, her top felt damp and icky. Rebecca pushed on. The rhythmic pounding of her feet was a desperate drumbeat urging her forward. In her escape, there was a single, piercing thought—running was all she could do because standing still felt like drowning.
A barn cat, startled by her, darted away with a hiss. She rounded a corner and smashed into a solid figure.
She let out an embarrassing squeak, and if her momentum hadn’t been halted by a firm grip on her arms, she would have fallen.
“Easy there.” The man’s voice held a deep timbre of calm authority as he steadied her. His hands were strong and warm on her upper arms, not only preventing her fall but keeping her in place.
Rebecca looked up, meeting Master Jared’s concerned gaze. His eyes, always perceptive, scanned her face for signs of distress. She tried to steady her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest gradually slowing under his watchful care.
Jared didn’t ask questions; he just waited with the patience of a man practiced in the art of drawing out truths without speaking. His presence was a quiet command, one that beckoned her turmoil to settle, if only for a moment.
