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How could she not understand what she meant to me? What more could I do for her to not think everything was a test?
“I was sure I was going to lose you last night,” I admitted. “But I was frustrated and you wouldn’t even look at me, so I was trying to help both of us. I just don’t always think about what I’m about to do with you until it’s too late—and last night was one of those times.”
I knew she wanted to believe me, but there was still doubt in her eyes and on her face.
“Come find me once you’re done,” I repeated, and kissed the corner of her mouth before climbing off the bed.
I had showered and put on a pair of sleep pants the night before, after Briar had fallen asleep, so I grabbed a shirt out of the closet then walked back through the bedroom to call my driver.
My smile couldn’t be contained when I saw Briar lying on the bed playing with the ends of her hair, smiling to herself. It took reminding myself that we had slept until noon and I needed to feed my blackbird in order to keep walking instead of climbing back into bed with her.
I walked into my office to make the call and check a few e-mails even though it was the weekend. I had been expecting them the night before, but I obviously hadn’t wanted to deal with them once we’d arrived home.
Everything was taken care of within a couple minutes, and I moved the cursor up to shut the computer down . . . and paused.
I hadn’t checked in weeks, and even then, it had been sporadic for the two weeks before, but I had been thinking of nothing but that since last night.
Watching her breaths deepen, her body reveling being outside the house . . .
She’d looked free.
Full of life.
A side of Briar I’d only glimpsed, but a girl I’d seen before. In pictures from another time—another life. And that girl who’d stood before me? She’d wanted me. Chosen me.
I needed to know what updates on Briar had appeared on the news—if any—or if the media interest in her disappearance had died down.
I quickly pulled up the Internet and went to Facebook, and grinned smugly when I’d finished with Briar’s page and went to Kyle’s. His pictures were the same as they had been most of this time: The large banner about being old and gray, and the profile that matched Briar’s—them together. No, his pictures hadn’t changed, but the girl in them had. She was no longer the Briar who was trying to get back to Atlanta to be with him. She’d had that chance and had chosen me instead.
But as soon as that thought entered my mind, my grin fell as something all too familiar settled in my stomach.
Yes, Briar had chosen me . . . for now. But I couldn’t fool myself into believing that a day wouldn’t come when that would end.
I scrolled down his page to look for the articles I had missed and saw that there weren’t many of them. Most were just updates of the updates. Scrolling back to the top, I opened the most recent two in new windows, read quickly through the first, then moved on to the second.
No body had been found. Reports had flooded in at the beginning of sightings of “Briar”—none had ended up being her—but were infrequent now. Detectives were declar
ing Briar a runaway, saying it seemed to be an elaborate set-up between her and the friend she’d gone in to cover for at work the day she “disappeared.”
As always, the end of the article was filled with numerous links to other articles dedicated to Briar’s disappearance, but now everything seemed to be twisted into some juicy bullshit story about why Briar would have run away rather than being focused on the seriousness and possibility of her being taken.
Jenna Frazier listed as possible accomplice in disappearance of GA woman, Briar Chapman.
Sources say Briar Rose Chapman was tired of living perfect life for sake of fiancé’s mother, Gov. Armstrong.
Was GA Gov. involved in future daughter-in-law’s disappearance to gain votes for upcoming election?
Can pictures lie? Kyle Armstrong and Briar Rose Chapman’s seemingly perfect relationship was anything but!
And there on the bottom was the same picture of her smiling brightly that had been on most of the news articles. Despite the statement that she was a runaway, below her picture was a phone number to call, and if the information led to Briar being found, a reward amount.
I had paid eight times that reward for her.
“I can’t figure out your sh—”
I clicked out of the window as I shoved away from my desk, whirling on Briar as I did. “Out!” I demanded harshly.
She was standing there in nothing except the button-down shirt I had been wearing the night before. Her face was as white as if she had seen a ghost—and I guess in a way, she just had. But she didn’t move, and her eyes stayed on the screen even as I rounded my other desk and stalked toward her.
