“Walk me through what happened.”
His account matches the others. I’m tired of listening to the same story over and over again with zero answers to my questions, but I can’t ignore the facts staring me in the face.
No stranger has been in this house tonight.
With a heavy sigh, I knock on Birdie’s door. “Hey, it’s me. Please let me in.”
Soft footsteps scurry behind the door. The lock snaps open, and hope flashes on her tear-stained face. “Tristan, thank God you’re here.”
My heart clenches at the sight. I step in and close the door behind me, giving us privacy. “Of course. I’m so sorry. But I’m here now. You’re safe.”
She nods reluctantly, wrapping her arms around her waist in a protective circle. I wish I could hug her, give her the comfort and security she needs, but she’s made it clear I’m not written to fit that role in her book. “How are you now?”
She curls up on the bed, small and vulnerable. Her eyes, red and puffy, barely hold mine, and she shrugs.
“Do you want to talk to me about what happened?”
Her lip curls under teeth, and her trembling fingers hover over her mouth. “No.”
“Okay. Just know that I’m here, ready to listen anytime.”
“Thank you.”
“Birdie…we have to call the police.”
“No.” Panic floods her eyes. “No.”
“I understand your position and fears, but in situations like this, they can help. They have extensive databases. The DNA tests they will run—”
“They won’t find any. He made sure of it. The only thing I’ll get from calling the cops is credibility loss that will lead to a scandal, possible jail time, and provoking Butterfly Man in the wrong way.”
“You have a point.” We’ve been hiding and falsifying evidence. We’ve lied repeatedly to the police and the press. “But he hurt you, Birdie.” I’ll never forgive myself for it. Another sin written in a long list but somehow weighs more than all of them combined. “You need a doctor to examine you.”
“I’ll be fine. Did you find anything?”
I don’t know if I should push any further. This is a sensitive situation for any woman, and I’m only a man. I don’t want to let this go, but any word I say may lack perspective or come out inconsiderate. The last thing I want is to make things worse.
I sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ve thoroughly reviewed all the footage and checked the security systems.”
“He replaced the footage, Tristan. He explicitly said the only thing you’d be seeing was me sleeping in bed.”
“Even if that’s the case, there will be a trace to the breach, a hacking mark of sorts, a backdoor entry.”
“Even if that’s the case?”
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for what I have to do next. “I need to show you something.” I pull out my phone and queue up the bedroom footage.
As we watch, I point out the facts as objectively and gently as I can, the closed windows, the locked door, the lack of any other presence in the room and what she said to Brandon while she was lying in bed.
Anger builds in her eyes. “This is bullshit. I don’t give a crap about what your broken system is showing. I know he was here. I felt him, talked to him. Even Brandon heard him.”
“He heardyou. Onlyyou.”
“What are you trying to tell me, Tristan?”
“For an intruder to enter undetected, they would have had to bypass not just our technology, but also somehow fight our guards without leaving any trace. Our electronic security systems show no breaches, and all the guards have been at theirposts all night in one piece. There’s no evidence of any intruders, Birdie.”
“You think I’m making this up?” she snaps, pushing the phone away, and jumps out of the bed.
