Page 95 of The Devil’s Lair

Her thumbs fly over her phone. She nibbles the inside of her cheek as she waits for a response. I stare at her, unable to drag my gaze away. She’s so fucking beautiful. Whatever roadblocks lie ahead, I’ve got to overcome them. For her. For me. For us.

And I will.

For the first time, a shred of hope blooms inside me. Maybe, with the right help and facing up to what was done to me, there’s a chance I can heal. I can be the man I should have been if it weren’t for the abuse suffered at the hands of Ava fucking Southall and her husband. Just like Isla is growing into the child she should have been if it weren’t for her bastard of a father.

Fate.

Maybe Rebecca had a point after all.

“Okay, Imogen said to drop Isla off with her.”

We leave Isla with Imogen, and by the time we get outside, Benton and Caleb are in the car with the engine running. I give them the address, and we set off for the Southalls’ place in Sussex.

An hour later, Caleb turns into a small tree-lined street with bungalows on either side of the road. About halfway down, he pulls into the curb and cuts the engine. “We’re here, sir.”

“Thank you.”

I sit there, not moving. Now we’re here, I don’t know what to do. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but fear has assumed control. If the way I reacted at a mere photograph of this woman is any indication, I’m not going to respond well to seeing her in the flesh.

Maybe I should have left it a day or so, especially after discovering they were retired. It would be different if she was still teaching, then every second would count.

No. Rip off the plaster. I deserve the truth. I deserve answers. I deserve to fucking know why.

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

I turn to Rebecca, my wife, my rock, the support structure I never knew I needed and now couldn’t bear to live without.

“Please.”

We get out of the car. My stomach is in knots, and my chest feels too tight to breathe properly. Rebecca’s warm palm lands on my lower back, grounding me, giving me a piece of her strength to bolster my own.

I’m a grown man. I shouldn’t be this fucking scared to confront a woman in her sixties over something that happened more than two decades ago.

“I’m right here.” Rebecca’s quiet whisper is the catalyst.

I knock on the door.

“Coming,” a singsong voice calls out from inside. It’s not a voice I recognize. What if this isn’t her? What if the investigator has the wrong person?

She opens the door, and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to recoil. It’s her, all right, in the flesh.

“Ava Southall?” My voice rasps. I clear my throat.

“Yes, dear.” She narrows her eyes. “If you’re here selling something, though, I’m not interested.” She points to a sign on the door: No canvassers.

I take a deep breath. “I’m Tobias De Vil. You tutored me when I was younger.” I watch carefully, looking for any signs of fear that her past has caught up with her, but there are none. Her expression is open and welcoming.

“Tobias. Oh, my goodness.” She touches a row of pearls hanging around her neck. “What a lovely surprise. Come in, come in.”

I shoot a glance at Rebecca. Her eyes say it all. Keep calm. Get inside, then hit her with it. Don’t risk launching in on the front step where she could slam the door in my face.

“This is my wife, Rebecca.”

Ava smiles. “Lovely to meet you, Rebecca. Would you like some tea?”

Tea. The British answer to every problem that ever existed. Not this one. I’m calmer than I thought I’d be. Especially after my reaction yesterday.

“We’re fine.” We won’t be staying long enough to drink it.