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She hit Ignore and powered off the phone.
This was for the best, she tried to tell herself. It was bound to happen sooner or later. She knew he would eventually leave her. She knew that with him insisting on going with Edith on this trip that Edith could have handled herself, him not wanting her to go along with them, and Edith’s trip to the lingerie store the day before they had left all pointed to one thing.
The fact that he was conveniently unreachable until four in the morning was just the nail that sealed the coffin. She wasn’t just some naïve little girl, and she wasn’t going to be taken for a fool. At least this way, she had some control over her own exit.
Why it had to hurt this much, though, she just couldn’t fathom.
*
Fuck, he thought. How the hell did his entire world just fall apart when he was in New York, mere hours away from walking into the top jewelry store in the nation to buy the love of his life a fucking engagement ring?
His child was sick, Farren was forced to handle it by herself, and he wasn’t there to help her through it. Now, he was accused of having an affair with Edith Underwood of all people, and Farren was threatening to be gone by the time he got home. This definitely wasn’t going as expected.
He’d never felt more powerless in his life. He was 1,600 miles away, and even with the direct flight on his private, company plane back to Houston, it would take three and a half hours, not including the time it would take to get the plane ready and travel to and from airports.
He packed his suitcase, foregoing any thoughts of getting any sleep at all. He had just under six hours before Tiffany’s opened at ten a.m. and he wasn’t leaving this city without an engagement ring.
Then, all bets were off. Wherever she was, he would find her and get her back.
SIXTEEN
11 Years Ago
Rogan felt as though his chest were being ripped open and gutted. He couldn’t believe Craigan was gone, his life extinguished right before Rogan’s very eyes. What could he have done to save him? He knew he was to blame, and God help him, he didn’t know how he was ever going to live with himself.
He didn’t know how he was going to look Dallas or Elaina Evans in the eyes and tell them their brother was gone. What would become of them now? Craigan was all they had. Rogan would just be a poor substitute for the only real friend he’d ever had.
How he had torn himself away and driven himself back to this house, Tommy the Tank’s house, he didn’t know. It took all the strength he had left in him to do it, but then there was no way he could deny doing it either. When Craigan’s last words to ever be spoken before he left this world were ‘Go back for the girl,’ there was only one thing for him to do.
He pulled his Harley up next to trailer number 402 and killed the engine. He sat staring into the ether for several moments before he pushed himself off the bike.
A part of him hoped that Tommy the Tank would show back up right about now so that Rogan could give the son-of-a-bitch the justice he deserved. What he wouldn’t give to strangle the life out of the bastard with his bare, fucking hands.
But Tommy the Tank wouldn’t show back up, not now, and not for a long time to come, so Rogan forced one step in front of the other until he reached the front door of the portable, run-down home. The door was still gaping wide open, splintered at the seams from where Hugo had kicked it in earlier.
Rogan inched inside the home looking around. The place was a mess, littered with cans of cheap beer, empty cigarette packages, piles of dirty laundry, and empty fast-food bags. The place was dead quiet, eerily so. He wondered if the girl really was here, or if she had gotten lucky and been somewhere else.
He and the guys had come to teach old Tommy the Tank a lesson. Since he liked beating up on little girls, they had thought they’d see how he fared with someone his own size, see if he felt like putting his fists on little girls anymore after that.
Rogan never thought things would end up like this. He knew there were risks, and he even knew there were consequences, but this was something in a whole other realm of disbelief.
He walked up the hallway toward the bedrooms. He came to a door that had a pink sign hanging from it that read Prince
ss. This had to be her room, he thought, so he rapped his knuckles lightly against the flimsy, hollow excuse for fake wood. He thought he heard the slightest sound of something rustling inside, but no one answered.
He was sure the poor girl was scared out of her mind. She couldn’t have been much older than ten, from what they’d uncovered, though he’d never seen her yet himself. He only knew what Hugo and the guys had told him, and he trusted those guys with his life.
So had Craigan and a fucking lot of good that had done.
Rogan turned the knob and eased the door open a few inches.
“Hello?” he called, tempering his voice to put the girl at ease.
Still, no response came, so he pushed the door open a little further.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised.
He was fully in the room now, and he nearly couldn’t believe his eyes. The small space, maybe ten feet by eight, was spotless, but what really threw Rogan was the setup of computers, second-hand game systems probably purchased at a resale shop, and old television sets that lined the walls. One lone computer screen was lit up and cast a dim, blue glow over the small space.
