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As he leaves, I feel bad that I’ve worked him so hard. He’s been up all night with Scott and Michael searching her apartment and reading through her records. Three men who I keep close and pay well for the privilege. The men who do my dirty work and I would trust with my life. I have a feeling that’s at stake now, along with potentially four of my friends and the clock is ticking because Ryder’s right, we don’t have long before we all meet up for the first time in history in a little under two weeks’ time. We have a wedding to attend and everything is pointing to an extremely unwelcome visitor making an appearance.
* * *
As I headtoward Holly’s room, I wonder if she knows already. I’m guessing waking up after the day she had yesterday would have thrown up a few surprises, and I wonder how she’ll deal with knowing we have searched her apartment and gone through her private things. Angry, I’m guessing, afraid even, but she’s not stupid and will know I read that journal because that’s exactly what I need her to know. I want her to be afraid, so afraid right now because her fear is going to get me what I want in more ways than one.
Taking the key from my pocket, I prepare myself for a verbal onslaught, possibly a physical one, as I turn it and step into the room. Once again, I’m surprised to see her standing at the window looking out over the grounds, seemingly lost in thought. She looks impressive with her summer dress clinging to her tiny waist and spilling over those generous hips. Her dark hair is brushed long and gleams as it touches the small of her back and she appears pensive and a little lost as she says in a soft voice that throws me a little, “So now you know.”
“Know what?”
Closing the door behind me, I lean against it and she sighs. “If it’s worth anything, I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t expecting this and try not to let the surprise show in my words as I say abruptly, “Sorry for what?”
Turning, she looks directly at me and it touches me in a place I forgot existed—my heart because she looks so sorrowful. Like a painting that would hang in the finest gallery titled ‘regret’ because this woman is struggling to deal with her part in this.
Is it regret she was discovered, or regret that she never got to see it through? Possibly regret that she’s standing there now and I expect fear that her career is over before it really got off the ground.
“I’m sorry for you.”
“Why?”
“Because of what happened in your past.”
I feel sick right now as she uses my weakness against me in a direct hit and I never saw it coming. Everything I try to forget is rushing back with a vengeance and I thank God I’m leaning against the wall right now because I have lost control of my muscles.
She turns and the look she gives me shocks me more than anything because she looks so worried, compassionate even, and I can’t deal with it.
Reverting to the only defense I have, I snarl. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t want anything from you except the whereabouts of your stepbrother, so cut the emotional crap and give me everything you know.”
“You already have it.”
Her eyes flash as a little of her spark returns and she hisses. “You know it all because apparently you broke into my apartment, went through all my personal stuff, stole it along with me and kept me imprisoned here overnight, while you trashed my past and present. You could have asked; I would have been more than willing to help if you have asked nicely, but no. You reverted to type and took what you wanted without any thought of how I would feel about this. You’re a bastard, Dexter, a cold, calculating, bastard and you can’t even accept my apology like a man.”
For some reason I laugh, which only annoys her more, and she hisses, “Do you think this is funny, Mr. Prince, because you’re the only one laughing. You broke me yesterday. You humiliated me, stripped me of everything and made me fear for my life. You took the information I gave you, but that just wasn’t enough. You want the whole of me and I still don’t understand why. Yes, I wrote a story about your friend. Big deal, shit happens. You’ve done far worse and at least nobody died because of it.”
She’s gone too far, and she knows it, judging by the look of horror in her eyes as she steps back. Maybe it’s the murderous look on my face, or the darkening atmosphere in the room because suddenly she has given me exactly what I want. A license to destroy because she just signed her own death warrant.
