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Josh
Ifollowed Emily all the way through the house and into my bedroom. I don’t even think she realises she automatically heads to my room, which I should really start thinking of as our room, considering I’m not ever letting her leave it.
I follow her across the room to the en suite door. She turns as she steps into the bathroom, sending me an icy as hell glare as she rips the jacket off and throws it at me, before she slams the door right in my face. I laugh, making sure she can hear it through the closed door.
The fact that she is beginning to stand up to me, beginning to feel comfortable around me, enough to be herself and not the scared girl I picked up from the woods two days ago… That fact is everything. I honestly didn’t know how long she would be cowering from me. How long she would be afraid of what she says, afraid of what my reaction would be to the things she says or does.
Whatever she’s been living through, I’m going to make sure it doesn’t keep a hold on her. I wanted to climb inside her head last night, just to kill the demons that haunt her dreams for her. I hate that I can’t fix that. I hate that she’s dreaming about another man, even if it is a nightmare. No motherfucking other man should be taking up space inside her mind.
Fuck, I need to get my hands on this fucker. Pulling out my phone, I dial Sam. He picks up on the second ring.
“Why the fuck haven’t you called me yet?” I yell through the phone.
“Well, hello to you too, boss. Good to see you’re having a great day.” He laughs.
“Fuck off, Sam. Start talking. What have you found?”
“Not much, which is why I haven’t called. It seems Emily Livingston passed away at age twenty-two. Three years ago,” he says.
“Well, obviously that’s not fucking true. She’s currently in my fucking bathroom.”
“About that, I think I’ll make a trip up there. Check this Emily out for myself, make sure you’re not just, I don’t know, batshit crazy and talking to the dead.”
“Don’t bother. I’m heading to the city tonight. I’ll be bringing her with me. What else did you find out? How did she supposedly die?”
“The coroner’s report says suicide. Last known address was in Adelaide.”
“Adelaide? What the fuck was she doing there?” Heading over to the little bar I keep in my bedroom, I pour a glass of whisky—it’s five o’clock somewhere.
“There’s something else,” Sam says.
“Well, go on, mate. Don’t hold back,” I urge.
“There was a trust that one—Joshua McKinley—had set up in her name. She was due to get it when she turned twenty-two.”
“Don’t be a dick. I know about the fucking trust.”
“Well, did you know it was emptied three years ago? One day before she apparently committed suicide?”
“I never bothered to check it,” I admit.
“It was five million dollars, Josh. You never checked a bank account with five million dollars in it? Gee, guess that’s how the other half rolls, hey?”
“Who made the withdrawal?” I ask.
“The name on the check is hers. Think she somehow managed to fake her own death? Maybe she ran out of money and that’s why she’s back?”
“No, she wouldn’t do that. Send me a copy of the coroner’s report.” I hang up on him.
Within seconds, my phone buzzes in my hand with his email. Opening up the report, I have to remind myself it’s fake. She’s real. She’s in my bathroom. Even I’m not so fucking crazy that I’ve conjured her up.
Emily comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her, steam billowing all around her. Her blonde hair hangs down her back. She’s every man’s fucking wet dream. Those long, toned legs and slim waist…
She walks over to the bed and sits on the edge. Going into my wardrobe, I walk back out with a shirt for her to put on.
“We need to go shopping and get you some clothes of your own. As much as I love seeing you in my things, they’re not going to work for every occasion.” Handing her the shirt, I watch as she stares at me.
“Thank you, but you don’t need to take me shopping. I’m fine.” Her head lowers again as she wrings the fabric of the shirt between her fingers.
