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The primping stops. “What?”
“Glenn.” He walks toward me. “Brett thought you were safe from him.”
“He couldn’t have known Glenn would come after me.”
“That’s the thing.” He stops in front of me. “He didn’t think he could.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Brett thought Glenn was dead.”
“What are you talking about? Why would he think that?”
He looks down at the floor. “After Brett met you”—his eyes lift to mine—“he’d go to Glenn’s every few weeks to make sure you didn’t come back.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I think he couldn’t get you out of his head.”
I stare at him, letting what he said sink in and realizing I had the same problem. I couldn’t get Brett out of my head. I thought it was because he rescued me. How could there not be a part of him that would always be with me. But what if there’s more to it. More to us than that night? What if we were always meant to be, and the how doesn’t matter?
“What happened”—I blink—“that, ah, made Brett think Glenn was dead?”
“Brett watched some guy shoot Glenn. Glenn went down. Brett called me. I went there, and Glenn didn’t get up. So we left.”
“Wait! Brett watched someone shoot Glenn?”
“Yeah, Brett was there looking through the window. Ya know, to make sure you weren’t there, and that’s when he saw it happen.” He lifts a hand as if to calm down the shit in my confused brain. “Now, I know it might seem weird, creepy even that he was spying on Glenn, but I don’t think he could help himself. He needed to be sure you were okay.”
“Why?”
He chuckles. “I think you know the answer to that.” He smiles. “Do you believe in coincidence?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I don’t. I believe you and Brett were meant to meet. I think he felt it that night when he first saw you, and it stayed with him. You stayed with him. Or, at least, the thought of you did. He might have even let himself dream about a life with you.” He shrugs. “You shined some hope into the darkness of my brother’s life.”
I press my lips together. His raw words. His assumption. Could he be right?
“Cassie!” I hear Erica.
I spin around and plaster on my best professional smile.
“Erica.” I walk over, composing myself and trying to distinguish the shit Cole just planted into my head. “This is Cole Daxon, contractor supervisor for Daxon Construction.”
Cole shakes her hand as she introduces us to the other two representatives from GrandMark.
We tour the place, and Cole answers all their questions. I’m grateful for his attendance because my brain is fried from overthinking what he said about Brett.
All this time, Brett thought Glenn was dead. The time he went with me to the meeting in Sarasota. He thought Glenn was no threat. When the detective showed up, he thought Glenn was dead. But he didn’t kill him. He wasn’t worried about being a suspect. He was concerned about me outing him and the escort service. He must know I’d never do that. Why didn’t he tell me about Glenn?
He doesn’t trust me. Is that it?
It’s hard to swallow. Imagine him going back to Glenn’s to check on me. Is this something he does with all his escorts? Was I different, or was I just a dream to him like Cole said? It’s a little different than when Brett was younger, waiting for his father to pass by his room, thinking about the day he was big enough to pick up one of his bats and beat him with it. Those were the kind of dreams Brett had as a kid. Perhaps, the dream Cole is speaking of is Brett’s wishful adult dream.
I asked him if he wanted me to stay, but he never gave me an answer.
What is he afraid of?
