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Bailey barks from the direction of the laundry room. I start to head that way. Maybe Jess is in there, doing laundry, and the cop hadn’t been here after all.
“Jess?” Kellan says softly.
I glance over my shoulder to see what’s up. He’s walking to the living room. Jess is sitting in an armchair with her arms wrapped around her legs, head on her knees, as if trying to keep herself together.
Oh, shit.
I race to her and kneel beside the chair. “Hey, what happened?” I gently stroke her hair, unable to prevent myself from touching her. It’s too damn hard not to.
She looks up, revealing her bruised, tear-soaked face. White gauze is taped to her temple, a small amount of blood seeping through. The cut on her cheek isn’t bleeding, but it was at one point. Someone has cleaned it up.
Jess doesn’t turn to either of us. Her unfocused gaze is directed toward the kitchen.
And she’s shaking.
Shit, how she’s shaking.
“She’s in shock,” I tell Kellan. “Pass me a throw.”
He grabs one hanging from the back of the couch and hands it to me. I wrap it around Jess’s shoulders.
“What happened?” My voice is gentle, nothing like the one screaming in my head. I caress her unbruised cheek with my thumb, drying away some of the tears.
“Someone broke in and beat me up.” Her tone is flat and robotic, like she’s reading from a script she hasn’t yet memorized.
Kellan crouches on the other side of her. “Where are Violet and Sophie?”
“She decided to return to her husband.” Jess continues to stare ahead, barely blinking. Her tone remains robotic. I’ve never heard her sound like this. “I made a mistake. Violet and Sophie were fine.”
Kellan and I exchange confused glances. Why would Violet be hiding in Jess’s house all this time if everything was fine?
“It’s all my fault,” Jess whispers, more to herself than to us. I’m not even sure she’s fully aware we’re here. “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.” Her eyes are red and she’s heartbroken. So goddamn heartbroken.
I stroke her face. It feels like a miracle to be touching her again. “It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault.”
I look at my brother. His tight expression confirms we’re thinking the same thing. Wilson’s the one who hit my girl and told her to lie about what’s really gone down with Violet.
White-hot heat flares in me, and my hands itch to murder the asshole. I shove the urge away. That lack of control is why Jess broke up with me instead of asking for my help. I place my hand on her waist.
She flinches and pain registers briefly on her face.
“Can I take a look?” I caress the spot with my thumb so she knows what I’m talking about.
She nods, the movement robotic like her voice.
I inch up the hem of her T-shirt and the throw, exposing more than I was expecting. This is the first time I’ve seen her back, even though I’ve had sex with her on more than one occasion. There’s a scar, ugly and red, near her kidney. It looks only a few months old. Fresh bruises darken the skin on her side, like she’s been kicked or hit with something.
I close my eyes for a beat, trying to find the strength to ask my next question. “Did he…did he touch you or hurt you in any other way?”
Jess’s eyes widen and she rapidly shakes her head, seeming to understand what I’m asking. “No, nothing like that.”
Relief eases a tiny amount of my fear and anger.
“But he knows who I am. He knows I’m Savannah Townsend. He said he won’t let out who I am unless I give him a reason to out me.”
A string of curses parade through my head. I know how important it is for her to keep her past identity a secret. “I’m sorry, Jess. We’ll have to do what we can to prevent that from happening. For now, you’re coming to my place. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, I don’t want to be alone,” she says, her tone bordering on frantic. “I want to stay with you. And…and you can’t say anything to anyone about what I told you. He’ll kill Violet if I so much as mention it to anyone, including the cops. Including you.” Her trembling intensifies, the pretense of her original story now dropped. “He plans to frame me for her death.”
