Fame And Secrets (Lords Of Lyre Book 2)

by Cora Kenborn

  Julian and I weren’t like other couples. We didn’t need flowery words or long soliloquies to apologize for acting like asses. I didn’t expect jewelry peace offerings, or him to buy my forgiveness. One stupid exchange of words that’d mean nothing to anyone else, meant the world to us.

  A stage hand pulled up a second wingback chair, and Julian moved it across the stage until it bumped right up against mine. Reaching across the joined armrests, he entwined our fingers and gave my hand a squeeze.

  Suddenly, the fear was gone, my strength returned.

  The cameraman counted back down, the red light ignited, and Phil Carlson’s teeth took center stage. “Heartbreaking. Chilling. A family torn apart by a father’s blood thirst for his own family.” I rolled my eyes. He turned his attention to Julian. “I see we’ve been joined by the illustrious Julian Bale. Welcome, Julian.”

  Julian nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Now that you’re here, could you please tell us how you and Phoebe met?”

  Twenty minutes later, Phil had oohed and ahhed over our meeting, our unbelievable roller coaster ride with his stalker, my pregnancy, and our move to Los Angeles. I finished out the story with Iris’s birth and her kidnapping. The private details of our lives, we kept to ourselves, such as our fights, our separations, and Zane’s little blue pills. We knew what to say and when to skip over things that had no bearing.

  Toward the end of the broadcast, Phil gave us a chance to speak into the camera and make our pleas to the viewers and directly to my father. As usual, Julian spoke eloquently and professionally, years of media training serving him well.

  Me? Not so much.

  I held it together while begging the viewers for information. When addressing my father, all the pain and suffering I’d endured at his hand bubbled to the surface. I knew my eyes held fire and hatred, and I didn’t give a damn. I refused to beg that man for anything, but the last line I spoke in the broadcast echoed in my head for the entire ride home, the entire time Julian tried to force feed me a sandwich, and the entire time he lowered me into bed and covered me up.

  “I’m not scared of you anymore. I won’t beg you for anything, because I know it’s what you want. You get off on it. You may have my child, but you’ll never have me. We’ll find her, you son of a bitch. And when we do…god help you.”

  God would never help him.

  Satan, maybe.

  But never god.

  ***

  The bed creaked with his weight. I smiled and reached for his hand, sighing as his lips buried in my hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t,” I said quietly. “I’ve been awake for a while.”

  “So why didn’t you say something?”

  My throaty chuckle elicited an eyebrow quirk, and I smiled. It was a move I thought I’d forgotten. “Because I was listening to you think.”

  “Oh, so you’re in my head now?”

  Rolling over to face him, I traced my finger down his cheek. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Amusement painted his lips. “No way. There’s some information you don’t need access to.”

  “Whatever, Bale.” I pulled the sheet tighter around me and yawned. “I can read you like a book.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Prove it how?”

  He grabbed the middle of the sheet and dragged me against him. “Tell me what I’m thinking.”

  I propped up on one elbow and peered down at him, my hair dusting across his chest. “You’re a complex man, Julian Bale. If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I’d have said you’re an enigma.”

  He inched closer. “And now?”

  “And now, you’re who you’ve always been.”

  His voice dropped to a thick alto. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  I placed my palm against his bare chest. “You’re the man I fell in love with in a hotel room in New York when you kissed my scars and called them beautiful.” Before I could speak again, he cradled the back of my head and brought my face against his in a purposeful kiss. I immediately responded, and for a moment, I completely lost myself in him. The simple touch of his lips against mine held enough power to make me drunk with desire.

  His opposite hand ran down the length of my body, the blood already pumping through my veins. My rational side screamed at me to stop this. Too much had happened between us to jump back into bed together. There needed to be discussion…rebuilt trust.

  I opened my eyes, and he slowly pushed my hair away from my face. I’d never seen his eyes as green as they were at that moment. He placed his calloused fingers, raw from too many hours strumming chords, against my cheek, his voice raspy and tortured.

  “We’ll find her.” Enclosing me in his muscular arms, I snuggled in, content for the first time in what seemed like forever. He pushed his nose into my hair and inhaled.

  “Do you think the broadcast worked?” I asked, thinking out loud.

  “You have that fire in your eyes again, princess. He doesn’t stand a chance.” Pulling me tighter, he locked his arms and settled in. “Tomorrow, I’m getting you breakfast,” he said, his voice muffled by my hair. “You need to eat. You’ve lost too much weight.”

  I smiled. He didn’t have to say he loved me. Those words said it all.

  ***

  As the sun rose, I groggily opened my eyes. The night had passed too quickly and dawn stole time away from us. As I batted the light away from my eyes, I realized I was the happiest I’d been in months, and it wasn’t just the man lying beside me that evoked my peacefulness.

  The rekindled closeness we’d shared last night tugged at my heart and filled me with powerful anticipation. He’d stood by me and beside me against the world. I no longer felt isolated from him. The storm had passed, and the strength I drew from him had returned.

  He sighed in the middle of a dream. The lines in the deep corners of his mouth tilted in a smile and took my breath away. I held still, praying I wouldn’t wake him. I needed these last few minutes alone with him, lost in thoughts I’d struggled the last few days to find a way to express.

  When they first appeared in the recesses of my mind, I’d tried to shake them away. But no matter what I did, they reappeared, never giving me a moment’s peace.

  No more time remained. I’d run out of tomorrows.

  Reaching over, I gently pressed my nose against his shoulder and inhaled. I could live a thousand years and never tire of smelling him. His was a scent that ensnared me in a vortex of crushing love, happiness, and lust. I silently wondered how he’d react when I told him I’d dreamt of Iris—that I’d seen in my mind where she slept, the arms that held her, and heard her cries.

  Would he think I’d lost my mind?

  The emotion playing across my face would be visible if he awoke right now. The thought lifted me up and terrified me at the same time. It prompted me to get dressed and head downstairs. No one was in the house. When Julian came home, he sent Jaxon to a hotel and Everson back to wherever he came from. But old habits were hard to break, and I was used to being fully presentable to a house full of strangers.

  Hitting the steps midway, I heard scratching and what sounded like feet padding against pavement. I ran to the front door, and disregarding everything Jaxon taught me about personal safety, I tugged on it until it flung open. Tucked against the frame and the door sat a plain white envelope. No address, no name, no stamp.

  I scanned the lawn for lingering paparazzi or officers. Nothing. It seemed the interview with Predator Confidential sent everyone packing.

  My mind told me to call Jaxon and wait for the envelope to be dusted for fingerprints, but my hands already ripped into it, pulling out the simple white paper. The words were written in plain black ink. Nothing fancy, no script writing. Simple and to the point.

  You for her. Tell anyone and I’ll kill her. Get in your car alone, now, and park at the top of Mulholland Drive near the Hollywood sign. Do as you’re told, and I’ll give her back.

  The paper shook in my
trembling hand. It wasn’t his handwriting, but every part of me knew it came from my father. Years of his hand taught me not to trust his promises, but he held all the cards. What mother would I be if I didn’t do everything humanly possible to bring her home?

  I glanced up the staircase where Julian slept soundly. For a moment, I considered telling him everything. But in my heart, I knew he’d try to stop me. He’d never let me go through with it, and Iris didn’t have time for Plan B. My father showed his hand. Whether it was a trap or not…I couldn’t risk Iris’s life on a gamble.

  I thought of Jaxon. But since notes and gifts had been coming regularly to the house for weeks, I wondered if one of the FBI agents he’d brought into our home had been working against us all along. At this point I trusted no one.

  With a final glance up the stairs, I blew Julian a kiss he’d never see and stuffed the note in my back pocket. Quietly folding the keys in my hand, I snuck out the front door and down the sidewalk. Within minutes I made the turn on Mulholland Drive and drove as far as I could up the hill. Parking on a narrow, dusty embankment, I silently cursed myself as I slammed the door.

  Forgetting my stun gun was a rookie mistake. I knew better.

  As the sun broke over the Hollywood sign, I shielded my eyes and scanned the area for signs of life. Promising myself I’d only wait a few more minutes before getting the hell out of there, I silently ticked the seconds off in my head.

  I counted to forty-six before something hard crashed against the back of my skull and everything went black.

  Chapter Forty

  Julian

  The room is dark and damp. I’m not sure how I got here, but I want out. Unfortunately, I can’t find a door—or a window.

  “Phoebe?” I don’t know why I’m calling out to her. It’s not like she can walk through walls. Then I feel hot breath on my neck.

  “Boo.” I don’t have to turn around to know it’s her. Still, it doesn’t occur to me to ask her how she got inside the circular room.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Her hand trails my shoulder. “I know, silly.” She walks in front of me. She’s wearing a flowing white gown. I must make a weird face because she laughs. Phoebe would never be caught dead in a get-up like that.

  “Where are we?”

  She shrugs. “Here. There. Lots of places.”

  I snort. “Could you be vaguer?”

  She laughs a melodic laugh. “You’ll understand someday.”

  I’m impatient. “Tell me now.”

  A knowing smile plays on her lips as she shakes her head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

  I reach for her hand. “You just got here.” I look around at the blackness. “Wherever here is.”

  She brings her fingers to her lips. “Shhh. He’ll hear you.”

  My eyebrows shoot up in warning. “He? Who’s he? Who’s here, Phoebe?” I notice her face. It’s pale. Almost white. And her hair is wet. “Where have you been, and why is your hair wet?”

  She smiles again. It’s starting to piss me off. “Princess fell fast asleep, and dreamt she heard them rhyming; but when she awoke, she found it a joke, for the air was thick and climbing.” In the distance, heavy footsteps jarred the entire room, and Phoebe’s mouth turned downward. “I have to go now. He’ll be angry.”

  “Phoebe!” My heart is racing. Before I can stop her, she walks through the stone wall and disappears. As I yell for her, a chorus of invisible children start chanting that goddamn nursery rhyme from somewhere beyond my vision.

  The volume is deafening, and I cover my ears. “Stop!” They laugh. “Phoebe!”

  I awoke in a mass of pillows, blankets, and sweat. I scanned the room for the woman I’d held against me all night. My hand roamed the sheet for her. I reached all the way across the bed.

  Nothing.

  Princess fell fast asleep…

  The rhyme rang in my head as I searched the bedroom, the bathroom, every room in the goddamn house.

  Empty.

  Flinging the front door open and blinded by flashing cameras, I knocked a few to the ground as my eyes furiously scanned over their heads at each car, each curb, each house.

  Her car was gone.

  Phoebe wouldn’t just leave. She always wrote a note when she had to leave without me knowing. I knew my wife.

  Slamming the door, I grabbed my phone and frantically dialed Jaxon Hough’s hotel room.

  “Yeah?”

  “Get over here, Hough.”

  “Bale?” His sleep-riddled voice instantly cleared. “What’s happened?”

  The words caught in my throat as I choked them out. “Phoebe’s gone.”

  ***

  I sat for twenty minutes staring at the phone as it rang repeatedly. I knew it was Chloe. Ryker already picked Mom up from the airport. Phoebe mentioned last night her sister’s flight was arriving sometime today.

  Apparently, it already had.

  Tossing the phone on the bed, I shook my head. Fuck her. She hated me anyway. She’d always blamed me for anything remotely harmful that happened to Phoebe, and this would be no different. It was too much to take. I couldn’t handle her right now.

  Regret killed me to the core. Lying on Ryker’s couch, I couldn’t count how many times I picked up the phone to call her. Dialed her number. Got her voice mail. Dialed it again just to hear her voice. There weren’t enough lifetimes for my regrets. Now it was too late to even try.

  Throwing the phone across the room, I watched as it hit the dresser and crashed to the floor.

  I refused to process anything other than finding her. Not now. Not ever. Grabbing the alarm clock off the table and ripping it out of the wall, I hurled it across the room as well. Not satisfied, I scanned the room for something else to destroy.

  What had happened to my life? My career had gone to shit. My friends hated me, and the one person I loved more than my own life was missing.

  A light knock on the door interrupted my self-indulgent rage. “Julian? Damn it, Julian, open the door.”

  Stumbling to the door, I flung it open. My brother stood in the doorway looking haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. Pushing past me, he walked in and shut the door.

  “We have to talk.” He faced me, his eyes roving over my disheveled appearance. “I mean, I have to talk, and you have to listen.”

  I sank onto the bed. The look on Ryker’s face churned my stomach.

  He took in the destruction I’d created. Phone and alarm clock smashed against the wall, glass everywhere. “Julian, you have to promise me you’ll listen to what I have to say before you react.” Placing both hands on either side of the bed, I braced for the worst. Ryker took a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with Jaxon Hough.”

  I stared at the floor. “And?”

  “The police found Phoebe’s SUV at the bottom of a ravine off Mulholland.”

  I gripped the scattered bed linens in my fists and squeezed. I was on the verge of destroying everything in my line of sight, but I had to know for sure. “Is she…”

  Ryker’s fingers closed around my forearm. “She wasn’t in it, Julian. They found her purse…shit scattered everywhere. The car’s totaled, but no Phoebe. It’s like she just vanished.”

  As if time suspended, froze, and restarted, color filled my vision, and my heart resumed beating. Shrugging him off, I stood and started pulling clothes out of the dresser. “I have to go.”

  “What the hell, man?” he called out behind me. “You need to call Jaxon and figure out—”

  “I need to find my wife,” I bit out, my jaw clenched tight.

  “You’re about to lose everything.”

  “I’ve already lost everything.”

  “Julian…” He sighed and palmed his forehead.

  “Get out.” When he hesitated, I grabbed a framed picture of Phoebe at her birthday party in New York and hurled it at his head. “I said get out!”

  Without another word, he stormed out of the bedroom and slammed the d
oor. Finally, alone, I fell to my knees. Bracing my weight on my hands, I spoke no prayers—just one word repeated over and over till I was hoarse.

  “No! No, no, no…”

  Then the rage took over. Rage over feeling helpless. Rage over Phoebe being alone with that man. The room spun with red hot fury. One thought filled my head.

  Phoebe.

  I had to get to Phoebe. Fuck everything and everyone else.

  Still on my hands and knees, I swore at the top of my lungs. Screams for the pain Phoebe and Iris felt. Screams for the pain I felt, and screams for the man I’d send straight to hell.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Phoebe

  My head hurt. From the constant rolling beneath it, I knew there had to be a gigantic knot between my skull and whatever it rested on. Everything felt heavy. My limbs hurt, my head hurt, and no matter what I did, my eyes wouldn’t cooperate and open. I felt stuck between two worlds, fused together by a white haze I wanted desperately to break through. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like sandpaper. I couldn’t move my tongue.

  What the hell?

  Voices rumbled, and I determined I was moving. The continual bumping and rolling under my head got progressively worse as electric shocks tore through my brain every time we hit a bump. I still couldn’t open my eyes, but I knew I wasn’t in my Infiniti. My other senses may’ve been dulled, but smell wasn’t one of them. The stench curdled what food remained in my stomach. It smelled like a construction worker after spending all day working on hot asphalt in the summer sun.

  “You hit her too hard,” a raspy female voice accused.

  “So now you’re the expert on efficient daylight abductions? Shut the fuck up.”

  I struggled to place the vaguely familiar male voice.

  “He wanted her awake.”

  “He’ll be happy with what he gets.”

  “I just don’t want to make him mad.” The female voice shuddered.