For a moment, he headed toward the door, but just before he left my line of sight, he stopped. “No. I think I need more than that if you want to look over the footage.”
As hope grew that he just might let me get that insight, I flexed my fingers before tightening my grip on the chair again. “Every time I close my eyes, your daughter—well, she’s there. She has been ever since the first night I met her. And I’ve fallen in love with her, sir. More’n I can ever hope to put in words. I need to see her smile ag’in. To see her face.” Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see her, but it wasn’t enough. “I don’t have any photos of your daughter, other than one down home in Georgia. The ones she sent me from Australia, the ones on the net . . . they just remind me of the trouble we’ve had since her friend Max tol’ me he was her boyfriend.”
“What?” He was back at my side in a minute.
My gaze met his as I tried to figure out which part of my statement had drawn his confusion.
“Who told you what?”
“Her friend Max. He told me they were together.”
“Our Max?”
I nodded.
“I don’t understand. Why would he say that? When did you speak to him?” He clutched his hair. “What the fuck is going on?”
I closed my eyes as I recalled the conversation. “After Phoebe’s win at Bathurst”—my lips curled up naturally at the edges as I recalled how excited she was with that win, and the text messages I’d received, before falling again when I thought of the Skype conversation that followed—“she Skyped me. Durin’ the call, we fought. She—” I drew in a breath. Unless I was willin’ to tell it all, I might as well tell none of it.
Phoebe’s daddy remained deceptively quiet while I spoke. I coulda looked up at him to see how he was taking the information, but was worried what he might be thinkin’.
“She sassed me, thinkin’ I was accusin’ her of only bein’ in the car ’cause of who you are. After she cut off the call, I tried to get her back on Skype and then on her cell, but I couldn’t. She didn’t wanna talk to me.”
The memory of that night, and day that followed it, were seared into my brain. The anger she’d shown and the hurt that flashed behind her gaze. The emotional separation that’d slowly gripped us ’cause of the physical distance we’d been fightin’.
“She turned off her phone. I tried all night to get her back so we could sort it out. Sometime ’round three in the mornin’ for me, I finally got through, but it wasn’t Phoebe who answered the phone. It was Max.”
“Jesus Christ.”
My fingers curled around the chair as I recalled Max’s words. “He said that Phoebe was out with a friend, that they’d be drinkin’ and partyin’. He tol’ me he didn’t expect her to come home till she’d had her fun. He made it clear that she was out to find a man. That he was used to her bein’ free with her love, and that she knew he’d wait for her at home.”
“That fucking little bastard. He’s just like his father. You can’t tell me that you seriously believed that about Phoebe, though?”
Keepin’ my jaw locked tight, I hung my head. There were so many little things that had caused my faith to slip—voices of strange men confirmin’ dates in the background of our calls, texts from Phoebe statin’ she was out dancin’ with a friend and lookin’ for fun—but I coulda ignored them all if it wasn’t for Max’s words. “Course not. At least, not until he told me the things they did and that she loved him most of all.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as Max’s play-by-play ran on repeat in my head. His imagination sure was rich, and rife with details about Phoebe. I shoulda hung up the phone then. If I had, if I’da just spoken to Phoebe about that . . . things would be so different.
“He’s just a fucking kid.”
I spun toward the father of the woman I loved—the woman I’d hurt with my stupid decisions.
My frustration at the situation—at Max, at Phoebe, at myself—boiled over. “I know that now! But when ya got a guy ya don’t know from Adam tellin’ ya about the birthmark near your girlfriend’s—”
I snapped my mouth shut before I could finish my sentence.
The color drained from Phoebe’s daddy’s face.
We were both shocked and embarrassed, not only at that fact that I’d inadvertently let slip that I’d known about the birthmark after her first trip, but also at the words I was about to use. To her daddy of all people.
“I’m sorry, sir, I shouldn’t’ve said . . .” I let my words trail off again.
His eyes were still wide, but after a moment, he gave a mirthless chuckle. “God, I should smack you in the mouth for talking that way about my daughter.”
“But ya ain’t gonna?” I wasn’t sure why he wasn’t, or why I was temptin’ him to.
“I’ve got more important things to worry about right now than whether or not you’ve slept with Phoebe, especially when we both know the answer to that question.”
More important things. Like where she might be. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I’ve wasted too much time here this morning as it is. I know the team has to head back to Daytona for the next race, so no doubt you’ve got some things to arrange, and I need to speak to the police anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When it arrives, I’ll be watching the footage from the interview. Alone.”
I felt my hope fall.
“But I’ll keep your request in mind as I do.”
“Thank you, sir. I can’t ask for more than that.”
“No, you can’t.” He started to leave, but stopped near the door. “Look, if we’re going to be forced together while we try to find Phoebe, you might as well call me Declan. I’ve never really been one for formalities.”
“Yes, sir.”
A small smile graced his lips as he shook his head and left.
FOR THE REST of the day, I tried to concentrate. When Jackson called me to discuss the next race, and more specifically the likelihood Phoebe would attend, I pretended to be payin’ attention, but really I was just buyin’ time while I watched for Mr. Reede’s return.
The only thing that did break through my lack of concentration was Jackson’s statements about Phoebe. Was it too much to hope that there was a misunderstandin’ and she would return before the next race? Maybe she simply didn’t realize the dates. Maybe she’d thought it all started the followin’ weekend.
It was false hope, and I knew it. There was no way her family would be in the dark if she’d needed space from me. And her dad ownin’ the team would mean she’d have reminders about the dates of the races from multiple sources.
Finally, a little after six—long after everyone else was back on the road to Daytona once more—Mr. Reede turned up again. The office lights flickin’ on alerted me to his return. Comin’ up to the main reception area, I watched as he set himself up in Dale’s office. His team shirt was crumpled, a new weariness restin’ on his shoulders. His dark auburn hair stood at wild angles, as though he’d spent the better part of his afternoon tuggin’ at it.
He glanced up in surprise as I knocked on the office door before his lips curled up into a snarl. “What the fuck do you want? Didn’t I tell you I’d think about what you asked?”
He started opening and closing the cabinets in Dale’s office, his attention focused on the contents within as though he was searching for somethin’ specific.
“I wanted to find out whether ya had any luck with the police?”
A growl escaped his throat. “Don’t ask. Arseholes won’t investigate or open a missing persons.”
“What?” I frowned in disbelief. How could they not investigate? “Why not?”
He ignored my question. “Do you know if there’s anything to drink in this goddamned place?”
“Gimme a minute, I got somethin’ in my truck. There’re glasses in the lunchroom.” I was sure Dale had somethin’ somewhere, but I knew without a doubt I had a bottle of Fireball in my truck. Leavin’ Mr. Reede in the office,
I jogged to my car and grabbed the bottle from my suitcase before returnin’.
By the time I got back to Dale’s office, Mr. Reede had two tumblers set up on Dale’s desk and a small portable hard drive in his hand.
“I wanted to do this alone, but seeing as though you’re here and offering me some booze, you may as well watch this too.”
“There’s a screen and projector in the meetin’ room,” I said, not wantin’ to pass up the opportunity he was givin’ me.
He grabbed the glasses and indicated I should show him the way. I led him through the empty offices toward the meetin’ room. As I did, I recalled the thing I’d neglected to tell him earlier—the details of Jase’s attack. But I had a question first. Especially while he was in a sharin’ mood.
“You said the police ain’t gonna open a file for Phoebe?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Apparently she’s a grown woman and because she told us she was going away, she’s not actually missing yet.”
“That’s ridiculous, there ain’t no way she’d a missed her first race willin’ly.”
“I tried telling them that, but they won’t look into it unless there’s evidence to suggest something untoward. They ran a search on hospitals and checked out accident records, but they won’t do anything more. Not yet at least.”
“If you’ll pardon my mouth, sir, that’s a load of bull.”
“I know. That’s why I’m hoping there’s something on here that proves she wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” He tilted the hard drive in his hand.
When we reached the meetin’ room, I placed my bottle of Fireball on the table and reached for the hard drive. By the time I had it set up and ready to play, Mr. Reede had poured two generous double shots of the Fireball.
He tipped back almost all of the whiskey he’d poured himself. A range of emotions flitted across his features.
“That’s got some kick,” he said with a cough as he slid my glass across. “Sweet. Bit of fire.”
I tried to ignore the fact that his description could also fit his daughter. “Heh, yeah. It ain’t called Fireball for nuthin’.”
Before he could say anythin’ more, I pushed Play on the recording and then slid the projector remote back to him. I was happy to defer to him if it meant he wasn’t gonna kick me out.
I found my seat and prepared myself for watchin’ the last thing Phoebe had done before disappearin’.
Within seconds, it was clear I wasn’t nearly prepared enough. My heart was buffeted by the wave of emotion that crashed over me as I saw the screen light up with Phoebe and Marco, the interviewer. Her blue-green eyes sparkled as she set herself up on the seat.
Tears pricked my eyes and my heart tore in half as I watched her on the screen.
Where are ya, Phoebe?
“You ready to go?” Marco asked, his smile in place and workin’ to make her comfortable. As if she needed it. She was a natural in front of the camera.
“Whenever you are.”
My breath caught in my throat at the sound of her voice. On screen, Phoebe adjusted herself slightly and settled into the seat in what appeared to be a more natural position.
The lights died around me, so that the only illumination in the room was that projectin’ off the screen. I glanced over to her daddy as he took his seat again before pouring himself some more whiskey.
“Okay, the plan is to run through some questions about the upcoming race, but as Jessica explained, this is more a getting to know you piece, so we’ll mostly cover other aspects of your life.”
“No worries.” She was a natural in front of the camera. She didn’t fidget or fuss.
“And you’ve got the veto on any question, as per your contract.”
“Of course.” Her lips tipped up into a grin. I knew her well enough to know exactly where her thoughts had gone in that moment. That particular smile, the nostalgic one where her eyes grew slightly unfocused, was always a clear sign that her family was on her mind.
Across the table, her daddy issued a chokin’ sound, as if he was tryin’ to swallow down a sob. I pretended not to hear it. It had to be more difficult for him to watch the recordin’ than it was for me. He hadn’t seen her in person since October, and I’d seen her just ten days ago.
“How about we start with your pre-race preparation?” Marco asked. “How do you get yourself in the zone?”
She laughed, and the sound was like music even though each smile in the interview sliced a fresh wound into my already tattered heart.
“I have a playlist I put on before every race. It’s filled with some of my favorite metalcore songs. That really gets me in the mood, even though there are some wannabe critics who’d argue they’re just noise.” She chuckled again as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Despite the situation, I found myself joinin’ her laughter—knowin’ she was referrin’ to the time she put her pump-up list on for me. That was when I found out what she did and her real name. My lips curled into somethin’ of a smile as I considered what had happened after that. My home. Meetin’ Abby and the crew at the Lake Retreat. Phoebe had slotted into my life there so readily, it was as if she’d been cut to perfectly fit. And when she’d left, the hole she’d filled was left open and bleedin’.
“So what songs are on that list?” My gaze was drawn back to the screen as Marco asked the question.
She rolled off a few names that meant nothin’ to me, countin’ them off on her fingers.
“What’s your ultimate go-to song?”
“For pumping me up, or in general?”
Marco laughed. “In general.”
A coy smile lit her lips. “Well, in general, I’d have to say Luke Bryan’s ‘Roller Coaster,’ or ‘One More Day’ by Diamond Rio.”
I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my lips as she mentioned two songs that topped my favorites list too. I couldn’t even listen to “Roller Coaster” without thinkin’ of our first night together. That she’d list those two songs, ones that had such history in our relationship, as her ultimate favorites told me so much. It gave me hope and proved I wasn’t crazy.
She did want me.
She’d meant the wordless things communicated between us durin’ the night we’d shared before her interview.
“So you’re a country fan then?” Marco asked.
“Hardly!” Phoebe’s laugh rang out again in a bark of amusement. “But I’m willing to try to be for someone special.”
I felt her daddy’s eyes on me through the darkness, and it was too much. I reached for the whiskey he’d poured me and tipped it down my throat. As I drank, Phoebe fielded a question about the reason behind her coy grin. Marco’s questions hinted around the fact there might be a special man. Somethin’ about rumors spreadin’ around regardin’ the sponsors gettin’ behind young love.
“I can’t say too much,” she said, even as her grin grew.
Her smile was so wide it was stunning. Her eyes sparkled with the life I’d seen dim over the last few months while we were apart but that had returned the night we were together. The sight stole my breath away. She was so dang beautiful.
“I’m not sure when we’ll make an official announcement, but there is someone. Someone really special.” She glanced into the camera and it felt like she was lookin’ right at me. Straight into my very soul.
My heart constricted and it took everythin’ I had to stop myself from cryin’ out at the pain.
“He’s actually the reason I’m here in the States at all.” That was me she was talkin’ about; I was certain. Not Xavier. Not no one else. Just me. It warmed my heart for a fraction of a second before it came crashing down around me that she was really gone. The phone call had been a lie; one I’d believed so readily. I’d failed her. Again.
I swallowed the rest of my drink as a new thought struck me. Why didn’t I accompany her on the journey? What would it have mattered if I’d taken a day to drive her back to Moorseville before headin’ back home with her at my si
de? What was so dang important that it couldn’t have waited just one more day. She was plannin’ on comin’ back to me anyway. Surely that action woulda saved her. I pushed out of my chair as my guilt grew.
My throat burned, but it wasn’t the Fireball that did it.
Cass was right. “I shoulda taken her,” I muttered.
I could feel Mr. Reede’s gaze burnin’ the back of my head.
It was my fault.
“So you’re officially off the market?” Marco’s voice came from behind me.
“Why do you ask? You weren’t planning on asking me out, were you?” She chuckled. Her casual teasin’ was almost flirtatious. The way she spoke to anyone, she turned her attention to make them feel like they were the only one in the room. It was no wonder men responded to her; heck, women did too. She was just one of those bright, cheery people others flocked to. “I’m kidding, of course. But, how about this? I’ll give you an exclusive and officially confirm that much at least. I am off the market, and really happy about it.”
I tried to block out the conversation, tryin’ to ignore the questions about her excitement for the first race of the season. Her first race in a stock car. It echoed undeniably through her voice. She was so enthusiastic about it all. If I’d seen this interview before the race, I would’ve known somethin’ was wrong.
I did know somethin’ was wrong; I was just too pigheaded to believe it. Too foolish to refuse to listen to her lies when she’d called.
I didn’t realize things had fallen silent behind me until the lights flickered on around me. Despite the silence in the room, I couldn’t turn around. How could I face the man who’d raised the woman I loved when I couldn’t even find my voice?
“She really loves you.” His voice was soft, almost broken. “She lights up just like her mother whenever she talks about you.”
I rubbed my hands over my eyes as I tried to stow away the emotions that had been bubblin’ in my chest ever since I’d seen the confirmation that I wasn’t just imaginin’ things.
To his credit, he didn’t try to force me to turn around.
“How d’ya know it’s me she’s talkin’ about?” I asked, although I suspected I mighta known the answer.
Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3) Page 6