Beastly (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #3)

by Michelle Irwin

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re not the only one who ever laid eyes on the girl, Beau. Now what the fuck are you gonna do? I can sneak these out for you if you like? We can burn them later.”

  I snatched the photos from him. “I ain’t gonna pass up any opportunity to give the police any clues they might be able to use.”

  “Even if it costs you your freedom?”

  I didn’t bother pointin’ out that hidin’ the information might easily cost Phoebe her freedom, and maybe even her life. “Even then. If it helps find the person who’s got her, I’m willin’ to pay the price.”

  “But why? It’s not like you’d even be able to screw her if you’re in jail.”

  “Fuck off, Cash.” Just like Dale had when I’d lost my temper at him, Cash’s eyes widened and his hands went into a surrender position almost immediately. “Unless ya got anythin’ helpful to add, just back up outta here and go.”

  He muttered somethin’ under his breath as he retreated from my space. Once he was gone, my gaze fell on the photos in my hand. Just as it had the first time, the tiniest glimpse was enough to twist my stomach. I wanted to save her from that, to sweep in and rescue her so that the bastard who had her couldn’t touch her even once more. But I didn’t even know where to start to look.

  Cash was right about one thing though, the photos were gonna cause me trouble. If they found Phoebe because of them though, it would be worth it all. With a sigh, I slipped the photos back into the envelope, grabbed the chain, and got ready to visit the police.

  “HEY, COWBOY.” PHOEBE’S smile was bright and brilliant. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Between her fingers, she held a Polaroid. Her smile grew wider, almost catlike in the way it purred across her lips and exposed her canines.

  I reached for the item in her hands, but she yanked it away with a giggle before I could get a hold. “You’ve gotta catch me first.”

  She stepped away from me, tauntin’ me by waving the photograph back and forth.

  I tried to reach for her again, but she disappeared. The photo that she’d held remained. It slowly fluttered toward the ground now that no one was holdin’ it. I snatched it from the air a second before it dropped too low. Wantin’ to see what she’d been teasin’ me with, I flipped it over.

  The gruesome image filled my mind. It seemed to be the next photo in the series that I’d found on my desk. The first with her in chains, the second with the gun on the floor—pointin’ in her direction, and then this new photo.

  Her body slumped to the floor surrounded by a pool of blood.

  My eyes snapped open even as the bile forced its way up my throat. I squeezed my hands into tight fists to stop myself from bein’ sick at the remnants of the dream clingin’ at the edges of my mind. I didn’t have much time to consider where I was, or why I’d been sleepin’ with my head against a cold steel desk, as the sick feelin’ rose again.

  Swallowin’ hard, I forced my stomach to settle. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, wishin’ the image dancin’ in my head was as easy to remove. My gaze trailed the room before I dropped my head back to the desk in front of me as I recalled where I was. And why I was there.

  I’d taken the photos of Phoebe—the real ones and not the one my dreams had taunted me with—to the police, and they’d wanted me to stay for questionin’. Although I wasn’t under arrest and coulda left if I’d demanded, it seemed easier to stay. To tell them everythin’ I could. That didn’t mean I wanted to say anythin’ without my lawyer present just in case. The last thing I needed was my words comin’ out wrong and bein’ twisted to make me look guiltier than I had to start with.

  The late nights and lack of sleep musta caught up to me while I was waitin’ for Nick Kensington to arrive. Tryin’ to get my bearin’s, I leaned back in the chair and stretched out my achin’ muscles before pushin’ myself to my feet.

  I had no idea how long I’d been in the room, but it was clearly long enough to have dozed off and woken. In an attempt to shake the fatigue off my body, I stood and paced ’round the room.

  A few minutes later, the door swung open and Kate Ramsey sauntered in. Her hips swung beneath her pencil skirt, her tailored jacket tucked tight around her waist. I believe the term was power suit, and she looked danged powerful. She was in full attorney mode, and not there as a friend.

  I hadn't had too many professional dealin's with her. Usually I only needed the services of Nick. He was the one who usually handled all my affairs, the one who'd drafted up the documents to create the trust for Cass, managed Abby’s estate, and who'd negotiated all my contacts in conjunction with my agent. The fact that he'd sent Kate in his place indicated he thought I was in need of a defense attorney. And he'd sent the best he knew—his wife. How they managed their careers and their marriage I had no idea, and it wasn't my place to ask. I was certain the fact that they both had their careers before they were married musta had somethin’ to do with it.

  “Beau.” Kate nodded in greeting. “I'm sorry that we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

  I tipped my head to acknowledge her words.

  “Now, can you please tell me what the heck you were thinking?”

  “What d’ya mean?” I had a fair idea, but I wanted her to say it.

  “I mean that you’re the number-one suspect in this case, at least in the media’s eyes. And then you waltz right in to the police station with the most incriminating photos and evidence possible. The media are going crazy, and Belinda is trying to manage what she can from the heart of this shit storm.”

  “What would ya have me do? Destroy the one thing that might help find her? I ain’t guilty. I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

  “Guilt or innocence doesn’t mean anything to the media, or the public. You should know that, Beau. They’re just interested in the story.”

  “Ya think I don’t know that?”

  “So you don’t care if you’re vilified and left sponsorless because of this?”

  “No, I don’t care. Not if it’s the thing that gets Phoebe back safe.”

  She gave an exasperated sigh and indicated to the chair. “Sit.”

  “I’m fine standin’.”

  “Please?” She pulled out the chair beside the one I’d been in and sat. “We need to talk before the police come in for their little chat.”

  Resignin’ myself to what was probably gonna be a terrible afternoon, I slid into the chair.

  “I know you’re just trying to do the right thing by this”—she glanced down at her notes—“Phoebe Reede, but incriminating yourself isn’t going to do anyone any good.”

  “I ain’t tryin’ ta incriminate myself. I just don’t want any lead to go unfollowed, and if I had tried to get the photos to the police any other way, it woulda been just as bad.”

  “Possibly. Especially if they have your fingerprints on them. But, Beau, you should’ve called Nick. You should’ve gotten me involved earlier. We might’ve been able to talk to the lead detective away from the police station. We could have planned this out, and I wouldn’t have had to walk blindly into this situation.”

  It was clear she thought I was bein’ foolish, but I wasn’t entirely stupid. Sure my arrival at the police station would probably provoke a feedin’ frenzy with the media, but that meant that Declan would perhaps see I was cooperatin’ with the police despite the personal cost. He might even understand I wanted Phoebe’s return as badly as he did. “Ya really think it woulda mattered?”

  “Maybe not. I can’t say. All I can do is deal with where we are now.”

  “And that is?”

  “The police are going to come in here and ask you questions about how you found the photos, where you found them, where the chain was in relation to them. If you want, I can tell them that you’re unwilling to talk to them. You do have the right to re— What?” She cut herself off midsentence as my grin grew wider.

  “Ya do know I ain’t under arrest, and it ain’t you that needs to read me my Miranda
rights if I were.”

  “Stop it, Beau. This is serious.”

  “I understand that, but I ain’t got nothin’ to hide. I’ll answer anythin’ they want me to.”

  “I have to—”

  I held up my hand, knowin’ she was gonna argue against givin’ the police anythin’ they could use against me. “If ya think a question steps over a boundary, or could get me into more trouble later on, I’ll follow your lead and won’t answer.”

  “Thank you.”

  She gave me a reassurin’ smile and then quizzed me on some of the basics. By the time the police came into the room, I was ready to share what I knew and then get outta there. I was certain the time I’d spent at the station already had all the gossip columns buzzin’.

  It was nearly two hours later before I was finally granted permission to leave. At least the police hadn’t decided to arrest me, although I was certain I wasn’t off the hook as far as bein’ a suspect went either.

  “I’m sure you understand that my client won’t be able to stay confined to the state. However, I can assure you he will avail himself to further questioning when and if necessary, but only if I am present,” Kate said, shaking the hand of the lead detective before usherin’ me out of the room.

  Before we braved the pack of circlin’ piranhas in front of the station, Kate pulled me aside. “I really hope they find out where she is. But please, if anything else comes to light, go through me. I don’t want you to accidentally incriminate yourself.”

  “I know. As long as the spotlight is on me, the one who has her could be—” I choked on the words as the images in the photos rushed back into my mind.

  Kate rested her hand on my shoulder. “I won’t tell you it’ll be all right. I don’t see a lot of ‘all right’ in my line of work, but I will tell you that I’ll do everything I can to keep you out of jail.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “Good luck with the gauntlet. Just remember two words from now until this all blows over.”

  I was savvy enough with scandal to know what those two words were. “Yeah, yeah, ‘no’ and ‘comment.’”

  She patted my cheek. “See? You can learn.”

  She pushed her way out of the police station and disappeared from view.

  With an indrawn breath, I followed her path through the front door. Once more—in a dance I was at risk of becomin’ familiar with—I forced my way through the line of paparazzi.

  The questions flew at me from all sides. The accusations runnin’ through them grew uglier with every day. I just pulled my baseball cap down over my eyes and shoved my hands in my pockets. I didn’t say the words Kate had suggested; I just didn’t talk at all.

  I could only hope that the photos held some clue. At least that would make all the fightin’ worthwhile.

  I ARRIVED HOME only to find a pack of paparazzi clamorin’ over one another to get a shot. Before they could get anythin’, I pushed my way into the apartment. Cass was waitin’ for me when I pushed the door open, wringin’ her hands.

  Her head lifted at the sound. “They’ve been there mosta the day.”

  She threw herself from her seat and came hurtlin’ across the room into my arms.

  “I was so worried. They were sayin’ ya got arrested. What happened?”

  After movin’ out of her embrace, I led her to the sofa. She was gettin’ bigger by the day, and her belly droppin’ lower. Too much time on her feet might be enough to get the baby makin’ an appearance, and that was the last thing either of us needed.

  Sittin’ at her side, I told her about the bracelet left on my desk. The one that apparently never left Phoebe’s wrist but that was now in the care of the police. Then I told her about the photographs, the ones that would haunt me for all of my days.

  “She’d been tortured?” Cass’s face paled as she asked the question. “What? Why would anyone do that to her?”

  I leaned forward to cradle my head in my hands. I’d been wonderin’ the same thing myself. If it was about keepin’ her from the car, why did it look like she’d been whipped? Jase’s threats came back into my mind. Was it his way of getting revenge on her? If so . . . what else mighta happened to her? A shudder raced down my spine at the thought, and Cass rubbed soothin’ circles over my back.

  “Do you think she’s still . . .” Cass trailed off, leaving the word hangin’.

  “I don’t know.” I choked as my worry for her crawled into my chest and filled up the cavity around my heart. “I can’t do this, Cass. I need her safe.”

  She didn’t give me any reassurances, just continued to rub her hand over my back.

  “I think I’m gonna try to get some rest,” I said, pushin’ up off the sofa. “Let me know if you need me.”

  Despite noddin’ to acknowledge my words, she was still as pale as the cream sofa she was sittin’ on. I wanted to offer her more, to give her some reassurance that things were going to be okay, but there was nothin’ left in me. Nothin’ but the images burned into my brain of Phoebe’s hate-filled stare and the blood dryin’ on her tattered clothin’.

  I headed straight for the shower in an attempt to wash away the day. It failed.

  For the next four hours, I stared at the ceilin’ with the images of Phoebe dancin’ in front of my eyes. The one from my dream joined the rest, tauntin’ me as if it was real.

  “Hey now, cowboy, don’t you give up on me!”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. The words to answer the voice in my head lingered on the tip of my tongue. Without memories of her in this space, I felt more separated from her than ever.

  “Promise me, Beau, promise that you won’t give up on me until you’ve found me.”

  Imagining her voice ignited a new fire within me and I couldn’t deny her anythin’—not even if she was nothin’ more than a disembodied voice for the moment.

  “I promise, darlin’. I swear to you I won’t give up until you’re back at my side.”

  THE NEXT MORNIN’, I woke to a phone call from an unexpected person. Mr. Reede’s number was splashed across my screen. I cleared my throat so that I wouldn’t sound half asleep when I answered. “How can I help you, sir?”

  “Sir? I think I’m missing some of the vital equipment for that title.”

  “Angel.” Despite my surprise, a feelin’ of warmth spread over my chest that she was bein’ sarcastic and her usual self. It meant that Declan’s mistrust hadn’t infected her. “How can I help ya, sweetness?”

  I tried a new nickname for her. It rolled off my tongue as well as darlin’ did for Phoebe.

  “On the news, they said you took some photos of Phoebe to the police. Is that right, or is that bullshit?”

  For a moment, I debated tellin’ her that it wasn’t true. She didn’t need to be haunted with the knowledge that whoever had Phoebe seemed to be tryin’ to taunt me or somethin’. Then I decided that I needed to keep her faith in me, and that meant not lyin’ to her.

  “Yeah, it’s true. Someone left them on my desk at work. Along with her bracelet.”

  “Shit.” Her breath echoed harshly down the line. “Fuck. What happens if she’s hurt or has to go to hospital? They won’t know about her history.”

  It probably wasn’t the best idea to tell her that Phoebe endin’ up in hospital without them knowin’ her history would be the least of our worries. The chance was she was—

  “Don’t give up on me, cowboy.” Phoebe’s “voice” echoed in my head, remindin’ me of the promise I’d made the night before.

  “She’ll be okay. We’ll find her. Soon. And then I’ll kill the sick bastard who took her. Every injury she gets, I’ll return double.”

  “I think you’ll have to line up behind Mr. Reede for that.”

  “Heh, no doubt.” I climbed from the bed and started grabbing some clothes. “I can imagine the torture he’s got planned. How’s he copin’?”

  “As well as can be expected really under the circumstances. He’s checking in with Mrs. Reede regularly. She’
s beside herself. Phoebe . . . well, she always had a special relationship with her mother. One I always envied, if I’m honest. I don’t think anyone would care as much as they do if I was the one missing.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said, curious about Angel’s story. Were her parents gone? Was that why she thought no one would care? Regardless, she was wrong about one thing. “Her parents care for you too.”

  “Not the same way, and that’s okay. I’m just a ringer.”

  “I doubt you’re just a ringer. ’Sides, Phoebe would care.”

  “Yeah, you’re right there. She’d probably be the one person who’d be frantic with worry.”

  “I’d be worried too.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, cowboy.”

  Her use of Phoebe’s nickname for me, and the talk about her goin’ missin’ too, was gettin’ to be too much for me, so I changed the subject. “Is there anythin’ new from the PI?”

  “Not that Mr. Reede has told me. At least, not until the stuff yesterday with you at the police station. I think he’s a little lost if I’m being completely honest. It’s really disconcerting. Phoebe’s parents are usually the pulse of everything. They keep everything on track. I’ve never seen them lost before. Even when planning first started for her trip over here, they just . . . knew what to do. Everything was arranged and sorted in what I imagine must’ve been record time.”

  “No one can plan for what’s happened.”

  “I know. I’m worried about what it might do to them if she doesn’t come home.”

  “We’ll find her,” I repeated again. It had to be my mantra, the certainty I could wrap myself in, or I’d go crazy.

  “Shit, Mr. Reede is finished with his shower. I better go. He’ll be pissed when he finds out I spoke to you, but I needed to know how much truth there was in the rumors. Just to let you know too, he’s going in front of the media again today, but I’m not sure what he’s going to say.”

  “When?”

  “After lunch, but I’m not sure about all the details.”

  We said a quick good-bye without promising to speak again, because neither of us could assume that we would. It wasn’t until after she’d hung up that it occurred to me that I shoulda asked for her cell phone number. Then again, with the way she’d rushed back over to the States, I had no idea if she had her phone on roamin’ or any way to contact her outside of Phoebe's daddy.