It was a little over four minutes later that the elevator doors opened and Angel stepped out. Relief flowed on my next breath that she appeared unharmed.
Pissed off, but unharmed.
She offered some sass before thankfully getting into the car without argument. Beau surprised me by not offering a load of shit to get himself out of trouble the way most people would have—the way I’d expected him to. Instead, he said he understood why I would be suspicious.
I couldn’t trust it though.
How could I know that his assertions of understanding were genuine and not just another attempt at a different type of bullshit? One that went along with his whole pretend Boy Scout attitude.
“You didn’t have to be rude to Beau.” Angel pouted in the passenger seat as we drove back toward the airport.
“Have you seen the headlines?”
She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Have you read any of the headlines about Phoebe? Like ever?”
“Angel—”
“No, Mr R, you know how it is. You’ve lived this life as long as Phoebe’s been alive.”
My jaw was tight as she went on her little rant. When she’d finished, I said, “The police are opening a case.”
“W-what?”
“They believe the information they’ve received, about Beau, is credible enough to look into it.”
Her gaze swung back to me in an instant. “Really?”
“I’m sorry. I know you like the guy, but I just can’t trust him. I can’t rule out the possibility that he did something to her.”
“What exactly are they saying they found out?”
“They haven’t given me all the information. Just that they had an anonymous tip from someone who saw Phoebe back down at the Lake Retreat the day after her interview. Whoever it was said they saw Beau carrying her into his place while she was unconscious.”
Angel crossed her arms and put her now bare feet up on the dash. She frowned as she fell into thought.
“I just don’t buy it,” she said after a while. “I can’t. He’s too . . .” She trailed off and gave a small smile. “Straight-laced.”
I didn’t mention that sometimes it was the quiet ones that had to be watched the closest.
“Besides, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that he has feelings for Phoebe.”
“Maybe he does. But that doesn’t mean they’re mutual.”
She tsked me. “Of course they were mutual. Isn’t the fact that she’s even here in the States evidence that they’re mutual?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It was four fucking months ago,” she snapped before her eyes widened and she curled in on herself. No matter how many times I told her she could be herself around Alyssa and me, Angel still had a minor freak-out every time she stepped over one of her own perceived boundaries.
“A lot can change in four months,” I offered. Didn’t I know that better than most? Years ago, my own life had changed drastically in just a few weeks.
Angel shook her head. “You don’t understand, Mr R, when I was here with Phoebe, she wanted to be with Beau.” She stopped and wrapped her arms around her legs, drawing her knees into her chest so only her toes pressed against the dash. “Well, actually she said she still wanted to be with Xavier, but I know her too well to believe that. Plus, she texted me in the days that she was in Georgia and, I don’t know, it just felt like maybe she was changing her mind.”
“Maybe she was thinking about it, and then decided she still wanted to be with Xavier. That’s certainly consistent with what I’m hearing.”
“And then what? Beau attacked her for not choosing him?”
I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”
She pursed her lips and her eyes pinched before she shook her head. “Nope. I don’t buy it.”
Her straight refusals to even consider the possibility of wrongdoing were exasperating.
“You don’t even know the guy,” I insisted.
“I know enough.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. It was going to be a long flight if I was going to be spending all of it arguing with Angel. “I’m not going to give him a pass just because you think I should.”
“I’m not saying you should. I’m just saying . . . I don’t know. Don’t be too hard on him, I guess. Not based on hearsay. Try to put yourself in his shoes. What if it was Mrs Reede who was missing and you were being blamed for it.”
The implication in her suggestion—that Beau felt anything even almost as strong for Phoebe as I did for Alyssa—was ludicrous, especially when he’d clearly not given a shit that she was missing before I turned up. How many of his actions since then had been just to assuage his guilt or to convince everyone of his innocence? How could I trust a single word from his mouth under those circumstances?
As I drove to the airport, images of the scene described in the media played in my head. Phoebe in Beau’s arms—unconscious. Him carrying her into his house.
How?
Why?
Was she already . . .?
“I guess that all means we’re not any closer to finding what happened?” Angel asked after a moment, drawing me from the fears that were pulling my mind down a hundred different paths.
“Besides these allegations, there’s nothing new,” I said, glancing out the window to gather myself before spinning to assess her. “We haven’t found her yet.”
She curled up onto the seat, drawing her feet in close, and then put her chin on her knees. “She’ll be okay,” she said, quietly enough that I guessed it was to reassure herself more than me.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you’re right.”
The words didn’t come out with any conviction. How could they after the visions that had been torturing me?
BY THE TIME Angel and I got off the flight from Florida, we were barely speaking. During the flight, she’d told me about the time she spent with Beau, once more insisting on his innocence, but I wasn’t so willing to turn a blind eye to the facts. One thing I was certain of was that I was about ready to put Angel straight back on a plane headed home. I didn’t need her in North Carolina as an extra responsibility.
Worries spun through me at the thoughts of Angel being alone and unprotected when I couldn’t be there. What if it wasn’t Beau who knew what had happened to Phoebe, and some creep around the apartment building was planning on taking advantage of Angel’s presence to cause more issues? What if it was Beau and he was able to make it all the way up to the apartment door and lure Angel out on the pretence of innocence? If Angel was home—and safe—it would be one less concern for me.
Although my plan had been to try to get her straight on a flight as soon as possible, at any cost, it didn’t work that way. Angel insisted on staying through until the end of her booked trip, even if that meant she left to stay in a hotel, which would only add to my worries. She was as stubborn as Phoebe at times, and it meant I had to suck it up and look after her regardless of my own concerns.
We settled into somewhat of an uneasy truce on Saturday night that lasted into Sunday. Around midday Sunday, she came out into the living room and flicked on the TV to watch the end of the Daytona race.
The announcers speculated about Beau and the rumours surrounding Phoebe’s disappearance. They showed footage from earlier that day, of Beau being booed as he trailed the other driver—the one in Phoebe’s car—through a crowd. Angel shot me a look that suggested I should have had some sympathy for him, but I couldn’t find any. Not really. Not while Phoebe was still missing. Maybe she was right, and he was innocent, but I couldn’t trust him.
Before the race was even finished, I had a phone call from the private investigator. He said he had some new information regarding Beau and his ex-girlfriend, Cassidee. After giving me a brief rundown on his belief that she was indeed carrying Beau’s child, despite Beau’s denials, Darnell said he wanted to follow up on a couple of leads and talk aga
in Monday afternoon. After he’d agreed to meet me at Phoebe’s apartment to show me his evidence and run through the next stage of his investigations, Angel appeared from behind me. Evidently, she’d been standing behind me through the phone call and pounced the second we’d hung up.
“Why are you so pig-headed that you’ll only follow this one lead?”
Her words echoed my own worries. What if I was following the lead only to ignore something obvious about someone else? But what if I ignored the facts, and it was him? What if Phoebe wasn’t just missing?
What if she hadn’t just been unconscious?
What if she was . . .
I took a deep breath as the possibility I might be looking for a body and not my living, breathing daughter struck once more. The police had all but said that’s what they were searching for. Not in so many words, but I was adept at reading between the lines. “Not now, Angel.”
“No, I need to know. Don’t you think it’s dangerous to focus only on Beau? What if—”
“Angel, stop,” I said with as much volume as I could muster with my paralysed voice. Barely able to hold it together, I spun to her.
She went quiet before her eyes widened and tears flooded her lashes. For a moment, she flinched away from my anger. The instant an apology was on my lips, she fell into my arms in tears.
“She’s going to be okay.” At first I thought Angel was giving the same assertion she’d offered a hundred times at least since she’d arrived, but then she drew back and her shining emerald irises met mine with a request for reassurance buried in them. “Isn’t she?”
The “I hope so,” I wanted to issue died on my lips at the expression on her face. “Of course. You know Phoebe.”
Angel sniffed and held me tighter as she cried.
Nothing more was said.
Nothing more was needed.
One thing was clear. Despite our disagreement over my suspicion of Beau, we weren’t going to have any lasting issues between us. I was grateful for that at least. It was important to me that she was safe until her flight home in a little over a week. Until then, I would watch her like a hawk.
DARNELL SLID documents across the table. I had no real clue what I was looking at—Alyssa was the one who took care of most of that shit back home—but I figured he would explain himself before too long.
“I’ve checked into Mr Miller’s financial records and information regarding his foster sister’s estate, and I’ve found something interesting. He has earmarked a significant portion of the estate to a new trust with an unnamed beneficiary. There are suggestions this is for a child.”
“So he’s set up a trust for his friend’s baby?” I had no idea where Darnell got his information, and was a little terrified by how thorough it was and how easily he seemed to get his hands on it, but I had no reason to doubt it.
Darnell’s lips pursed and he spread his hands as if to suggest there was more going on. “It’s a rather generous trust for a child that isn’t his.”
“You think it’s guilt money?”
“I’m not sure what else to believe. Tell me how many people you know would set up a trust fund for a child that isn’t theirs, especially one with assets valued at close to a million dollars.”
It wasn’t DNA tests and irrefutable evidence, but neither was it an impossible leap of logic. I could understand why Darnell had jumped to the conclusion he had.
While I was letting the information digest, I glanced over at Angel. She snapped to sitting upright and pretended to be fascinated by the book she had in her hand again—despite her gaze having been glued to Darnell a second before. “What do you think, Angel? You know the guy better than anyone else in the room. Do you think Cassidee’s baby is his?”
She dropped her book to her lap and hummed. “Well, I guess it might be possible, but a trust doesn’t really prove anything, does it? If you really want to know why he set up the trust, you’d be better off asking him direct.”
Her answer didn’t surprise me. She rarely accepted cloak-and-dagger crap when you could ask a direct question. I’d always admired that about her—it was certainly something I’d tried to instil in my kids too.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe I need to arrange another meeting with him.”
If it was on my terms, and in a location of my choosing, I could at least control it. Before I could talk to Darnell any further, my phone chimed and Alyssa’s name flashed on the screen.
My heart filled my throat as I calculated the time difference. It would have been around four in the morning for her, so why was she calling? I was made especially nervous by the fact we’d arranged time to chat via Skype later that evening. Despite my frayed nerves, I didn’t hesitate to answer it. “Lys, what is it?”
“Has something happened while I was sleeping?”
“No. Not that I know of, why?”
“It’s Beau. There are reports he’s been arrested.”
I threw back my chair in my haste to get to the TV remote and turn on the news. As the headlines rolled along the bottom of the screen, I kept watch for his name. When it rolled around, my heart stopped.
“It’s saying he’s being held for questioning,” I murmured to Alyssa.
“Tell me you’ll bring her home, Dec.” Alyssa’s voice was choked. “Tell me.”
“I’ll bring her home,” I promised. “Whatever it takes.”
As I watched his name roll around again, I could only hope it wouldn’t be in a coffin.
I CALLED THE officer who’d spoken to me regarding the new lead they were following up with Beau. All I got was a brush-off as another officer informed me that I would be contacted in due course.
Once I was off the phone, I turned back to Darnell, who had obviously realised what was happening and was already tapping away on his phone.
“Apparently, Mr Miller brought some incriminating information to the police.”
“Like what?” Angel shifted behind me, ignoring any pretence she was interested in her book any longer. Her voice was pitchy and rushed as she asked the question.
Darnell was silent for a few moments as he went through his phone. “It’s light on the details at the moment, but it sounds like he might have had some photos.”
Photos? What sort of photos could be regarded as incriminating? And why did he have them? More than that though, why would he have taken them to the police if they were incriminating?
The whole thing grew more fucked up by the day, and none of it brought us any closer to finding Phoebe.
“I need to speak to him,” Angel muttered.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said. Having Angel become twisted in his web again would only make matters worse.
“Whatever.” She spun around and parked her arse back on the couch before crossing her arms over her chest. The gesture was so like something Phoebe would do that I was torn between laughing and crying.
“Was there anything else?” I asked Darnell. He’d told me on the phone he had a few things to discuss, and so far we’d only discussed one—not including the distraction of Beau’s apparent incarceration.
“I had some of my men knock on some doors in the building. Someone on the ground floor said they saw a guy carrying someone to a car in the parking garage.”
I sat straighter. The news regarding Beau was that he’d been seen carrying her unconscious into his house in Georgia. Had she been unconscious the whole way?
A darker thought struck me, but I pushed it away.
“He couldn’t give a strong description unfortunately, but what he could offer didn’t match Beau’s.”
“Didn’t match?” The words settled over me. “What does that mean?”
Darnell indicated with his hands that he didn’t know. “It could mean that he’s innocent.”
“Told you so,” Angel muttered behind me.
“Or it could indicate—”
“An accomplice.” I cut Darnell off as it hit me.
“It’s all
just guesses and conjecture still,” he warned. “I would love to have something concrete for you, but the list of possible suspects is still so long.”
“I appreciate what you have done so far.” Despite the sincerity in them, the words were bitter on my tongue. I had hoped we’d be further along by now.
We ran through a plan of attack for the next week, knowing it would need to be flexible. It was tempting with everything going on with Beau to focus the entire investigation in his direction, but Darnell suggested the opposite now that the police were involved. At least until there was further reason to suspect him.
“I’ll keep you informed on any additional findings,” Darnell said as we shook hands goodbye.
“Don’t let Beau fall off your radar entirely,” I reminded him before showing him out. “What were you thinking for dinner?” I asked Angel, turning to face her again.
She levelled a glare at me. I didn’t need to ask what the look was about, because it was the same thing her entire attitude had been about lately.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” she argued.
Knowing her well enough to know when she was bullshitting me, I raised my brow at her.
“I just wish you’d lay off the guy.”
“Look, I—”
The buzzer rang for Phoebe’s apartment. Both Angel and I swung to look at it.
“Do you think Darnell forgot something?” she asked.
“I doubt it. He’d barely be out the front door yet.” I crossed the room and answered it, demanding to know who was there.
“Are you Phoebe Reede’s daddy?”
My instincts were on edge. Was it a paparazzo? That would definitely be the last thing I needed. Before I would even dare speak to the press, I’d need more information and to have a strategy meeting with Alyssa. The thought was depressing because “strategy” sounded so cold—uncaring in light of the situation—but I had to be careful. A wrong word or misinformed quote would only come back to bite our arses. Lies and misinformation came hand in hand with public life and we had to be careful to avoid any accidental ones. “Who’s asking?”
Decay (Phoebe Reede: The Untold #3.2 Declan Reede: The Untold Story #6) Page 9