Angel’s lips twitched and then she laughed. “Do you think I want to eat ice cream and braid your hair?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you do. Would it make you feel better?”
“As much as I think it would be hilarious to get photos of that for Phoebe, I’ll be okay. I could use a stiff drink though.”
I levelled my stare at her. It wasn’t that she was underage in the States that bothered me, but that she knew the evils of alcohol as well as I did. “You can’t turn to alcohol to solve your problems.”
“Why not? It works for Mum.” She wrapped her arms around her body.
I moved closer to her and brushed my finger along her chin to tip her face up to mine. “Does it though?”
She dropped her gaze and frowned. It was clear to us both what I meant. It wasn’t a new topic between us, and it was something I’d taken extra care to be conscious of ever since the day Alyssa had dropped Phoebe and Angel off after a movie date only to be confronted with Angel’s mum spewing hatred at her daughter. No matter how often we’d tried to rescue her, Angel always went back. I wanted to make sure she didn’t follow the same path, though. I’d been down it myself, and it could have easily ruined my life.
“I guess not.” Her frown deepened. “So what flavour ice cream are you getting?”
I chuckled. “Whatever you want.”
She grinned back at me. “Do we have to eat this food? I wouldn’t put it past her to have boiled it in holy water or something.”
I cupped her cheek. “Well, that wouldn’t hurt you anyway. You’re too sweet to be evil.”
“Thanks, Mr R.”
“You know you can call me Declan.”
When her gaze found mine, the sorrow buried within made me regret the words. It wasn’t the first time I’d said the same thing, but she never would. She’d suffered the beating to end all beatings for failing to respect her elders when she called one of her mum’s boyfriends by his first name. She’d never been able to call any adults by their first name since.
“I know, Mr R.” She wrapped her arms around me and laid her head on my shoulder.
“Try not to worry too much about this Jamie. It doesn’t sound like she deserves you. There’s someone better out there for you and you’ll find them one day.”
She frowned and her gaze found the picture of Phoebe and Xavier on the fridge. “Hopefully.”
LONG AFTER ANGEL had cried herself out and headed to bed, I was able to get on the computer and Skype Alyssa. When she came on the screen, I couldn’t do anything more than give her an exhausted greeting. She had about the same enthusiasm.
I let my eyes roam her face for a moment and what I saw added to my exhaustion. It was hard to witness—she wore her grief so clearly. Her honey-brown eyes, usually so vibrant and full of life, were dull and flat. I wanted to trace the bags under them with my fingertips, to kiss her cheeks until the pink blush returned.
“How are you coping?” I asked after a moment, although the answer was printed clear enough for me to see.
“I had to pull the kids out of school,” she said, followed by a sigh. She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. “And we have a house guest.”
“What’s happened?”
She sighed. “Where do I start? Max is here now because Morgan and Eden are having another break. It started after Max went to hospital—”
“Max went to hospital?” I was so far behind everything going on at home.
She frowned. “I didn’t tell you because it was all being handled, but then it wasn’t. Eden and Morgan can’t agree on the best way to watch him and they’re at each other’s throats over it.”
Something caught my attention. “Why would he need someone to watch him?”
“Because of Phoebe.” Alyssa looked at her hands and drew a deep breath. When she lifted her gaze again, she didn’t have to say anything more. The reason was etched into every shadow in her eyes.
“He didn’t—”
She nodded to confirm the darkest of my thoughts. He’d tried to hurt himself.
“He took the last of a box of Morgan’s painkillers. Eden lashed out and blamed Morgan for the whole thing. It’s just a big mess, and something we don’t need with everything else going on.”
“So you volunteered to house him?” It was typical of Alyssa to put herself out to help the people important to her.
“What else could I do, Dec? Neither of them can reach him, and at least he’s safe here. Well, he would be if he and Brock would stop fighting. We thought maybe Brock could help him and give him something else to think about, but it’s only made it worse. He and Brock are getting into fights nearly every day. Oh, and Brock’s been suspended from school. Apparently he heard some other boys joking about understanding why . . .” She trailed off and took a moment to compose herself. “Why someone might keep Phoebe captive.”
My fingers wound into fists and my lip curled into a snarl as I guessed the sorts of things they might have said.
Alyssa nodded toward my clenched fist on the table. “Exactly Brock’s reaction.”
Cold vines twisted through my body, carrying the thought that maybe those boys might be right. For them, it was crude high school joking, but for Phoebe, the reality could be very serious. The weight in Alyssa’s eyes made sense. She had to be worried about the same things that were going through my mind.
Her shoulders sagged even further.
“I hate this,” I murmured.
She leaned forward onto the table. “Me too.”
“Fuck, Lys, I’m sorry you have to deal with this alone.”
Her lips lifted to form a smile with no warmth or joy behind it. “I’ve had some help. Mum and Dad have been around a couple of times, so has your mum. Ruby and Josh too—they’re here at the moment actually. It’s just . . .”
“You’re not sleeping?” I guessed.
She shook her head. “And I’m exhausted all the time. I just hope I’m not getting sick on top of everything else. I can’t help but worry I’m letting someone down somewhere.”
“I’m sorry.”
She startled when I whispered the words. “No, Dec. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. You need to be there in the States. I want you there. It’s just hard.”
“I’ll find her. I promise. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you will.”
“I’ve got to go to the police station tomorrow.”
She nodded.
“I’m terrified, Lys. What . . . what if it’s something bad?”
“We’ll just have to deal with whatever it is once we know. I’ve had so many people wanting our comment on the latest gossip.”
“Is it just gossip though?”
“I think it’s important to treat it that way until we know more.”
“Why? Didn’t you see what they said? It fits with what the PI found out too—someone carried Phoebe from her apartment.”
“And he confirmed it was Beau?”
It would have been easy to say yes, and just find the proof later, but I couldn’t lie to Alyssa. “Technically no. The witness didn’t have a great description, and what he did say didn’t exactly match Beau.”
“So—”
“So he might be working with an accomplice,” I said. “At least, that’s the assumption we’re working on at the moment.”
“Based on the conjecture and rumours?” She raised her brow at me.
I frowned at her, knowing I was about to be the subject of one of her guilt-laden rebuffs. She’d developed the technique years ago and had honed it with child after child until it was perfected.
“So you’ve got at least six love children running around, we’ve divorced every year for the last ten years, and Phoebe has been in relationships with at least two dozen of your crew members, friends, and Luke’s clients?”
I crossed my arms, trying to resist the niggle of guilt that teased at the pit of my stomach.
“You know at least half of what goes to
print is rubbish.”
Her words echoed Angel’s. There was truth in them, but did that mean I could just blindly trust Beau? He’d broken Phoebe’s heart, after all.
Before attempting to fix it, if I was to believe him.
“I get it, Lys, but—”
“You want answers.”
My near-permanent frown deepened as I nodded.
“I know, Dec. I do too. I think we’re better off keeping an open mind though, at least until something proves we shouldn’t.”
I sighed. I had to concede her point. “I think that should probably be part of the statement we make to the press.”
“I’ll get something drafted up. Call me after you finish with the police and we’ll finalise it. In the meantime, I’ll get PR onto arranging a conference.”
Going on TV in front of the USA and home wasn’t high on my to-do list, but it was more than just my family at stake if I failed. Emmanuel Racing had contractual obligations and many mouths relying on us for food. I needed to keep the sponsors—and therefore the press—happy.
“I UNDERSTAND it might be difficult to see this, but I need to know whether that’s your daughter in the photo?”
I kept my hands curled tightly together in my lap so that I didn’t reach out for the photo the officer had placed on the table in front of me. Without a doubt, the girl in the photo was Phoebe. From what the officer had said, this was the “least distressing” of the images, whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. What did the other images contain that could be worse than what I saw?
Closing my eyes, I tried to force the image out of my mind. It was impossible though. As desperately as I’d longed for any news about her, I didn’t want the photo to be of her.
Not with her eyes wide with fear.
Or the tears tracing down her cheeks.
With the torn clothing and bloodstained wounds.
I didn’t want it to be her, but I couldn’t deny that it was.
Setting my jaw, I nodded to answer the question—not that they hadn’t realised that already from my reaction.
“This was found alongside the photos. Can you confirm this belonged to your daughter?” He placed an evidence bag with a bracelet inside on the table in front of me. The back of the silver plate attached to the chain was showing and something inside me snapped. No matter how hard I tried to hold myself together, the sight of that bracelet—one that had adorned her wrist for years and warned any possible health provider of the things they needed to be wary of—broke me.
Worse than anything, the press conference to discuss the case was set for just a few hours’ time. I didn’t think I’d be able to get through it.
The officer in charge made another show of apologies for the distress the items might have caused.
“Are you any closer to finding out where she might be?”
“We’re investigating a number of leads at the moment.”
I set my jaw. It wasn’t too difficult to recognise a bullshit non-answer when I heard it. “So that’s a no then?”
“We’ll let you know as soon as we have anything else.”
“What’s happening with Beau Miller?” I asked.
After more circular talk about not being able to give me any information about an ongoing investigation, I left without any new hope that we’d find Phoebe anytime soon.
I called Alyssa and spoke to her about the new information—or the lack thereof. We spent a few minutes running through the plan for the press conference that afternoon. As I hung up the phone, the pieces of me that were staying strong snapped.
Would I ever see my daughter again?
“I’M TAKING THE hire car.” Angel’s hand found her hip and she raised a brow at me, no doubt waiting for me to argue.
I couldn’t.
I’d spent the last few days walking in a haze. Darnell had called, but not with anything new. The police had called, but only to tell me they’d received footage that apparently exonerated Beau—or at the very least proved he hadn’t left the Lake Retreat in his car. Of course, if Darnell’s assumption that there was an accomplice had any merit, any car that had come or gone could have contained Phoebe and her kidnapper. Cora had visited, but her voice had washed over me like white noise as she spoke about Phoebe and Xavier being together. Beau’s number had flashed on my screen, but I’d ignored it.
I’d grown so overprotective of Angel that my blood pressure rose if any trip she took lasted more than an hour. I’d spent every waking minute sitting at Phoebe’s dining table, going over every note, every piece of paper, every list I had. I was going insane, and finding my daughter was the only cure. It was ridiculous and crazy, but I couldn’t help it.
Even Alyssa hadn’t been able to draw me out of my funk.
“I’m worried about Beau,” Angel continued. “He’s not at the track and I can’t reach him at the Lake Retreat. They won’t even confirm whether he’s there. It’s just not right.”
Of course she’d be worried about him; she’d mentioned him often enough over the last few days. It was because of her that the TV was on and tuned in to the race. All that had done was serve to remind me that Phoebe still wasn’t home. Images of the photo the police had shown me haunted me anew—like it did every time I closed my eyes.
“You’re not going to try to stop me?”
I sighed and finally acknowledged her properly. “Would it make a difference?”
“Well, no, but I would’ve thought you’d try to convince me he’s some moustache-twisting villain that’s going to steal me away.”
“You’re so convinced of his innocence and worried for his safety there’s not much I can do to change your mind. And it’s not like I need you here.” I hadn’t intended the words to sound as harsh as they came out, and Angel’s fallen expression was enough to make me see my mistake. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just there’s not much we can do besides wait for information.”
Her lips pursed. “Maybe you should come with me too?”
“Why?”
“Because I think you need to get out of this place for a while. You’ve been—”
I shot her a glare, almost daring her to finish the sentence. My daughter was missing, I could barely speak to my wife—who looked more exhausted every time I spoke to her—I missed my other kids, I missed my life. If I was a little shitty, it was hardly a fucking surprise. I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Just go.”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“And you’re okay with me taking the car?”
“If you think you need to do this, I’m not going to stop you.”
She headed into Phoebe’s bedroom, no doubt to pack. A little over half an hour later, she returned, dragging her bag behind her.
“Why do you care so much about him?” I asked as she grabbed the keys.
She fingered the buttons on the car key as she considered my question. “I believe that Phoebe cares deeply for Beau. I saw the way she lit up around him. There were definitely signs it was mutual. If there’s a chance, any chance at all, that he’s innocent, what sort of hell do you think he’s been going through since she’s been missing? This last week especially.”
I tried to put myself in his shoes, but I couldn’t shake the fact that even if he hadn’t directly hurt Phoebe, he’d let her down and contributed to her disappearance. He’d admitted as much himself.
“Besides, I need to hear his side on some of these things. Like the trust, don’t you want to know why he’s set that up?”
“He’s not going to tell you the truth if he doesn’t want you to know it.”
“Still, I think we need to ask.”
“Just keep in touch. Please?”
She wrapped her arms around my neck. “I will. Thank you.”
After she left, I turned the TV off and went back to my notes, and wished a bottle of booze would materialise. I might’ve told Angel that hitting the bottle wouldn’t
solve her problems, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt mine.
It wasn’t like I had anything else left in the States.
ANGEL KEPT her promise and rang me when she arrived at Beau’s, and again the following day to let me know when she’d be back. We didn’t have much of a conversation, only enough to share the basics.
Late the following night, I got a message from Alyssa saying that she needed to talk to me on Skype. I grabbed out my laptop.
“So, I just had a very interesting conversation,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Angel called me from Georgia.”
My stomach sank as it became apparent that Angel had had ulterior motives for going to Beau’s place in Georgia. “And?”
“She put Beau on.”
My lip curled and I snarled.
“I have to say, Dec, I believe him.”
“What is it about that smooth-talking cowboy?” I muttered under my breath.
“After he spoke to me, he spoke to Max.”
“What? Why would you let him speak to Max?” If everything Beau had said was true, he’d want to tear strips off Max. Sure, Max had done something incredibly stupid, but he was just a kid.
Alyssa gave me a smile that hinted she guessed at my thoughts. “Because Beau’s a good guy. I don’t know what he said to Max, but I think he got through to him. Somehow.”
“And that automatically equals innocence?”
“No, I just don’t think he deserves to be treated as guilty until he can prove himself otherwise. He doesn’t expect you to trust him, he just wants to help.”
“But what if he—”
“Dec, can you please trust me on this?”
There wasn’t much I could say no to when she asked me so plainly. Still, there was doubt and I wasn’t ready to cast it aside so easily. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Just think about it.” She levelled her gaze at me. “That’s an order.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Please, Dec, I’m serious.”
“I know, Lys, and I will try. How are things going with the preseason preparation?”
Decay (Phoebe Reede: The Untold #3.2 Declan Reede: The Untold Story #6) Page 11