Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“I saw a gallery across the street,” Rhett says, as he puts a thick cardboard box into the shopping cart. “A walk-in photography exhibition. I might’ve, just maybe, picked this exact Target because I knew it was across the street…”
He sneaks a little look at me playfully. And I smile, telling myself it’s the role, the fake-girlfriend thing. If Lucian were spying on us here, it would be good for him to see me with a big, strong, handsome man.
“You’re so sweet.”
He narrows his eyes, sensing the fakeness. How can every inch of me blaze to touch him, and yet that same body be scared of it too?
At the checkout, Mira insists on helping Rhett load the conveyor. They’re all smiles the whole time. It melts my heart seeing her like this.
After we load the stuff into his car, Rhett leans against the hood, drumming his fingers. “What do you think about the exhibition?”
“Can we, Sissy?” Mira says, tugging on my hand.
“Sure,” I murmur, though I’m not sure.
We walk across the street, Rhett always nearby. The lobby is marble and imposing. It reminds me of the gallery I was going to show my work in once upon a time, before everything went to hell.
The study is on human struggle shown through natural features. Rock faces that look like screaming people and an ocean wave that appears like a blue-fingered hand grasping at something beneath the waves. I stop at this piece, struck, studying the subtlety of the colors, the contrast between the waves and the ocean beneath.
“Do you like that one?” Mira asks.
“It’s impressive,” I murmur. “And beautiful. It’s… chaotic, but has order too. I know that sounds lame.”
“It doesn’t sound lame,” Rhett says. His voice deepens. “It does not sound lame, Sunshine.”
I reach out, take his hand, tell myself the whole time it’s about the threat and the chance somebody could be watching us. But really, I want to feel his warmth, his… presence. Mira takes my other hand, and we all study the impossible hand.
“Excuse me?” a lady says from behind us.
I let go of Rhett’s hand and turn to see the gallery owner standing in a sleek black suit, a powerful looking professional woman with stylish glasses and a gleaming nametag.
“Yes, Marjorie?” I ask.
“This might sound… but are you Elara Vance?”
I squeeze Mira’s hand, pulling her instinctively against me. The woman looks terrified.
“Why?”
Rhett steps forward, half blocking us with his bulk. “Say what you need to say, Marjorie.”
“I got a text fifteen minutes ago, and it said—” She pauses, shuddering. “It said that if you came in here, a woman and a girl, and a man, all matching your descriptions, I had to tell you, Elara…”
“It’s okay,” Rhett says with surprising softness. “Take your time.”
Marjorie lowers her voice to a hiss. “I can’t say it with the little one there.”
“Why don’t you tell me?” Rhett says. “Come on. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
They step away. The woman gestures and talks as they cross to the other side of the gallery. I clutch Mira to me because I know this is bad. I know it’s starting again.
Rhett returns, his face twisted in pure hatred.
“What?” I whisper.
He leans in close and talks into my ear. His warm breath tickling down my neck is my only anchor for any kind of comfort. “An anonymous number texted her. Said that if we came in here, she needed to tell you…”
“Rhett.” I grip his shirt, feel his hard abs beneath. “Tell me.”
“The texter is watching you. Waiting. They enjoyed going through your house when you weren’t home. They enjoyed watching you sleep. And they’re going to enjoy…killing you.”
The words hit me like a Mac truck, but I don’t let it show. Mira is pressed tightly against me, standing on her tiptoes as though she’s trying to hear.
“Thank you for not lying,” I murmur.
“My concern is, how did he know we were here? If it is him.”
“It’s him,” I say. “Who else would go through all this trouble? Follow us? Find out this gallery owner’s phone number?”
“How did he even know we’d come in here?” Rhett grunts.
“He knows I like photography, remember. He knows how to hurt me.”
“Sissy.” Mira nudges me urgently. “What are you talking about? What was the message?”
I stroke my hand over her hair. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you.” I can barely even think it.
“You’re talking about him,” Mira snaps. “That’s what it sounds like.”
Oh, crap. She’s right. I’m not used to lying to her. But I can’t tell her that Lucian is out, can’t shatter her entire worldview and feeling of safety.
“He’s in prison,” I hiss. “We’re talking about… the…”
“The person in the woods? Who smoked the cigarette?”
I swallow, disgusted with myself. “Yes.”
Rhett shoots me a look. He didn’t realize we’d slipped up either. Does that mean he’s not a liar? I mean… more than he was by not opening up with this stuff from the start. He leans close, lowering his voice just for me again. “I’m going to get a look at the security footage.”