"It's been three days, Elio." There's an edge of desperation in his voice that makes guilt twist in my gut. "Three days, and no one has seen her. No ransom demands, no body, nothing. It's like she vanished into thin air."
"We'll find her," I say, and at least that's not entirely a lie. We are looking for someone—just not Annie. We're looking for Desmond Connelly, and the bastard has gone to ground. "I havemen watching all the usual places. The airports, the bus stations, the family connections. If she's out there, we'll find her."
"What if she's not out there?" Ronan's voice cracks. "What if someone took her? What if she's already?—"
"Don't." I cut him off. "Don't go there. Annie is smart and she's tough. We’ll find her, I promise.”
A pause, then quieter: "She's my baby sister, Elio. I can't lose her too."
Fuck.This is supposed to keep Ronan from feeling guilt over Siobhan, over how things happened two years ago. Not send him into a spiral about it. That defeats everything Annie and I are doing here, everything I’ve agreed to.
"You won't lose her," I say firmly. "I promise you, Ronan. I'll find her."
After I hang up, I sit up in the darkness, my head in my hands. This can't go on much longer. Either we find Desmond soon, or I'm going to have to come clean to Ronan. The longer this drags out, the worse it's going to be when the truth finally comes out.
And it will come out. It always does.
The bedroom door opens, and I look up to see Annie standing in the doorway, backlit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. She's wearing one of my T-shirts, the fabric hanging to mid-thigh, and the sight is enough to send a flood of arousal through me again. Her copper hair is a wild tangle around her shoulders. Even from here, I can see the dark circles under her eyes.
She hasn't been sleeping either.
"Elio?" Her voice is soft, uncertain. "Are you awake?"
"Yeah." I clear my throat, trying to sound normal instead of like a man who's been lying awake thinking about all the ways he wants to touch her. "Can't sleep?"
She shakes her head and takes a few steps into the living room. The moonlight catches the pale skin of her legs, thefreckles that dust her thighs. I force myself to look away, focusing on a spot on the wall behind her.
"Was that Ronan on the phone?" she asks quietly.
"Yeah." My voice catches again, and I swallow hard.
"How is he?"
"How do you think?" I don't mean for it to come out so harsh, but the guilt is eating at me. "He thinks you're missing or dead. He's tearing himself apart."
Annie flinches, wrapping her arms around herself. "I know. I hate this too. But we agreed?—"
"I know what we agreed." I stand up, needing to do something with the restless energy coursing through me. "But Annie, we can't keep this up forever. It's been three days and we're no closer to finding Desmond. Maybe we need to bring Ronan in. Let him help."
"No." The word is sharp, final. "We talked about this. If Ronan finds out what Desmond did to me, he'll connect it to Siobhan. He'll blame himself. I won't do that to him."
"So instead you'll let him think you're dead? He’s already blaming himself."
“It’ll be worse. My coming back won’t make it better, if he knows it’s Desmond. It’ll be so much worse if it opens up all of that again—” She moves closer, and I can smell the faint scent of the soap she used in the shower earlier, something floral and clean. "Once Desmond is dealt with, I'll come back. I’ll use one of the excuses we talked about. It’ll all blow over.”
Including this. Including what we’ve been doing. That’ll blow over, too.
That’s exactly why I can’t give her everything she’s been asking for. Because this needs to be over sooner rather than later. And it’ll change everything if I have her the way I’ve wanted all my life.
I shake my head, but I don't argue further. We've had this conversation so many times already, and it always ends the same way. Annie is stubborn, and when she makes up her mind about something, there's no changing it.
“Desmond is holed up in his penthouse,” I say finally. “He isn’t being drawn out. And attacking him on his turf is a good way for me to get a lot of my men killed. Maybe myself.”
I see her flinch at that. “Okay,” she says slowly, biting her lip as she crosses her arms over her small breasts. “Then we use me as bait."
"No." The word comes out before she's even finished speaking. "Absolutely not."
"Elio—"
