There’s a loud bang and a shuffling sound, and then the call volume lowers, like it’s been shoved under a blanket or pillow.
“Please!”Sloane screams, the kind of scream that curdles your blood,“Please, I don’t want to die.”
There’s been a lot of horrific things I’ve seen, horrific things I have endured, but this…
“We’ll be together again,”He vows,“We will.”
“No!”I hear rapid steps before something crashes, and then cries. Helpless, pleading cries, and then the call cuts off.
Sickness rolls through me, turning my stomach inside out. For a long while, I stare at the screen, at the paused recording and the digital evidence of her terror. How was there no trace of him left behind?
I save the call recording, there could be something in there I can use. I have voice recognition technology to work with, though I’d rather avoid it since it’s not always accurate. I want to question Sloane, take apart her life, and the people she used to know. The man who wanted to kill her is someone she knows, that I am one hundred percent sure of, but I don’t want to open wounds that still aren’t healed for her.
Transferring and saving all the information to a folder on my laptop, I shut down and head back, listening for sounds of her. They come once I reach the top of the stairs, her soft voice speaking with my daughter as she feeds her, and it’s only then that I notice the time. I’ve been down there for hours, and it’s already evening. Sloane is rocking Lily gently with her bottle. There are wet patches on her shirt from bath time, but Sloane looks happy, light even.
“Hey,” I whisper to not disturb her or my daughter, who looks ready to pass out. I stroke a finger down her cheek, my heart squeezing in a way I’ve never experienced before.
Sloane turns her smile to me, “You want to do it?”
“Yeah,” I place my laptop down and grab the cushion so I can feed her, and Sloane lays her down, handing me the bottle. “I’m going to get changed.”
“Sure,” I watch her go, her steps quiet, and then I hear the drawers opening and closing upstairs.
“We are going to make her ours, Lily Flower,” I promise my daughter, “We are.”
Chapter Thirty
Iget Lily’s bedroom and crib ready just as Dean brings her up, cradled in one arm. He carries her like she’s the most precious treasure he’s ever touched. It’s been incredible watching their bond develop, how he softens with her, turns into something I didn’t think was possible for a man as hard as Dean.
I’ve been here three days, and while living with him makes me feel like I have a ticking time bomb counting down inside me, I also feel lighter. The loneliness isn’t as present, the fear not so crippling. But seeing him every day, waking up to his face being the first one I see, seeing him relaxed in his flannel pajama pants or fresh out of the shower, it’s doing things to my body I don’t have control over. I’m wound so tight; I may combust any minute.
Lily is practically asleep, so I get her swaddled in her blanket and lay her down in her crib while Dean sets up the monitor. “I need to change this room.” He whispers.
“Then do it,” I reply, “Make it hers.”
“Help me?” He asks.
“Of course.” Stepping back from the crib, I make my way from the room, Dean a step behind me, and we both pause in the hall once the door is pulled shut, listening for any sounds from her.
We’re close, close enough that I can smell the soap on his skin from his shower this morning and see the light flecks of gold in his eyes I’ve never noticed before. I trace his features with my eyes, the strong brow, the hollows beneath his cheekbones, the mouth I know feels like heaven against my own.
I turn my face away before I do something insane, like climb him and demand he deal with the ache between my legs. I’ve put off using the toy since I got here, but I need to do something before I go feral.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, a deep but quiet chuckle sounds from him. “Come on, Butterfly, let me feedyou.”
He walks away, not spotting the blush on my cheeks. It was an innocent statement, so why the hell is my mind going to other things, namely parts of his body he canfeed me?
I need to get a fucking grip.
I sit at the kitchen counter while Dean works at the stove, stirring some kind of creamy sauce while he boils pasta. He works efficiently, cleaning as he goes, so there is never a spot of mess on his work surfaces, and I can’t help but watch him a little dreamily. I’m watching him, my head cradled in my hand, my elbow resting on the counter, and my other hand spins the half-glass of wine he poured for me a few moments ago. I figured I deserved to treat myself to a glass since I’m currently going through literal torture. Why have I told myself to stay away again?
Right!
Because he’s my boss, whom I’m currently having to live with. We are already tangled, and what a mess it could make if I decide to follow those urges and climb into bed with him. The kiss has already left me in a puddle. But I also see the way he looks at me, see the desire, the want that matches my own.
Where does it stop?
What if I fall in love?
