I have a gut feeling that her date is connected to the East Coast douche from a few weeks ago. So, if some psychopath is trying to kill her, maybe it’s best her whereabouts are unknown.
I’ll keep her to myself, at least for one more night.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Daisy
“Dais, he pushed you off the trail. Wesley pushed you.”
Owen’s voice plays on repeat in my head, as do the flashes of memories of making small talk and casually sipping on my latte with a man who was plotting to kill me.
I know Owen wouldn’t lie to me, but what he described sounds more like an episode ofDatelinethan my actual reality.
Shock. I suppose that’s what you could call the emotion that bulldozed my psyche after I heard the truth about my fall. The dizziness I’d had since my accident was nothing compared to the mess my head was as my mind reeled with this new information.
But Owen was there. Holding me, calling me baby and telling me he had me. My tears fell, and he held me.
Until the anger set in.
Catfished.
Me. Daisy McKinnon. Catfished.
Pissed off was what I was. Then, two seconds later, my mind went to the woman who was holding my hand when I opened my eyes. All I wanted was to find her and thank her. I was on a roller coaster of emotion, the need to do something… anything overwhelmed me.
I tried to get out of bed, but Owen calmed me and kept me where I was with my foot up. He didn’t leave my side. He kept talking and touching me. If he wasn't holding my hand, he was moving his hand up and down my leg or arm.
As scared as I am, I’m thankful to be here, safe and sound with Owen. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Needing a moment, I’m hiding in the bathroom with the water running, because as soon as I closed the door and had my first look at my battered body after knowing the truth, my stomach turned. I flipped on the water in the hopes he wouldn’t hear my retching. It’s one thing to be covered head to toe in scratches and bruises because of my own clumsiness; it’s a whole other thing to be injured by the hand of another.
To know Wesley’s intention was likely to kill me.
Not Wesley. I don’t even know the bastard’s name.
As great as Owen has been, I needed this time by myself to break down. However, my mini breakdown has done nothing but empty my stomach and bring on a fresh bout of shakes, intensifying my throbbing headache. I don’t feel any better, because there is no feeling better as long as I’m alive and the man who tried to kill me is still out there.
Is Wesley a sicko who would have done this to whatever idiot met up with him yesterday, or was it personal?
I had never met him before, so I don’t know how it could be personal unless someone paid him. But who would do that? And if that’s the case, will they keep trying?
Of course, poor Owen didn’t have an answer to these questions, but he sat and listened and answered when he could.
He’s holding back, though. I see it on his face. He has a theory that he isn’t sharing with me yet.
I could have pressed, but I’m not ready to hear suspicions that the incident wasn’t random and that the threat could get worse. As much as I don’t want to be kept in the dark, if he’s just theorizing without any evidence, I’ve heard enough for today.
I brush my teeth, gently wash my face, and run my hands through my hair in an attempt to improve the pitiful reflection staring back at me, but it’s no use. The minimal difference makeup would make isn’t worth the pain of applying it.
My boot and I leave the solitude of the bathroom, and when I enter the bedroom, Owen and Maui are gone. He knew I needed space, and he gave it to me.
Falling into my new rhythm, I walk through the hallway to the stairs. I repeat my move from this morning and plop down on my butt. I’ll figure out how to navigate the steps tomorrow. Not when my insides are quaking from the fear I’m trying to tamp down.
So far, fear one.
Me, zip.
I wish Owen had carpeted stairs because my ass cheeks are sore by the time I reach the bottom step. I pause, allowing myself one more moment to settle my nerves and the emotions I don’t want Owen to see.
