She exhaled. “I know.”
“I need to confront my brother and sister. I may never understand them, but I need to try.” He finished the last sip of his drink. “I don’t know why, though,” he admitted. “Why I feel this need to see them, to talk with them, to try to understand them. I doubt it will accomplish anything. I’m pretty sure it won’t. But it’s something I need to do.”
Daphne knew enough about regrets to not question him. Confronting his brother and sister might not accomplish anything as it related to the criminal cases, but maybe it would give James the opportunity to shed his survivor’s guilt.Sometimes it was enough to know you’ve given your best, you’ve done everything you can to make a situation right, even if, ultimately, it ends up being a big pile of shit.
“You thought you’d closed the chapter on that part of your life, but now it feels like there’s one more page,” she said.
The left side of his mouth curled up. “Spoken like a writer, but yeah, that’s what it feels like. The chapter may end the same. It probably will, but at least I’ll know it’s really done.”
He’d left that life behind years ago, but she understood the difference between moving on and moving through the hard parts in life—kind of like being a dry drunk. Just because an alcoholic stopped drinking didn’t mean they’d started recovering. And just because James had built a different life for himself didn’t necessarily mean he’d healed from the one he’d lived the first eighteen years of his life.
“How do you propose to do that?” she asked.
“By not going home tomorrow. I’m going to suggest the FBI use me to get Chanel and Malcom talking.”
She nodded slowly. “Giving them more ammunition for their case while also providing you an opportunity to confront them.” He nodded. “Are you ready for the FBI to hear things that aren’t part of the case? They tried to kill you, so they might not be interested in having any kind of honest conversation. But if they do, it will probably drag up a whole bunch of stuff from your childhood. Are you ready for that? Ready for that to be recorded for posterity and the courts?”
To his credit, he didn’t answer right away. Mirroring her earlier actions, he reached for her glass, slipping it from her fingers, and took a sip. “I am,” he said, his voice sure. “I’m not looking forward to being thrown back into that time in my life, but I can handle it.”
“And you’re not alone,” she said. He might be alone in the room with Chanel and Malcom—figuratively or literally—but he would never be alone again. Not with the Falcons as his family.
He squeezed her hand. Maybe he had her, too. A thought that didn’t spike her heart rate like it usually did when the possibility had raised its head in the past. There were all sorts of reasons she’d avoided long-term commitments. Not the least of which was she was nearly forty years old and hadn’t ever shared her space with a partner and didn’t think she’d be very good at it. But those reasons seemed muted when it came to James. Still there, just not screaming as loudly as usual.
Glancing across the space at him, a sense of intimacy spread through her. Despite everything they’d done to and with each other physically, this moment, this moment when they barely even touched, was one she’d remember. Something primal inside her shifted and settled into place. Through the sensitive tips of their fingers, a quiet, unspoken promise flowed between them. A trust they wouldn’t break, an honesty they wouldn’t breach, a respect they’d honor.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles, its heat trailing up her arm. She squeezed his fingers in response. He glanced over, and as their eyes met, she saw the same knowing in his that she was certain reflected in hers.
Without another word, they both turned their attention back to the world unfolding on the streets below them as they sat cocooned, quietly, in their own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Idon’t do waiting very well,” Lovell said, back at the window, this time the morning light, cleared of the clouds from the day before, streaming through, spotlighting him as he stood with his cup of coffee.
“It’s seven in the morning in California. We probably won’t hear for a few hours. Do you want to go for a walk? Go to the gym? Something else?” Daphne asked.
He turned at the seductive humor in her voice. “Something else?”
“I didn’t bring any gym clothes. Didn’t think we’d be here for more than a night. And we walked practically the entire city yesterday.”
A slight exaggeration, but not much of one.
She rose from the bed, her pale yellow silk pajamas an enticing contrast to the rich color of her skin, and his body reacted to her lithe movements as she crossed the room. They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms and slept that way through the night. Now his body wanted hers, though.Hewanted her. But the powerful intimacy they’d shared had left him feeling raw. Not in a bad way, but like a wound that’s healing. As if his body, his mind, his heart, wasn’t quite whole, but wasgetting there. And while their chemistry wasn’t in question, and the physical connection could be a balm, what he needed more was reassurance. Reassurance that what they’d shared the night before wasn’t an aberration.
A new—very new—feeling for him.
She slid her arms around his waist, her skin soft and warm, and nestled into him. He draped an arm around her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.
“What did you do when you were here before?” he asked. She rolled her head to look at him. “When you spent time here as a model, what did you like to do while you were here?”
“I mostly worked. Visited the agency, had fittings, went to photo shoots and runway shows. Then there were the industry parties and events.”
“Surely you had some time to yourself?” he pressed. Although back then, it had been the height of her modeling career, and people probably recognized her every time she went out. Having fans and paparazzi follow her everywhere wasn’t the best way to experience a city.
“The library,” she replied. He drew back enough to see her face.
“The library?”
A wistful smile touched her lips. “When I started modeling, I didn’t give much thought to the future. All I wanted to do was to make enough to survive. As my career took off, the money fears disappeared in an inverse proportion to the time I had to myself.”
