That leaves just one other option—Cyrus.
Even thinking his name has acid burning my throat. Does he have a gun? Will he hurt me to get to her? Will Kenna come out of Allie’s house and walk right into a nightmare?
Ready to tackle him when he reaches inside his coat pocket, I’m more than a little relieved when he presents me with a business card and not the business end of a gun. The card reads: Kent Lovell, Private Investigator. All his contact information is listed.
He holds out a hand. “Kent Lovell. And you’re Carter I presume?”
I don’t shake. “I’m not going to answer that until you tell me exactly why you’re here.”
“I’ve been hired to find Kenna Kelly… er”—his head shakes—“Bennett.” He steps toward the house. “Is she inside?”
I block him and try to look unaffected. “I don’t know anyone by either of those names.”
“Interesting. Because she obviously knows you. She had a delivery sent to this address last week.”
I harden my stance, squaring off with the man. “Delivery?” I shrug. “The only deliveries I get here are pizzas.”
He snorts laughter. “If that’s how you want to play this.”
“I’m notplayinganything. And you’re trespassing, so I’d invite you to get the hell off my property.”
“Your property. I guess thatwouldmake you Carter Cruz.”
“Right now.” I point to his car and take my phone out of my pocket. “Or should I get the police involved?”
He holds up his hands. “Fine. I’ll leave. Please give Ms. Kelly a message.”
“As I don’t know a Ms. Kelly, I can’t do that. Now if I were you, I’d get in that fancy car of yours and leave.”
He looks at my house, and for a second I think he’s going to pile-drive me into the bushes and barge inside. I’m bigger than he is, but that doesn’t stop him from looking intimidating as fuck. But would a private eye really go so far as to resort to physical violence on behalf of a client?
He smacks his lips together, clearly frustrated. Then he turns, gets in the car, and backs out of the driveway. I don’t take my eyes off the car until it’s around the corner and I can’t see its tail lights anymore.
When I turn toward Allie’s house, a terrified Kenna is standing in her doorway. Her face as white as her snowman likeness, she races across the lawn, entering the basement by the rear French doors.
I enter through and lock the front door then run to the stairs. By the time I reach the bottom, she’s haphazardly throwing clothes and shit into suitcases.
“Kenna, what’s going on? Why was a private investigator looking for you?”
She stops and her jaw goes slack. “Private investigator? Is that what he said?” She swallows hard. “Carter, that was my ex. That was Cyrus.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. Not necessarily because it was him, but because of her terrified reaction to him.
She starts packing again. “We’re leaving tonight. Now.”
I go over and put my hands on hers, hoping to stop the frantic movements. “Kenna, stop. Tell me what the fuck is going on. He said his name was Kent Lovell.”
She sits on the bed, head slumping into her hands. “That’s the name of the PI he uses.”
“Why wouldn’t he just tell me his name?”
She shrugs. “Maybe he thought you’d admit I was here, maybe even get me if you didn’t know it was him.” She looks up, eyes already rimming with tears. “Thank you for not ratting me out.”
“I would never,” I say, disappointed that she’d even think it a possibility. “I told him I didn’t know you.”
She stands, opening dresser drawers, and resumes packing. Slamming the last one, she spins around. “How did he find me?”
“He said he knew about a delivery that came here. The stair lift I’m guessing.” I scrub a hand across my jaw. “Jesus, is that why you don’t use credit cards? He tracks them?”
