Page 135 of Freefall

My desire to see Daisy is clouded by something nagging at me. Is she lying to me again? Or worse, did Harper ask her to lie this time?

“Her car is here.” It's not a question.

“Oh, right. Her friend TJ picked her up.” She laughs to herself. “I guess one photographer wasn’t enough for the fancy-pants family.”

Something inside me rises. Not hot, the way jealousy would be. It’s cold. Like fear. “Did she say where the photoshoot was?”

“Just somewhere up north. She wasn't sure of the exact location.”

The cold spreads up my spine.

“I don't want to disturb Daisy so close to bedtime,” I say. “I’ll wait on the porch.”

Laura nods. “Let me know if you need anything.”

No sooner do I return to the guesthouse porch than a dented sedan pulls in behind my Range Rover. Relief washes over me, thinking it’s probably her in that fuckwad’s beat-up car, but when the door opens, the man who steps out isn't a stranger.

It’s Jace.

I almost don't recognize him. His hair is clean, face freshly shaven. He still has some fading bruises where I clocked him last week, but his eyes are clear.

“Nate?”

I stand. “What are you doing here?”

He shuts the car door and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Came to apologize.”

“You’re sober,” I note.

It comes out harsher than I intend, but Jace nods anyway. “A week. Pres helped me detox in his pool house.” He grimaces. “Not exactly medically recommended, but it did the job.”

It takes me a second to place the name. “Your dealer helped you detox?”

“Yeah.” His laugh is rough. “Not a great sign when your dealer tells you that you need help.” He looks at the main house for a brief moment. “He felt responsible. Or guilty. Hard to tell with him. Anyway, he got me into a rehab center in Jersey. I check in tomorrow. He’s paying for it too.”

“Wow.” I search for the right response. “That’s…nice of him?”

Jace chuckles. “He’s the heir to a billion-dollar corporation, and he sells opioids for fun. Nice is not the word I would use to describe Preston Fairchild.” He walks up to the porch. “But he’s been there for me through some dark shit. Some of which he caused, so…it's complicated.”

I nod. If there’s one thing I know, it’s complicated.

“You waiting for her?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I hesitate. “Came to apologize.”

I expect him to ask what I did. Maybe take another swing at me for hurting his sister, but instead he places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I came at you so hard, man.

“I’m not sorry I hit you.”

“I deserved worse.” He sits on the step. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and my sister, but if someone said what I said about my girl, I probably would have done more than punch them.”

I sit back down, but neither of us says anything else. We sit there in some fucked up show of solidarity for a few minutes until my phone vibrates.

It’s a message from an unknown number. There’s no text. Only a blurry image. For a second, my brain refuses to understand what I’m looking at. There’s rope wrapped around the trunk of a giant oak tree with a person under it. I zoom in, and my stomach drops. Harper’s face comes into focus. Her wrists are bound behind her, blood and tears streaking her cheeks.

Fear shines in her warm hazel eyes.

I open my mouth to yell. To scream. But nothing comes out. My lungs have stopped working.