Black Bird (Nevermore Duet #1)

CHAPTER 4

MISSING PIECES

Brent could hear Wren’s loud footsteps behind him as he feigned his unscathed composure, and eyed the door to the stairs when he approached the elevators at the end of the hallway. He decided not to wait and went for the handle on the door to the stairwell.

“You working on your pretty-boy physique, or avoiding riding in the elevator with me?” Wren jabbed; her thumbs busy as they tapped across the screen of her phone. She didn’t even look up when she spoke to him. He ignored her, ducking into the doorway and rolling his eyes when it clanged behind him, Wren bursting through it as he started to descend the first flight.

“Would it be too much to ask for you to leave me the fuck alone, Wren? Or should I pay you? Maybe leave a case of beer at your feet? Some sweaty, tattooed junkie? What would it take?” Brent almost relished in the pure livid expression on her face as he turned around to buck up to her. They paused on the steps sneering at each other.

“You want me to leave you alone? Then leave her alone. Call it off.” Wren’s eyes were a bright flame as she looked at him. His jaw clenched.

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“She’s over you, Brent. We both know it. She’s just too good of a person to let you down.” He couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that maybe she was right. “She’s better than us. She deserves better than us. Even I feel that way, and I’m not bumping uglies with her.”

“She’s not a booty-call, Wren. That’s my future wife in that room. Do you have any idea how bad I feel about this shit? Did it ever occur to you that I’m not the pampered prick that you think I am? I’ve never given Sarah any reason to doubt my feelings for her.”

Wren moved down a step and stood eye level with him. “She’ll never be your wife, Brent. Somewhere inside that beach bod, you know that whatever you feel for her isn’t the same as what she feels for you … or doesn’t feel for you. You two are like oil and water. No matter how hard you try … you’ll never mix. She doesn’t belong in that family. And if you do actually love her, you won’t subject her to it. You should think about that.” They stared quietly at one another before Wren turned and started back up the stairs to take the elevator.

“And you think the broody detective is what she needs?”

Wren paused on the landing, her hand resting on the rail as she looked back down at him over her shoulder. “That’s up to her.” She almost looked as if there was a flash of pity in her eyes before she continued through the door and it slammed loudly, echoing down the stairwell. He’d never felt more confused or lonely in his entire life .

Perhaps the most painful part was knowing that he couldn’t disagree with her.

Sarah leaned back against the incline of her hospital bed; knees tucked against her chest as she stared at the tray of covered food in front of her. It had been almost a half hour since Detective Northwood had walked out of her room, and she wondered just how deep the partnership between the brunette and that leather-clad man from the bar actually went. It sure seemed to her like there was something other than loyal colleagues with similar interests hidden between them. Or maybe, it was just hidden inside the woman that had sat nearly speechless in that chair next to her bed when Sarah had mentioned how he’d made her feel.

There was so much clutter in her mind. So much, and yet—and yet just thinking about him gave her some strange sort of peace. Of course, that peace was rudely interrupted by the stab of guilt she felt about it where Brent was concerned. She’d never treated him like this. Even when he’d started seemingly using her like a shiny new watch after she’d agreed to marry him. He had still been the same when they were alone, and when she’d first said yes … she had meant it. She wasn’t exactly sure when her mind had changed. Wasn’t sure how to tell him either, or break things off in a way that wouldn’t ruin him with the press. Or ruin her, either. Now that this had happened, the last thing she needed or wanted was thousands more people hidden in bushes or staking out her apartment in a dark SUV. She couldn’t imagine that being pleasant for anyone. Least of all, a senator’s son.

She looked around at the dreary room. It was like a prison. She just wanted to go home. She leaned forward, shoving the tray aside and setting up her laptop. While it booted up, she checked her phone. Wren had texted a while ago, apologizing for making a scene in front of the detective. Sarah hadn’t answered her, and Brent hadn’t so much as attempted to speak to her after he’d stormed out. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. A few moments later, she filtered through emails, deleting spam and checking the due dates on her bills. She was starting to lose track of how many days she’d been in here. One email in particular caught her eye. The welcome packet from EverLife. It was filled with information about the benefits, forms she’d need to sign, disclosure agreements, and paperwork about her direct deposit and tax information. She started downloading the documents and sorting them out when another email dinged into her inbox.

It was as if they knew she was looking at it, though she hadn’t sent any reply. Another email from EverLife. From the CEO. Sarah’s face paled and she started reading through it .

Sarah,

We hope that this message finds you well. Your colleagues here at EverLife want to wish you a speedy recovery, and offer whatever support needed as you heal following this unfortunate event. We were truly sorry to learn of this news and want you to know that your position with our company is in no way compromised due to this situation. Please allow yourself as much time as is needed and feel free to reach out to us should we be of any assistance. We look forward to having you as part of our growing team.

Best regards,

Nicholas Specter

CEO at EverLife Plasma arms still crossed.

“I thought so, too.” Wren winked, rounding the bed and opening the narrow closet to collect Sarah’s things. “Put these on,” she said, handing Sarah her boots and her leather jacket. Sarah started doing what she said, until she eyed the plastic bag Wren had pulled out next.

“Throw those out.” Sarah said, holding her palm toward her like she couldn’t bear to even look at the bloody clothes inside it. Wren made to toss them into the trash can, but Kane stopped her.

“Don’t …” he said quietly, taking the bag from her hand. “Don’t leave those here. Not until we know what’s going on. You don’t want to give them anything.”

“Don’t they already have enough?” Sarah cut in, pointing to the IV still taped to her forearm. “What’s a little more blood on some clothes?”

“We need to get them to take that out.” Kane started for the door, but Wren watched as Sarah started ripping the edges up from her skin. He paused, watching her as well as she tore the needle out and tossed it to the floor. No one made a sound.

“Let’s go,” Sarah breathed, grabbing her books and laptop while Wren carried an overnight bag. Kane followed behind them and Wren made sure every one of the hospital staff saw her middle finger as they passed and made their way to the elevator.

“Do you have a place to go, Miss—Sarah?” Wren smirked when he’d corrected himself, yet again.

“I thought you were a detective.” Sarah glanced at him, and they held that stare again while they waited for the elevator. Kane took the computer and the books from her arms, and she let him. Her whole demeanor seemed to change around him.

“I am.”

“Then shouldn’t you already know I’ve got my own place?” She smirked. The elevator bell chimed, and they stepped inside, a brave nurse rushing to put her arm through the doors as they started to close.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I need you to ride in the wheelchair. It’s hospital policy upon discharge.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Kane growled, pressing the button and closing the doors in her face. Wren and Sarah burst into laughter as they started heading down. He only shook his head. “I knew you had your own place; I just think it would be best if someone stayed with you. That’s all I was meaning to say. ”

“Are you offering?” Wren asked, earning herself a reaction from both Kane and Sarah. “Christ, I’m kidding. I’ll stay.” She chuckled. They reached the ground floor and stepped out, hurrying through the front entrance and out to the pick-up circle.

“Where’s your car, Wren?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, about that. I slept over at hottie drummer’s house last night … took a cab here.” Wren bit down on her lip. Lie. Though Sarah didn’t seem to notice.

“I can take you, if you want.” Kane offered, looking between them both.

“Sweet.” Wren smiled, sliding on her yellow sunglasses. “Where are you parked?”

Kane stepped up to the motorcycle that was illegally parked in the circle. “Right here.” Wren’s smile drooped and she shook her head frantically.

“Oh, no. Not me. Gimme your shit. I’m not riding that thing.” She reached for everything he had in his hands. “I’ll meet you at the apartment. You got your phone?”

Sarah stared at the bike … and the detective now straddling it. “Yeah, I’ve got it.” He slipped a helmet over his head and handed her his spare. Wren watched, intrigued while he fitted it to her head and strapped it under her chin, careful not to upset her bandage. It didn’t feel accurate to describe whatever was happening here as sparks flying. Especially not as Sarah didn’t give her so much as a “fuck you” when she climbed on behind him and slid her arms around his waist. He started up the bike and turned his wrist to rev it up before they started making their way around the circle.

“Ohhhhh hell,” Wren muttered, rolling her eyes and smirking as they disappeared onto the street.

This was bad. She was trying not to beat herself up about the fact that there was no way she could have known in the state that she’d been in at the hospital, that someone—no—EverLife … was prying into the past she fought desperately to hide. Sarah was now very aware of two things. One of those things was that the circumstances surrounding her mother’s horrible death were dangerously nearing the surface, and if that was the case … so were all of Sarah’s dark secrets. Wren was the only person that she’d trusted with what little knowledge she had about Katherine and whether Sarah had only dreamt that she’d been taken in the weeks that followed and used as a lab rat. For whom, she still didn’t know. But dreams aren’t real … and the marks left in her skin from needles had let her know that there was a decent chance she wasn’t losing her mind. All she had left of her mother’s body was also still missing. There was too much going on now for any of this to be a coincidence .

The other thing she was keenly aware of is, that this man that she was holding onto … this cop that she hadn’t realized was a cop when he caught her eye in that bar—something was reeling her in about him as if she were a helpless fish on a hook. Sarah wondered if the look she saw in his eyes when he stared into her meant the same thing where he was concerned, or if maybe he was just your average asshole that couldn’t leave women alone. Maybe she was just his flavor of the week. It sure didn’t feel that way. She couldn’t help but notice how strangely normal it felt when she’d touched his body. How a chill went down her spine when the only thing he’d done was strap a helmet to her head. Maybe he was only doing his job as a protector of the people when he pushed to get her out of that hospital … but even that felt … personal.

They were stopped at a light when she’d realized they were no more than a block away from the art gallery where her apartment sat above it. She realized then that she hadn’t given him an address or told him where to go. Strangely, it didn’t make her feel some type of way. Maybe he’d already known because he has a trove of information about her anyway. It wasn’t like her address wasn’t on her driver’s license, but he did seem a bit too familiar with the route to her house. Sarah leaned over his shoulder.

“You stalking me, detective?” She smirked. Kane’s helmet tipped to the side, and he didn’t say a word. She wished she could see his expression through that damn blackout visor over his face. The light turned green, and she held on while he moved forward. He seemed like he had been extra careful not to jostle her around on the back of his motorcycle, but Sarah had to admit that she’d thought very little about her stiff muscles or the wound on her neck throughout the ride to her place. She’d never tell him she was grateful for this distraction. A few minutes later they pulled up and he parked the bike on the side of the street outside the gallery.

Athan couldn’t explain how protective he felt over this girl. He knew a big reason was because a part of him had been left behind when he’d—how had Rhaena put it? Sank his fangs into her. However true that may be, the unexplainable bit was the way her mere presence had seemed to sing to him in that bar. Maybe fate had its own way of finding him the exact victim he’d drain on the nights that he tried so hard to resist killing. That would have been an easy excuse, had that been the case the few hundred other times he’d taken a life.

Every time he’d looked into her eyes since they first met, something inside him felt like it was cracking an eye open. Like some deeply rooted part of him was awakening. He couldn’t get over it. It would be another thing he’d have to fight off. Especially, when the feel of her arms wrapping tightly around his middle stirred something else entirely. He hated being touched. Even before Dahlia had forced him to lay over her and do unspeakable things, he’d hated it. He never allowed any of his clients to touch him while he gave them the kind of intimacy only money could buy—and that was over two hundred years ago, before she’d found him that night and posed as that lonely girl who had been starved for affection. He blocked out the Devil’s face and honed in on the fact that in this particular moment … having Sarah’s arms around him left him craving any other touch she’d allow him. He found himself hungering for it as much as he’d needed to taste her blood.

What the hell was happening to him?

She broke his deep train of thought when they sat at a stoplight just up the street from her apartment and she asked if he was stalking her. He hadn’t even realized he’d let on that he knew the way to her place. He didn’t have any words to answer when he turned his face toward her and found her pale complexion perched over his shoulder. That smile. Those fucking eyes. It was a mercy that the light turned green. She had held on a little tighter when he sped forward, weaving through the traffic ahead of them. It was obvious this wasn’t her first time on a bike. He could tell it by the way her body moved against his back every time he maneuvered around cars or made turns on the street. Wren had adamantly refused to get on the bike, not that he could take the both of them on it anyway, but Sarah didn’t flinch at the thought. If he’d been smart, he would have hailed them a cab and kept his distance like Rhaena had warned. But all his good sense had taken flight the minute he snapped that helmet onto her head and felt the warmth of her perfect body against his. He was genuinely screwed. He should have never listened to that tug that had him looking back at her. Now he was in her web—and he knew it. Knew it … and didn’t give a shit.

He stopped them in front of the art gallery in a scenic part of town and admired how the autumn sunlight broke through the turning leaves of the massive oaks lining the street. He lowered the stand and eased off the bike, sliding his helmet off and sitting it down while he offered a hand to help Sarah. Athan tried not to acknowledge the intruding thoughts as her hand gripped his and she swiveled herself down. She stood facing him. Close—too close. The light chill in the wind shoved her scent straight up his nose. Any longer and he’d be high on it. Athan stepped back and her mouth turned up in the corner.

“You’re not really a people person, are you?” Sarah smiled, digging her keys out of her jacket pocket. He reached into his own, pulling out his cigarettes and sliding one out with his teeth. She eyed it like she could almost eat one. He smirked and turned the open end of the pack toward her. “Or maybe you are.” She huffed a laugh, plucking one out and raising it to her mouth. He fired up and kept his hand cupped around the flame while she leaned in and puffed a few times. Her eyes nearly rolled back she seemed so satisfied. It was all he could do not to wonder how many other ways he could make her do that.

“Have you not had another since the night I first saw you?” he asked, blowing a stream of smoke in the other direction .

“Nope.” He leaned against a light post and stared at the beauty of how Boston thrived during the day. He could feel her eyes on him. “You don’t have to stay. She won’t be long.” Athan returned his attention to her.

“Do you want me to?” Too late to rethink that question. There was a long pause while they both took drags off their cigarettes.

“Honest answer?” Sarah asked, looking earnestly at him. His knees felt weak.

“I’d prefer it,” Athan replied, not breaking their gaze.

“Yeah … I do.”

Another awkwardly silent pause. Athan gestured toward the door at the corner of the gallery, and she started walking toward it. He followed behind her, burning through the remnants of his smoke while she unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal a narrow set of steps up to another door. He stayed close and told himself that it was just in case she had another “lightheaded” moment, his hand resting on the gun at his hip. They stepped through the second door at the top of the stairs, and she closed it behind them as he entered. As if he needed any more reasons to keep his self-control in check.

Sarah’s studio apartment reminded him a lot of his own bedroom. Bookshelves filled with everything from old decorative tomes to study material lined the walls in her living area. A bed with black silk sheets and a tattered blanket that seemed like it didn’t belong, was tucked into the corner near the window with a sitting nook that looked out over the street where he was parked. A small kitchen area was to the right of where he stood and the whole place had a dark, but comfortable feel to it.

“It’s not much, I know. But, for now, it’s home.” Sarah seemed inclined to explain it away as if it were something to be ashamed of. His eyes caught a framed poster on the wall next to her bed of some art print with Edgar Allan Poe’s, “The Raven” scripted over it in its entirety. His mind flashed to the night he’d checked her pulse, the tattoo on her wrist that he now shared with her—although she hadn’t known it. Athan cleared his throat.

“You’re a Poe fan?” he croaked, banishing the memory and nodding toward the poster.

“It’s my favorite.” Sarah smiled, stepping into the kitchen and rinsing out a coffee pot. “Coffee?” she offered, not looking back at him. He stood still and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Sure.”

She made herself busy with that, all the while keeping her cigarette in her mouth and puffing on it throughout the time it took her to scoop grounds from a container on her small countertop. “One way you can always tell I’m home …” She started filling the back of the coffee maker with water. “… Is if this pot is on.” Athan smirked, turning his face to watch her.

“Bit of a junkie?”

“In every sense of the word,” she answered, pressing the button and taking two mugs out of the small cabinet above the stove. “The coffee at the hospital was fucking atrocious.” She turned around and leaned back against the counter, smoking the last of the cigarette and stubbing it out in a small ashtray on the corner. “So, detective …” Athan glanced at her. “Why do you and your partner think EverLife wanted my lab reports?”

“We’re not really sure about that. There’s a few missing pieces here. Do you have anything you could add?” Sarah’s lips pursed and she unzipped her jacket, sliding it off her shoulders as she walked to a small bathroom between her bed and the kitchen area. She left the door open and flipped the light on, leaning into the mirror and picking at her bandage. “I don’t know if you should take that off, yet. Do you have more?” He fought off the urge to step any further into the apartment. She looked at him through the mirror and smirked.

“I didn’t leave that shithole to have more people hovering over me.” The sound of the bandage peeling off of her skin was nothing compared to the groan of satisfaction that came out of her. She rubbed the irritated square of adhesive residue and pulled out cotton balls and rubbing alcohol to clean it up.

“Suit yourself.”

Her face shot toward him and the anger that flashed in her eyes was nothing short of explosive. “Don’t ever say that to me again.” He recognized the growl in her voice when she said it. It was his. Athan lifted his shoulders.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was a thing.”

She trembled a little and he felt a stab of regret as he glanced at her wound. He was the reason she was starting to crumble. “I’m sorry … you’re right.” She eased up and turned back toward the mirror, dabbing around the spot. “That was the last thing Brent said to me before he left the club that night. Acted like a little prick because I chose not to leave with him.”

“I see.” Athan shifted on his feet. “Do you know where he went after he left you?”

“I don’t know the exact location, no. He said he was meeting a client.” The smell of coffee brewing filled every space in the apartment. He wasn’t sure how to tell her he’d take it. Hadn’t drank any in God knows how long. She hissed from the bathroom, and he didn’t think before he stepped forward.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Got too close with the alcohol,” she said, facing him and fanning the wound with her hand. Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and gently blew against her neck, the whispers that he hadn’t heard in a while starting to rage in his head. He quickly realized what he was doing and lifted his head, both of them frozen while they stared at each other and shared breath that was quickening every second. Sarah’s eyes dropped to his open mouth, and she slowly raised her shaking fingers to brush against his bottom lip. He nearly choked. Athan pulled back, turning away from her and trudging toward the door.

“I should go. I’m sorry.” Gentle hands gripped the leather on his elbow, and he stopped, almost afraid to look at her .

“Wait … Kane, I’m—that was my fault, I shouldn’t have done that. Don’t go.” She tugged a little harder and the whispers in his head roared louder. Turn around. Athan swallowed hard.

“It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t be here, it’s against protocol. I know better than this. Let me go.”

“Fine, then at least have a cup of coffee with me and I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know. Then you’re working. Detectives make house calls, right?” Turn around. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, turning to face her. When he opened them, she peered up at him, her eyes seeming desperate for him to stay. He knew then that there was no way he could kill her. He glanced at her neck. It was healing a lot faster than it should have by now. His teeth clenched when he met her eyes again and he finally spoke.

“Sarah, what do you know about this that you aren’t telling us?” She backed up a step, releasing his elbow and moving toward the kitchen. She didn’t ask him how he took it, she simply poured two cups of black coffee and sat one of them on a small coffee table in front of the loveseat in the living area. Her hand waved toward the couch, and he paused for a moment before stepping over and sitting down. When he didn’t pick up the mug, she reached down and handed it to him. The mug was warm against his palms.

“I’m—different,” she said, standing with both hands folded around her cup. “There’s been people after me ever since my mother died. I think they’re still after me.”

“What people?” Athan asked with lethal quiet. Just that admission alone was enough to set his blood boiling at the thought of someone hunting her.

“I don’t know.” She turned and walked to her bedside table, grabbing a framed picture, and bringing it back to him. Athan stared at it, realizing how much she favored the other woman in the photo.

“Is this your mother?”

“Mmhmm …” she hummed into her mug, taking a few sips and bringing it back down in front of her. “That was taken a few months before she died. It’s the last one we ever took together.”

“You look like her,” Athan offered, cautiously drinking from his cup. It was surprisingly wonderful. He took another. “How did she pass?”

“Turn it over. Open the back.” He sat the mug back down onto the table and flipped the frame, sliding the pins around the bulging stand. It popped open and a thin stack of folded papers fell into his lap. Athan raised his face to look at her. “Read that.” Sarah turned and went to sit at the end of her bed cross-legged, pulling the old blanket over her lap and kicking her boots off. He sat down the frame and opened the paperwork, skimming through every page and looking at her through lowered brows.

“So, your mother had a virus? And they contained her and kept her body?” Sarah nodded, holding up a finger.

“Everything but a small amount of her ashes. Which I now am also without. Can I bum another smoke?” Athan reached into his jacket and tossed her the pack along with the lighter. She lit one and took a long drag, exhaling heavily before she continued. “I was lucky enough to get that.” She pointed at the papers. “I think the only reason they gave it to me is to keep me from filing a shitload of lawsuits. I did everything I could to fight them for her body. That necklace was all I had left of her. She never had a service. The last time I saw her face, she was minutes away from taking her last breath and then they forced me out. They ordered her incineration without my consent.”

“If they did all of that to contain this information and you stopped putting up a fight, then why do you think they’re after you? For this?” Athan held the papers up.

“No … for my blood? My body? I don’t know.” She took another long hit. “Wren is the only other person that knows any of this, I haven’t even told Brent. But after about a month, I started noticing people reappearing in places I frequented, heard weird shit around my house …and then one night after I’d gone to bed, I woke up and I was strapped to a table in some sort of medical facility.”

“What?” Athan asked, growing increasingly pissed. She nodded, holding the cigarette between her fingers and blowing smoke rings.

“There was a really bright light. I couldn’t see anything. I was gagged. I tried to fight my way out, or scream. I couldn’t move. They stuck me so many times in my arms and at some point, they either drugged me again or I passed out. I don’t know which. I woke up in my bed the next morning and thought maybe I had a nightmare, but … the needle marks were there.”

“Was that the only time?” Athan seethed, not realizing how badly his rage was building at what she’d just told him.

“As far as I know.” She tossed his cigarettes back to him. “You look like you’re in need.” He caught them and promptly lit one, looking back down at the papers.

“What did they do to you?”

“I don’t know that either. But nothing has happened to me ever since then. I never got sick or anything like that. It’s been years since then. I started making it my life’s mission to figure out what killed my mom.”

“Is that why you took the job at EverLife?”

“Yep. I got a letter when I was still in Seattle. A school I didn’t even apply to had their eye on me … said they thought I would be a great fit for the program they were offering and even offered me a full ride. I had already run out of the settlement money I had gotten after mom died, and I couldn’t afford our house. So, I sold it … and used that money to come to Boston and go to school. The idea was to start over.” She sipped on her coffee. “I worked really hard to get this far. And I feel like the closer I get to the truth, the more someone wants to kill me.”

“Do you think maybe this position at EverLife was given to you so they could use you?”

“Don’t know.” Sarah shrugged. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Athan stilled. “You’re still gonna go? ”

“If they wanted me dead, they failed. Obviously, they wanna play. If that’s the case … then I plan to show them I’m game.” She raised the cigarette to her mouth and half-smiled at him as she pulled on it, tendrils of smoke snaking out of her nose. Their heads turned toward the door as loud footsteps traveled up the stairs. Athan put a hand on his gun. “It’s okay, it’s just Wren. I’d know those big ass feet anywhere.”

No sooner had she said it, Wren struggled through the door, arms full of Sarah’s belongings. Athan stood, rushing over to help as she kicked the door closed with her foot. “Sorry it took so long.” Wren grinned, holding up a white plastic bag. “I stopped to get you a little welcome home gift.” She tossed the bag to Sarah, who quickly tore into it and pulled out a black t-shirt.

“Ha!” Sarah cackled, turning it around so Athan could read it. “I think I’ll wear it on my first day at work.” He read the front. “Guess what fuckers … I survived.” in big red letters. Athan smirked and sat Sarah’s bag and laptop on the loveseat. His phone started ringing a moment later.

“Rhaena … what you got?” he answered.

“Where are you?”

Athan glanced at Sarah and noticed the change in her expression. “I’m not far from the house. You need me?”

“We need to talk. I’m about ten minutes out. Meet me there. Hurry up.”

She hung up on him, and he pocketed his phone.

“Uh oh.” Sarah smiled. “Did we get you in trouble?”

“No. I am trouble. I gotta head back. You gonna be okay?”

“We’re fine.” She nodded. “If it’ll help, take those with you.” She pointed at the papers still sitting on the table.

“You don’t mind? I can scan them and bring them back.”

“Do that.” Sarah winked. Athan bristled, suddenly remembering the moment of weakness in the bathroom earlier. He grabbed the papers and dipped his chin at both of them and made his way to the door. “Detective …” Sarah called as he opened it. He looked back at her. “I’m sorry … again.”

“Me too.”

“Sorry for what?” Wren mused, looking between them as he shut the door. He didn’t stick around to hear the rest of that conversation as he tucked the papers into his jacket and approached his bike. He started it up and shoved his head into his helmet, glancing up at Sarah’s window above the gallery and finding her standing in it. Wren popped her head over her shoulder, and he took off, cursing himself for being so stupid.

If Rhaena ever found out what happened in that apartment today, she’d rip out his throat. He could just about do it himself. At least they had more today than they’d started out with. He hoped Rhaena had something.

Brent stared at the unanswered texts and outgoing calls on his phone, wondering if there was something wrong with the thing as he waited in the elevator at the community hospital. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t the phone. Deep down … he knew Wren had been right in what she’d said the other day. Maybe she didn’t want to marry him. Maybe he didn’t want to be married yet. Not for these reasons. He knew his father wasn’t a good man. Being like him wouldn’t solve anything. Maybe Sarah just needed time to get through this trauma. He’d ask her when they could be alone. Yet, the thought that kept burning through his mind was that she seemed to be growing more distant even before the attack. Whatever attraction they’d had before their engagement seemed to die out since he’d proposed. He couldn’t figure out if that was his fault, or just that the feeling he’d had when Conrad pressed that box into his palm had been right … maybe she wasn’t the one.

The doors opened and he stepped out of the elevator into the hallway, making his way to Sarah’s room. A familiar arrangement of flowers sat atop the counter at the nurse’s station, and he glanced inside the room to find it being cleaned and prepared for the next patient. The nurse behind the counter stood.

“Mr. Stratford … she’s been discharged, sir. She left a couple of hours ago. Did no one call you?” Her fingers nervously fidgeted in front of her.

“They did not. Who’d she leave with? The redhead?” Brent tried to get a hold on his rising temper.

“Yes … and the detective.”

He could feel his muscles tensing and the tips of his ears heating, no doubt turning five shades of red. “Which detective?”

“I don’t remember his name, I’m sorry.”

His name.

“Are those hers?” Brent asked, trying to hide the tremor of rage in his voice and pointing to the vase of flowers.

“Umm … yes. She didn’t take them with her, and we hated to throw them out. It’s a beautiful arrangement. Do you want to—”

“Keep them.”

“These are hers, sir. They weren’t ready when she left. I figured since you’re already here, we wouldn’t have to call them back to the hospital.” She handed him a small white paper bag with her prescriptions inside and he tightened his mouth and nodded at her.

Brent turned away, his pride shot to hell, and stormed back to the elevator. He could have wept with gratitude that no one was inside when he pressed the button to close the doors. He screamed loudly, punching as hard as he could into the metal wall. She’d left with him . He knew it probably had a great deal to do with Wren and the fact that she’d do just about anything to separate them, but he couldn’t really blame her. He couldn’t blame the handsome, tattooed detective either. Had he been here, instead of that damned meeting earlier, Brent himself would have probably been able to take her home. Maybe she was pissed because he wasn’t .

All he did know, at this particular moment, was that they had a great deal to talk about. And whether Sarah was ready for it or not, it would be tonight.