The Lover's Surrender (No Exceptions) (9 page)

“Yeah.”
Jett nodded, the notion carrying as much graveness as his tone. “And me. I’m
getting framed.”

“By whom?”
Sam asked.

“I don’t
know.”

“How could
they possibly link you to this girl’s death?”

Jett
laughed darkly. “You’d be surprised.”

Sam let out
a sharp breath. “Jesus, dude. Does Brian know?”

“Not yet. I
found out this morning. Brooke told me she was friends with the girl.” Jett
folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. “Is there a way I
can get a hold of the video?”

“We don’t
have it. It was just mentioned in the news,” Sam said. “But it shouldn’t be
hard to get it. Brian could help out, or do you intend to keep it from him?”
The slightest hint of reproach came through in his voice. Apparently, Brian had
to be kept updated. That Jett hadn’t done so that didn’t seem to bode well with
Sam.

“I might
tell him.” Jett drew a long breath. “It’d be interesting to know if any more
dead girls were found recently.”

The sudden
pause signaled they were about to draw their conversation to an end. Afraid
that Jett would notice me, I closed the door quietly, but that didn’t stop me
from cupping my ear to the door again.

For another
minute or two, the conversation continued, too muffled to make out more than a
fragment. Soon, footsteps thudded down the hall. They seemed to come closer,
but I didn’t move away. If someone entered, I could always pretend I was on my
way out because Jett was taking too long.

“Do you
think you can do me a favor?” I heard Jett’s voice again.

“Consider
it done.”

“I need a
copy of the autopsy report.”

“What
exactly are you looking for?”

“I don’t
know, maybe the presence of the same drug Brooke had in her system. I want to
find out if the girl was drugged,” Jett said. “Can you get it?”

“You’ll
have it by tomorrow.”

“I need it
today.”

“Sure. No
problem. I’ll call when I have it,” Sam replied in the same calm tone.
“Anything else I can do for you?”

“As a
matter of fact, yes.”

The steps
came to a halt in front of the door. I expected the door to burst open, but it
didn’t. Reckoning I had heard enough, I retreated to the examination area and
held my breath, waiting for the push of the door handle.

It didn’t
come.

Waiting and
not being able to hear what they were saying felt like an eternity. After a
while, a door opened and closed nearby, and the next thing I knew the muffled
voices were gone.

Not my
thoughts though.

I leaned
back, taking deep breaths, unable to shake the nausea building up. My sin felt
hot, but inside, a cluster of ice-cold cramps seized my stomach.

Gina had
been raped. She had been drugged. And she suffered.

Just like
one of the victims I had met during my captivity—Liz.

My throat
burned as various emotions crawled up my spine. I tried to stop the memories
flooding my mind, the dark times I had tried to forget but never could. My
stomach clenched. I rushed to the bathroom and dropped to my knees just in
time, before everything I’d eaten that day came up fast, until I was sure my
stomach was empty and there was nothing left inside me.

Shivering,
I leaned my throbbing head against the cold surface, praying that the pain
would stop.

As I sat
there, it occurred to me that Jett would be back soon. He couldn’t see me like
this, so I got up, sprayed water on my face, and then reapplied my makeup and
regarded myself in the mirror.

My skin was
unnaturally pale, but it wasn’t too bad. I looked good enough on the outside.

I chuckled
darkly at the word.

Outside
… It sounded like I had two faces. Like there
were two sides of me.

A true one
that had been hidden far too long, and the one that kept pretending everything
was fine when that couldn’t be further from the truth. That part of me felt
heavy now.

I wished a
time would come when I could stop pretending.

When I
moved back into the examination room, Jett hadn’t returned yet. At least the
nausea had passed. But the fear in my bones persisted as I became aware of
three facts:

First,
Gina’s body hadn’t even been dropped off at the club when the detective, or
whoever he was, interrogated me.

Second, there
was every possibility that the same men who once drugged and abducted me had
tried to kidnap me again.

And third,
the poem hadn’t been a message. It had been a threat.

Someone had
every intention of framing Jett for a murder he didn’t commit. Someone had
orchestrated a great plan, probably plotting it for a long time. Someone might
still be after me.

And all
this time, I had worried that Jett might be the bad guy when it was someone
else.

I swallowed
hard, not for the first time wondering if I would ever be safe.

When Jett
finally opened the door, at least fifteen minutes had passed. I was sitting on
the examination chair, my feet dangling in the air, my body tense, and my pulse
still racing. Forcing a smile to my lips, I cocked my head and looked up at
him.

“You didn’t
have to go through all the trouble to make a reservation, you know,” I said
nonchalantly. “We could have opted for a quick drive-in.”

“Right.
What kind of man do you take me for?”

He passed
me a cup of coffee. I pretended to take a sip, but all I could focus on was the
need to control the rising sense of nausea inside my stomach. Wrapping my cold
hands around the steaming cup, I watched him lean against the wall and close
his eyes. He stood there for a few long moments, alone with his thoughts. I
gave him the privacy because I sensed that he needed it.

When he
opened his eyes again, his smile was gone and a flicker of knowledge appeared
in them. “You heard us, didn’t you?”

It didn’t
even sound like a question.

I shook my
head. “Heard what?”

“It’s okay,
Brooke. No need to pretend. I knew all along that you would be listening.”

His eyes
pierced mine, and my breath caught in my throat as my smile died on my lips.
There was so much intensity in them my heart skipped a beat. I swallowed the
lump in my throat, but all it did was amplify the tension coursing through me.
As if sensing my distresses, he nodded knowingly. “So…tell me, how much did you
hear?”

Deciding
there was no point in lying, I shrugged and carefully placed the coffee cup on
the table, afraid the shaking of my limbs might cause me to spill the black
liquid.

“Almost
everything,” I whispered. Unsure if he’d be angry, I added, “I wasn’t trying to
eavesdrop, really, but you guys weren’t exactly quiet.”

“I wasn’t
trying to be.” He narrowed his eyes, waiting for me to drop off the hundreds of
questions I usually had.

When
nothing came, he stepped closer and his fingers curled around my wrists. With a
soft pull, he helped me down from the chair and sheltered me in a tight
embrace, until I could feel his breath on my face. Sexy, masculine, his green
eyes ever so magnetizing. My insides clenched at the anticipation of him
kissing me.

“Brooke.”
He let out a slow breath. “I don’t want to keep any more secrets from you. Not
again. Not after I almost lost you. This is serious. We have to be honest with
each other.”

Oh, God.

Those were
the words I had been waiting to hear, and for a split second, I imagined a life
together without lies, without any more secrets, and a real chance to heal our
wounds.

I looked up
at him, ready to comment, when I stopped still. His eyes were wide and worried,
the usual color of emeralds now foggy and dark. His lips were drawn in a tight
line—not at all how I imagined he would be when he spoke those words. I
sensed then that more was coming. A scolding, possibly, or maybe…

“Jesus,
Brooke.” His voice came low, insinuating anger—like a sleeping volcano
waiting to erupt. “Do you realize that it could have been you?”

I stared at
his beautiful face, now contorted with fear and anger, wondering if we would
have another fight so soon after our lovemaking. Did I even have that much
energy left? I doubted it.

“Nothing
happened. You were there and picked me up,” I whispered.

Jett shook
his head, grimacing. “I’m not talking about the night you were at that damn
club. I’m talking about the guy who left the letter and almost broke into your
apartment.”

A new
shudder ran down my spine.

“Yeah, that
was scary.” I forced a shrug, banishing the memory of hiding, the strong
feeling of being trapped in a room with no way to get help, and feeling guilty
when I shouldn’t have felt that way. “But nothing happened. I’m still here.
It’s not even a big deal.”

He stared
at me. “How can you say it’s not a big deal? He could have hurt you and our
baby.”

“But he
didn’t.” Even to me my reassurance sounded pathetic. Unbelievable.

“No, but he
could have, and that’s all that matters,” he growled. “Brooke, you heard Sam.
He said the girl was abducted and tortured. You said that you felt watched.
What’s to say it wasn’t him, the same person who killed Gina? And what’s to say
he didn’t try to get you?”

He was
right. The danger had been there all along.

I
swallowed, again and again, but the lump in my throat didn’t loosen.

The memory
of my own abduction brought new and old fears to greater heights.

“You don’t
have to assume the worst just because you see a few connections,” I said more
to myself than to him. His brows shot up at my words. “It might have been a
joke or…the letter was dropped off at the wrong door.” I winced at how
unconvinced I sounded.

He shot me
a long look.

“Is that
what you really believe?” he asked, brows knitted.

I sighed.
“No.”

“Then what
do you think happened? Please enlighten me, because any other explanation than
what I’ve offered you doesn’t make sense.”

Crossing my
arms over my chest, more to stop the shivering than to ward off the cold, I
shook my head. Not because I didn’t believe he was right, but because I might
have been pretty close to the truth before. The mention of tears in the poem,
the dots Gina had drawn on her face, were all signs that Jett was right.

Someone was
after me.

Jett had
mentioned a game before.

“I don’t
know,” I admitted, feeling desperation washing over me again. “It might just be
a game like you said, but I’m not sure what game.”

Exhaling, I
brushed the hem of my shirt then jumped up. I grabbed my bag and fished out my
phone.

“What are
you doing?” Jett asked slowly, watching me scroll through my contact list.

 
“I have to call Thalia,” I explained, not
bothering to look up. “We didn’t really get a chance to talk when we heard the
news, but there’s a chance her drink was spiked, too.”

Jett’s
fingers enclosed mine, the action stopping me.

I looked
up, confused, my glance sweeping from his hand to meet his gaze. “What?”

“I don’t
want you to contact her,” he said calmly. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

I shook my
head in confusion and pulled my phone out of his reach. “Why not?”

“Let’s just
say it’s not a good idea.”

I drew a
long breath and let it out slowly. “Jett, Gina was the one who brought us the
drinks. Thalia could tell us if she saw someone with her. She could describe
him. She was the last one to see Gina alive.” I paused to let my words sink in.
When he remained quiet, I said, “If we know what he looks like, we might be
able to find out who he is. Thalia could even tell us if the fake detective
left after I went home or if anything else suspicious happened.”

“No.” His
voice was hard. Determined. “No. You’re not contacting anyone. Sam promised to
call as soon as the autopsy report comes in. It will show us if there were any
drugs in Gina’s body. Until we know for sure what’s going on, you can’t trust
anyone, Brooke. Do you understand?” He stared at me, his gaze impenetrable, unyielding,
yet at the same time pleading. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But—”

“No,
Brooke,” Jett cut me off. “If the guy isn’t a real detective and he showed you
pictures of her body, I have every reason to believe the pictures were provided
by the killer, or the guy’s the killer.”

My jaw
dropped in shock, my words failing me. During the interrogation, the detective
and I had been sitting close together in the small room. I was hard to grasp
the fact that I might have been staring at a killer that whole time. The entire
conversation, not just with him but also with Jett, had my head spinning, and
for once, I wished I had something stronger than coffee.

A full
minute passed.

Then
another.

When I
found my voice again, I was surprised at how calm my words came.

“You think
that guy, who interviewed me,
is
the
killer?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t
rule it out.” Jett glanced out the window. “And if he isn’t, I’m sure he knows
who the killer is.”

He turned
back to me, and, as if sensing the burning question on my tongue, continued, “It
takes at least two people to execute a plan and one person to act as a
diversion. So, I’m guessing he and someone else are working with the real
killer. The question is who? The fact that Gina brought the drinks could mean
she was involved somehow, which is why you can’t contact her friends.”

I stared at
his resolute expression, realizing that Jett was serious. My stomach sunk.

“I can’t
imagine that Gina was involved,” I said. “It’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Simply
because”—I shrugged—“it would mean that Thalia’s involved, too.”

“Well, do
you think she might be?”

“Hell, no.”
I grimaced, mad that he would even suggest something like that. “Her pain
looked real, Jett. Just because Gina brought the drinks doesn’t mean she was
involved.”

“Someone
spiked them,” Jett reminded me.

“But that
someone wasn’t Gina.” My voice rose slightly. “I doubt she wanted to be
killed.”

His
eyebrows shot up. “She still got into the car with a guy and let him drive her
some place,” Jett said softly. “If she was gay, why would she do that unless
she knew him?”

He had a
good point.

Gina might
have known him. They might have been friends.

Unless…

“Maybe she
didn’t know what she was doing, Jett,” I could hear myself defending her. “Like
I didn’t know what I was doing when you picked me up that night. She might have
been so drugged out of her mind that she just went along, unaware of the danger
she was in.”

He cocked
one eyebrow. “You went home with me because you were attracted to me.”

Of course,
his ego had to make its entrance at some point.

My cheeks
blushed. “Yes. That’s true, but still.”

“We have to
be careful, Brooke. Unless we find real evidence, I won’t rule out that your
friend’s involved, and neither should you. For all we know, they all might be.”

“They?” I
asked breathlessly. “Who’s they?”

“Grayson.
Thalia. All your
new
friends,” Jett
said, oblivious to the storm wreaking havoc inside me. “The fact that you
scored the job so fast is kind of unusual, Brooke. How often do you find
someone getting a job without needing references, especially with you being
pregnant? Thalia basically threw it at you while you ordered coffee.”

I stared at
him when it hit me.

Jett was
thinking I was lured in.

By Thalia.

The idea
was so crazy I shook my head vehemently. Thalia had been good to me. Her
concerns for me looked real. Even though I hadn’t known her for a long time, I
was sure she wasn’t involved. I couldn’t say the same about Jett’s brother. The
knowledge that Jett didn’t even seem to consider other options angered me.

Not once
had he mentioned his brother’s name, even though I was sure Nate and his people
were involved somehow.

“What about
Nate?” I asked, regarding him coldly.

It was a
simple question, and yet the very mention of his brother’s name was enough to
change Jett’s determined expression to something I had never seen in his face.

Disgust.

Contempt.

Pure
hatred.

And then in
a split second it was gone—as if it had been a figment of my imagination.

Jett
shrugged and buried his hands in his pockets. “What about him?”

“It could
be him,” I pointed out, unable to keep the angry undertones in my voice in
check. “In fact, he’s the first one I thought of. Not Thalia, nor Gina, nor my
new friends, as you so kindly suggested. If someone’s playing a game, then that
someone might as well be your brother, not people I just met.”