Page 129 of Where There's Smoke

He looked around the room, gaze drifting from one piece of luggage to the next, and I didn’t have to ask what was on his mind.

“Jesse.” I put my hands on his shoulders. “Don’t worry about packing. Just go. I’ll take care of everything here.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just stared at me like he had to process what I’d said. Then he nodded. “Right. Okay. I’ll…I guess I can borrow Ranya’s car again. She’s probably—”

I took my keys out of my pocket and pressed them into his palm. “Take mine.” I cupped his face in both hands and kissed him lightly. “Go.”

“Thank you, Anthony. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I kissed him again, then gently nudged him toward the door. “Now go. Simone needs you.”

Jesse gave me his room key and left. Alone in his hotel room, surrounded by his luggage and the sound of my pounding heart, I hoped to God he made it to her before she really went over the edge. I hoped I could figure out how to clean up this mess and assure the media all was well.

But ever the pessimist, I couldn’t make myself believe it.

Chapter 26

Jesse

I pushedthe accelerator to the floor, and the engine whined as the speedometer’s digital readout rapidly changed to mark the increasingly illegal speed. Ignoring the green numbers, I focused on the road and the white stripes flying past Anthony’s car. My driving record was pristine. One ticket wouldn’t kill me.

Three times I tried to call Simone. Each time, the phone on the other end rang five times, then kicked over to voice mail. When I tried a fourth call, it went straight to voice mail.

I swore and tapped my phone against the wheel. At least that meant she was likely all right. Uninjured, anyway. She hadn’t heard the news in the car and driven into a guardrail or something. It may have sounded ridiculous, but I had visions of her doing just that, not because she was suicidal, but being behind the wheel and trying to process something she couldn’t process…

No. Don’t think about that. She’s obviously okay because she turned off her phone.

Gaze flicking back and forth from the road to the phone in my hand, I scrolled to Dean’s number. I quickly found it, hit Send, and put the phone to my ear.

“Dean Reilly.”

“Dean, it’s Jesse,” I said. “Listen, is—”

“Leave her alone,” he growled. “You are thelastone she wants to see right now.”

“I don’t doubt it.” I pushed down a little harder on the accelerator. “Could you at least tell me if she’s all right?”

He laughed humorlessly. “Do you really expect her to be?”

I resisted the urge to reach through the phone and choke him. “You know what I mean.”

“She’s fine,” he snapped. “Just leave heralone.”

And with that, he hung up.

I swore and dropped my phone in the passenger seat. Gripping the wheel in both hands, I pushed the gas pedal down harder.

Okay, so she was physically all right. Emotionally, though? Bad. Real bad.

I finally made it to Malibu and to my own driveway. I pulled up to the gate and rolled down my window. My fingers hovered over the keypad. Damn it, the code. I knew this. What was—

The numbers finally came back to me, and I quickly punched them in. The gate opened, and as soon as there was enough room for the car, I slammed on the gas, spun the tires, and tore up my driveway.

I parked out front and went in through the front door. The security system was off, but I probably wouldn’t have bothered to turn it off anyway. Let it go off. Let the police come. Just please, please tell me my wife was okay.

“Simone?” My voice echoed down the hall. I hurried into the kitchen, glanced out on the veranda, checked the living room. “Simone?”

The creak of footsteps on the stairs sent cool relief rushing through my veins. I hurried back up the hall.

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