Page 145 of Deliverance

“You say your husband is a football coach.” Keen gives me a sympathetic glance, seeing that I’m grasping my knees now to prevent them from trembling.

I wince at the word “husband.” I can’t even fathom thinking about Rhys that way anymore. “Yes. He played in college. And then he took a coaching position at the local high scho— What does that have to do with what happened?”

“Maybe nothing.” Diaz pulls out a pen and jots something in her notebook. “We’re just trying to understand what kind of man your husband is.”

Evil.

I squeeze the bridge of my nose and draw a deep breath. “Please don’t call him that. I know from a legal standpoint he still is…my spouse, but—” I cut my gaze to the woman and look her straight in the eye. “A husband isn’t someone who’s going to beat the living shit out of you and leave you bleeding to death.”After a miscarriage, I add to myself as a reminder of why I’m doing this. Why I’ve chosen to trust my secrets to the police and am agreeing to a fuckload of red tape.

“I’m very sorry about what happened to you, Ms. Kadence.” Diaz’s face takes on an odd, motherly expression, and I wonder how many women like me she sees on a daily basis. “I promise, we’ll do whatever we can to get to the bottom of it.”

Not find him and arrest him.“What do I do meanwhile? Hide here? Barricade myself?” Panic begins to fill me from head to toe. If there are no traces of Rhys anywhere, it means we can’t serve him with the restraining order Miranda is working on this week. Another complication.

“This is a secure building, Ms. Kadence. I see that only guests approved by the tenants are allowed here,” Diaz tries to reassure me. “I highly doubt your hus—Mr. Jacoby will be able to get in.”

“What about my studio? Or a grocery store? He somehow got into the gallery and into the theater unnoticed. What guarantees do I have that he won’t attack me somewhere in the parking lot?”

“We’re looking through the event footage right now. I’m sure we’ll get some answers soon.” She draws a business card from the same pocket that holds her pen and, standing up to close the distance between us, hands it to me. “My direct number is listed there as well. Feel free to call me anytime.”

I’m still clenching the card long after both officers are gone. I stand in front of the window overlooking the bustling city below, the busy stretch of Hollywood Boulevard just a few blocks away, and the green rolling hills with mansions beyond, and I feel trapped.

Completely and utterly trapped in this loft.

For the first time ever since I moved the L.A., I’m considering buying a car as the luxury SUV Zander sent for me is driving me down Pacific Coast Highway toward Laguna Beach. Earlier, out of curiosity, I peeked at the Uber app to see how much it’d cost me to get here if I were to pay for this trip, and my heart paused for a good minute. Sure, the man went all out to fly me to New York for our first official date, but should we keep this going on a regular basis, he’d be broke.

He lives far out,the thought swirls through my head,so, so far out.

Of course, the distance between the cities in two different Southern California counties pales in comparison to the one I’ve attempted to create between myself and Rhys. Rockford, Illinois to Los Angeles, California.

Even then, I seem to have failed miserably.

He found me, and from the looks of it, he’s been here several months, so blaming Tina for outing me because she was trying to do her job isn’t right. He’d find me even if I took up Santiago on his offer and used the services of his shady friends to disappear.

On the other side of the tinted glass to my right, the blue waves lazily roll onto the shore and slap the white sand. I crack the window open and will my mind not to think about Rhys.

My energy is best spent elsewhere.

Scooting a little closer to the door, I stick my hand out and let the cool wind wrap my fingers in its harsh, salty caress. The view is stunning. There’s calmness here unlike what’s at the city beaches or in Malibu.

Soon, the highway veers into the grassy hillside and the body of water disappears behind a cliff as we reach the city. The small restaurants. The hotels. The boardwalk. All this leisured life flies by as we keep driving farther and farther south until the car finally turns onto a winding street and crawls up a slope lined with lavish houses proudly showcasing their Christmas decor. It’s not as huge and private as Santa Barbara or Malibu or even Brentwood, but it’s well enough cared for to let me know I’m in a neighborhood with million-dollar properties.

And the view. God, the view makes my pulse race.

My muse has never particularly responded to nature, but it stirs and groans in my chest and gobbles up the bluffs and the palms and the foaming waves as we continue our drive up the road.

A few more minutes and the car comes to a halt in front of a metal gate hedged by white brick pillars, a fence that’s not nearly tall enough to hide the front yard, and a deck that runs along the length of the entire property.

The driver rushes to the back to grab the only bag I packed. I note movement on the other side of the gate, then spy Zander’s hair, wild and unbound, swaying in the breeze as he sprints over to open it.

“Hey, hope the traffic wasn’t bad.” He grabs my luggage from the driver.

“Wow” is all I manage to say when the car starts pulling out as I spin on my heels and stare at the stretch of street leading to the beach and the ocean down below.

Zander steps closer, his chest pressing against my back, and wraps his free arm around me. “You like?”

Words fail me, so I stand there, inhaling the scent of him and the ocean as they mingle and tease my senses.

A soft kiss brushes my neck. “Let’s go inside. I’ll show you the house.”

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