Page 99 of Delicate Escape

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked softly.

“Here,” Sutton cut in. “I made tea.”

I blinked at her a few times, just remembering that she was here and this was my place of work. I quickly slid off Shep’s lap and moved back to the chair beside him. “Thank you. I’m sorry—I—Luca.” I blanched, thinking about how my freakout must’ve scared him.

Sutton just squeezed my shoulder. “He’s fine. He’s upstairs playing a game on his tablet, completely oblivious toany drama.” Sadness swept through her expression. “I’m so sorry I gave you that damn thing. If I’d known?—”

I shook my head. “It’s not your fault.”

The bell over the door jingled, and my entire body stiffened. No, it braced, preparing to fight or run, like Brendan might show up wielding an ax. It was ridiculous. He’d never caused me physical harm, yet the fear was there all the same.

Instead of a crazed ax murderer, Trace walked through the door. His dark hair looked more mussed than usual, but he wore that same careful expression—the look that never gave much away.

I couldn’t help but focus on the gun at his hip and the badge on his belt. I swallowed hard, the fear setting in all over again.

A hand slid into mine, squeezing. “It’s okay,” Shep assured me.

His words from earlier echoed in my head.“You let me in.”

And I had. One tiny crack in the fortress I’d built, and everything had come tumbling down. But I couldn’t find it in me to regret it. I’d never be able to regret the gift that was Shep—and everything he’d brought with him. His family. His friends. They’d made me realize that life was about more than just running.

So, I took a deep breath and prepared to turn my fortress to ash.

“Thea,” Trace greeted, his voice so gentle it almost hurt to hear. “First thing, do you need medical attention?”

Shep bristled at that. “You don’t think I would’ve called Dr. Avery if that was the case?”

“I just need to double-check with Thea,” Trace said, his voice remarkably calm in the face of his brother’s anger.

I didn’t blame him for asking. I was sure I was a shade of pale that looked more like death than anything. “I don’t need a doctor. I just—I had a shock.”

Anson handed Trace the letter now in a sealed plastic bag. I watched Trace’s face change. It was brief, only for a split second, but I saw it. Gone was the careful expression, and in its place, a mask of fury. But just as quickly as that rage appeared, it retreated again.

Trace’s jaw worked back and forth. “Russ?”

I hadn’t even considered the possibility of Russ Wheeler sendinga note like this. He definitely had the cruelty in him to do it. The tiniest bit of relief swirled inside me at the thought. It’d be far better for him to be the sender than Brendan.

Shep’s grip on my hand tightened. “Could be him.”

Anson’s gaze narrowed on the letter.

“You don’t agree.” Trace’s words weren’t a question, but Anson still gave him an answer.

“Doesn’t fit the profile I’ve been building. Russ likes to see the damage he inflicts. Wants to be up close and personal. He’s also incredibly impulsive. Something like this took time. Taking the photo, printing it out, dropping it in The Mix Up’s mailbox.”

My stomach was back to churning, and my fingers dug into Shep’s hand.

Trace looked between me and Shep. “There someone else I should be checking out?”

Shep glanced at me, waiting. I knew he’d give me all the time in the world. It was his way of ceding control. And I knew that cost him. Because Shep dealt with uncertainty by controlling as much as he could.

Saliva pooled in my mouth as I tried to begin. But where did you start with something like this? My eyes burned, and my stomach cramped as anxiety set in. Because there was always the worry that whoever I told wouldn’t believe me. ThatTracewouldn’t believe me.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to calm and center myself. All I could do was speak my truth. I couldn’t control what anyone did with it. But maybe just saying the words aloud would make me stronger. So, I took the first step. I began.

“I used to date Brendan Boseman.”

The story tumbled out of me in fits and starts. I had to backtrack and reexplain at times. Others, I had to clarify or add something I’d forgotten. It wasn’t pretty or even completely lucid at moments, but Trace stuck with me, only stopping me to ask questions if it was absolutely necessary.

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