Page 39 of Pulse
If she doesn’t kill me first.
Chapter Nine
Dahlia
With my eyes closed, I lean my head against the side window, relishing the warmth of the sun caressing my skin.Did I apply sunscreen this morning? I have no clue. It feels like a lifetime ago.
The day has been an absolute blur. Between arranging for Morgan to meet Theo at my apartment to gather a few of my things without telling her why but insisting everything is absolutely fine, calling Burt and letting him know I’ll be gone for a while and asking him to keep an eye on my house, having long, hard conversations with Ford and the police, and boarding a private jet, it’s been a hell of a day.
The only silver lining to the flurry of activity is that I’ve worked out some of my feelings. It turns out that when you go through things in explicit detail, a cathartic response follows. And when Ford Landry makes it his mission to find out who’s threatening you, there’s a sense of security that comes along with it.
I glance over my shoulder.
And when a gorgeous, gray-eyed bad boy in a suit demands to whisk you off to an island to keep you safe—life could be worse.
Troy catches me watching him. I wait for a smile, a grin, or a smirk. Instead, he returns to the winding road leading to Kiawah Island.
“You’ve been quiet,” I say as we cross a bridge.
There’s been nothing but swamps, water, and vegetation for a long time. I’d think he was taking me to the middle of nowhere, except there’s been a steady stream of cars in both directions.
“I didn’t figure you wanted to talk,” he says.
“Me? Not want to talk? It’s like you don’t even know me.”
This gets me a half of a smile. “You’ve had a lot of shit thrown at you today. I wanted to give you space.”
I shift in my seat, ready to get out of the car.
Troy hasn’t said a whole lot since we left Landry Security a few hours ago. He’s been on his phone off and on, and I’ve made a point not to listen. Not that I could hear or understand him anyway. But I’m sure if I did catch pieces of his conversations, my anxiety would rise again, and if there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s that.
“How much farther until we get there?” I ask.
“You just asked me that.”
“I haven’t asked since the airport.”
“We’ll be there when we get there.”
I laugh. “I bet your dad said that a lot to you growing up. You had to be the kid who was a giant pain in the ass.”
A shadow falls over his face. “Something like that.”
Out of nowhere, the vegetation parts and a security guard station blocks the road in front of us. A road extends to the right, disappearing into a grove of trees as the pavement curves around a bend.
“There’s a blue piece of paper in the glove compartment,” Troy says, motioning toward the dash. “Can you grab it for me, please?”
“Sure.” I fiddle with the button until I open it and find the pale blue piece of paper tucked inside the owner’s manual. “Here you go.”
He takes it and pulls up to the guard station. A man with a long mustache holds out his hand.
“How are you folks this afternoon?” the man asks, looking at the paper. He then inspects the car’s VIN beneath the windshield wiper.
“We’re good. You?” Troy asks.
“I’m here. That’s about all I can say for today.”
I grin. “I like your mustache.”
