Page 2 of The Caress

"Please move out of my way," she says, using her suitcase as a shield to get past me in the narrow hallway. "You’re the one who told me to leave without any warning. This is all happening because of you." She huffs out an irritated breath when I don’t immediately step aside. "What do you want, Keir? We’re done. You said it yourself. You obviously don’t care about me or my feelings, so why are you pretending right now?"

Anger bubbles to the surface. not at Ella, but at the whole situation. Kinsley really fucked up my whole damn life. I open my mouth to try to express my thoughts, but my phone buzzes in my hand before I can answer. It buzzes two more times as I start to shove it into my pocket. Mostly out of reflex, I look down at the screen.

"Oh, shit." My breath catches as I skim the incoming texts. Each one is from a different person, mostly journalists sniffing around for a scoop. Unfortunately, all the texts match the news headline that’s scrolling across the top of my screen.

Wendy Alan, a reporter, was killed in an apparent hit-and-run. Authorities haven’t named a suspect at this time. Authorities want to question billionaire newspaper magnate Keiran Grayrose.

My mind is racing.

What are the odds that Wendy Alan and her partner Max just happened to die in almost the exact same way?

It’s rare and tragic enough for someone to get run down by a car in broad daylight, but for it to happen twice? in two related incidents within such a short amount of time?

No.

This isn’t a coincidence. It isn’t just a tragic accident. I’d bet half my fortune that whoever killed Wendy is the same person who murdered Max.

My phone is still vibrating with incoming texts, but I don’t have time to read or reply to any of them right now. Ella pushes past me while I am distracted by the news, her footsteps echoing in the grand entry room. I can already hear the elevator doors opening in the foyer from where I’m standing.

"Ella, wait!" I call out, running toward the front of the apartment. "Don’t leave yet! You need—"

"Too late," she answers from the elevator. She’s watching me and shaking her head, one hand still clinging tightly to her suitcase as I hurry to catch the door. "I’m leaving because of you, Keir. We're finished, just like you said."

The elevator door closes right in front of me as I slide across the marble tile.

"Damn it all." I bang my fist on the closed door, but it’s too late.

I want to talk to her, to at least make her understand that I’m not the cold-hearted asshole she thinks I am. But now I have another reason to delay her trip to the airport. A real reason

With so much going on at once, my brain has been struggling to make sense of Wendy’s death. Now, standing here alone in my quiet penthouse, the pieces are finally starting to fall into place.

Wendy knew about the sex tape. She threatened to expose me. The same way Max threatened me before he was killed.

Everyone who knows my secret is turning up dead. Who else knows?

James.

Kinsley.

Ella, of course.

"Ella," I pound on the elevator door again, despite the fact that I know she's long gone. That uneasy feeling is quickly turning to dread as I jam my thumb against the button to call the elevator back up to this floor. "Come on, damn it all. Hurry.Hurry."

It’s only been a minute or two since she left, but every second counts now more than ever. There’s still a chance I can catch up to her before she makes it out of the lobby; there's still a chance I can keep her here with me, where she’ll be safe while we figure out what to do next.

After what feels like an eternity, I’m finally riding down to the ground floor and silently praying that Ella is still there.

I take off running the moment the elevator doors open in front of me, nearly colliding with a startled group of four slow-moving NewsCorp executives. My personal concierge is leading them through the lobby as I push past the group, sprinting to the front of the building.

"Ella!" I shout, running out onto the sidewalk. I’m too late, though. The black sedan is pulling away with her inside, completely oblivious that her life is in danger.

People are beginning to point and stare at me. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ll be showing up in the gossip columns looking disheveled and unkempt as I stand here shouting in front of my building. I don’t have time to worry about that right now, though.

Turning and rushing back through the lobby, I take another elevator down to the parking garage. I had hoped to avoid being seen with her at the airport, but that isn’t an option anymore.

Her safety is more important than my public image. I just have to hope that I can get to her before anyone else does.

Only once I’m in my car and speeding away from the building do I have the presence of mind to call my head of security.

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