Page 14 of Deadly Obsession

Seb clutches his neck, now marked from my hands.

“Fine,” I relent, trying to shrug Callen off. He’s never stepped into the role of a mediator before; that’s something Bram used to do. “Let me go.”

He reluctantly releases his hold, and I readjust my shirt to ensure it’s not wrinkled while Seb doubles over and splutters.

I turn my back on them both, storm into the kitchen and search under the sink for the bottle of whiskey I spotted this morning. I grab it and take a swig. It does nothing to calm me, but the liquid torching my throat provides a distraction. Fire meets fire.

Seb limps into the room after me, followed by Callen, who creates a human barrier between us.

I take a steady breath to compose myself and order, “Tell me everything.”

“There was an explosion,” Seb says. “Half the manor has fallen down!”

“I don’t care what happened to the manor,” I snap. I couldn’t give a shit whether they transported it into fucking space or an alien spaceship landed on its roof. “What happened to Rose?”

“She was with me one minute, then she went to the bathroom, then it happened, and she was gone.”

“Nobody disappears in a puff of smoke.”

“I tried to look for her,” Seb answers earnestly. His voice is filled with a desperate yearning and a consuming drive to find her that I recognise, but I’m too busy processing my own emotions to manage his, too. “I tried to go back inside to look for her, but… the police… I couldn’t… they wouldn’t let me pass. I couldn’t see her.”

My head reels, simultaneously running through every possibility. We were just reunited, but is she really dead this time?

“I didn’t see her body,” Seb continues. “It’s possible she was still somewhere inside the building, or she found another escape. People started to leave after it happened. Someone could have given her a lift out of there.”

“I doubt the Collingsbrook’s guests would have prioritised a stranger,” Callen adds bitterly. He’s right. If they were on the Titanic, Rose and the staff would have been last to be offered a lifeboat. They look after their own.

“You need to make calls,” I order. There’s no evidence to suggest anything’s happened to Rose yet. We need all the facts. “Call anyone and everyone at the party to find out what happened. What caused the fire?” I press. “An explosion in the kitchen? Electrical problems? A fire-eater performance gone wrong?” Those parties often include circus acts to entertain the crowd. “What do you think caused it?”

He shifts his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“What is it?”

There’s something he isn’t telling me.

“When I was at the station, I had some time to think and go over everything. I saw something that looked unusual.” Seb’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I…”

“Spit it out, Seb,” I growl, losing patience for his stuttering bullshit.

“I saw—”

My ringing phone cuts him off before he can respond. I jump to answer, hoping it’s Rose, then realise there’s no way it can be because she doesn’t have a phone or means of contacting us. Why the hell didn’t we buy her a replacement after Callen threw hers away? I was so fixated on sealing her away from the outside world for her safety that I didn’t consider how we were isolating her from us, too.

“It’s Spencer.” I almost don’t answer until I remember he was at the ball. He might have more information than Seb, who got whisked away in a police car. I answer and put him on speaker.

Spencer launches into a tirade without a greeting.

“You were supposed to protect me!” he rages. “The Collingsbrook Ball was a disaster!”

While he talks, Seb paces anxiously, mumbling like a madman. Callen fills the kettle and sets it to boil, then tears open a packet of Jammie Dodgers, completely unshaken.

“You sound like you’re still alive to me,” I bite back when Spencer finally stops for air. “What’s the problem?”

“No thanks to the Dukes,” he retorts. “The man who was supposed to protect me abandoned me at the first sign of trouble to chase after a whore!” Seb opens his mouth to argue, and I hold up one finger to silence him. We need to let Spencer have his temper tantrum. Like most children, he’ll run out of steam eventually. “He left me!”

“I have a question for you, Spencer,” I say, ignoring his ravings. “I want to ask you if you recognise a woman.”

Callen freezes as he raises a biscuit to his mouth with his tongue hanging out. He’s eaten the top layer of the biscuit and is about to lick the raspberry jam layer.

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