Chapter 87
Grab and Go
Ryder
By midnight, the suite had gone completely still – too still.
Griff was gone, the balcony door was closed, and the island below had settled into a hollow quiet.
I'd spent the last few hours keeping myself occupied – touring some real estate with Griff, handling some property logistics of my own, and finally, listening to Griff unravel over Maisie.
So, yeah, it had been a busy night. I'd cracked my share of jokes, given my share of advice, and even laughed a few times.
But I wasn't laughing now.
Tessa was gone.
Then again, I'd known she would be. Her drawer in the bathroom was cleared out, her phone charger was missing, and her clothes – the few she'd brought with her – had disappeared from the closet.
Funny, she forgot her book – a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre.
I left the book where it was and reached for my cellphone instead, telling myself I'd kill some time by scrolling through whatever.
But who was I kidding?
I was looking for something in particular – something I had watched exactly once, thanks to Maddox sending it by text.
It was that viral video of Tessa – the one her employer had gotten hushed up.
For some inexplicable reason, I had an unbearable urge to watch it again. My eyes narrowed as I took it in, weighing what I knew against what I'd heard from various sources, including Tessa herself.
On the screen, she looked professional and polished, like nothing could shake her. Her hair was perfect, her posture was straight, and her smile was crisp in a way I'd never seen up close.
She'd told me she'd been threatened. I still believed her. And this was half of the problem. Evan Carver was a bastard. This, I knew for sure. But my belief and his background didn't quiet the questions.
As I watched, I kept searching for the Tessa I didn't see – the one who laughed at her own mistakes and worried about everyone but herself. No, this Tessa looked slick and rehearsed, until the pressure hit, and the pitch went off the rails.
Like a man obsessed, I kept pausing on the ending, the part where she started shoving bottles into the bag.
Just grab and go.
It wasn't desperation. It was certainty.
I tried to imagine Tessa doing that anywhere else – at any other job on any other day.
Or hey, forget the job. I tried to imagine her doing that to anyone else – a friend, a sister, or a stranger she hadn't met at all.
I couldn't imagine it, which only made it worse.
By the twentieth time, I knew the video by heart – every move, every word, and every expression on her face. The woman on the screen was like two different people – first a slick P.R. pro and then a hardened survivor pulling a grab-and-go.
Neither woman was the Tessa I knew.
Regardless of the version, the person on the screen was a stranger. And if my instincts hadn't gone inexplicably quiet, she would've remained a stranger, which would've been a hell of a lot easier now.
For her.
For me.
And my sanity, too.