Pulse

Chapter 7

Dahlia

There’s not enough coffee in the world to get me through today.

I yawn, filling my mug before I even bother going to my office. I had a cup at Morgan’s before I left for work. But between her house’s subzero temperature, her cat clawing at my bedroom door all night, and the neighbor’s car alarm waking me up at four o’clock, the single cup didn’t touch my level of exhaustion.

And that doesn’t factor in the bad dreams I had when I did manage to close my eyes for more than five minutes.

“Good morning,” Becca says, breezing into the break room. She’s looking smart in her simple black skirt and white button-down. A pale pink bow is delicately wrapped around her ponytail that matches the distinct corded bracelet she wears every single day. She’s effortlessly chic. And rested. “How are you?”

Anxious. Tired. Irritable.“I’m great. You?”

“I’m good.” She pours herself a cup of coffee, too. “I was talking to one of my friends from Kismet Beach on the way to work this morning. That always makes for a good start to the day.”

“It is always nice to talk to old friends. Kismet Beach. That’s in Florida, right?”

“Yeah.” She takes a sip. “I’m originally from Texas, but I moved to Indiana. I lived there for a while and then moved to Florida.”

“How in the world did you wind up in Savannah?”

“Foxx Carmichael, actually,” she says. “He’s from Kismet Beach. I was friends with his brothers’ girlfriends. Long story short, he got me a job here.” She pauses, wrinkling her nose. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Of course it is. Foxx is involved,” I say, laughing.

“Exactly.” She heads for the door. “Have a good day, Dahlia.”

“You, too, Becca.”

Her ponytail swishes as she moves down the hallway.

“Let’s get this day started, shall we?” I mumble, exiting the break room. I wave to Ford’s assistant, Hoda, and then step inside my office.

I flip on the lights and set my things on my desk. Leftover adrenaline lingers in my body, making my mind work faster … and less efficiently. I can’t remember what I need to do first this morning, nor if I have any meetings or conference calls.

I log on to my computer as my cell phone rings. I glance down and don’t know the number.

Do I pick it up? Or let voicemail answer?

I run through a series of possibilities, deciding at the last minute to answer. It could be the police checking to see if I got the form they were emailing me to sign and return. Besides, there’s nothing to be shaken up over. It was just Freddy, and he’s an asshole but harmless.

“Hello?” I say, my tone nice and even.

“Hi, Dahlia. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

My heartbeat quickens. I spring to my feet and close my office door. Looks like he needed to change his number … again.

“Hi, Dad.” The name still tastes foreign on my tongue, yet I like it. “How are you? It’s good to hear your voice.”

“I’ve been meaning to call, sweetheart.” He sighs. “That sounds like an excuse. I suppose it is an excuse.”

“You have a lot going on. I’m pretty sure I can forgive you this time.”

He chuckles. “Your mother did an amazing job raising you, Dahlia. You are such a kind, smart young woman. I’m so proud to call you my daughter even though I had nothing to do with how wonderful you are.”

I grin. “Thank you.”

It’s so weird to think about my parents together, and what that interaction looked like … and what it could’ve looked like between the three of us. People change over time, but I think we could’ve been happy as a family. I lament the fact that we never tried to be one.

“One day, after this circus is behind me, you and I will have some time to ourselves. Just the two of us,” he says. “We haven’t had a chance to do that.”

“No, we haven’t. I’d like that. A lot.”

“Me, too. So how are things with you? How’s work going?”

For a brief, fleeting moment, I consider telling him about Freddy and the intrusion of my privacy but decide against it. It’s not really important, and he has bigger, heavier fish to fry. Besides, it’s not really how we interact yet. He hasn’t been in my life long enough for me to consider offering him insight into certain aspects of my world—especially when they involve boyfriends.

“Things are going great,” I say instead. “We’re between projects right now, so it’s the calm before the storm. I call it housekeeping because I’m making sure all of our paperwork is up to date and our plans for the next project are approved. Those kinds of things.”

“Landry Security better watch out. I might steal you for myself with such exceptional organizational skills.”

I laugh. “I really like it here. They’re very good to me.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Do you need anything? I know I’m preoccupied with this legal nightmare right now, but if you need anything at all, I want to know. I want to help.”

I close my eyes and take a minute to absorb the warmth flowing through my veins.

How can this man be guilty of all of the things leveled against him?

Money makes people do crazy things, and it’s true, I suppose, that Joseph Dallo, the businessman, could be vastly different from Joseph Dallo, the father. And his kindness to me might simply be based out of regret for not being in my life for so long. But I’m grateful to have him in my life, and I have a very difficult time imagining that this man is the same man laundering money for a cartel.

“I don’t need anything right now. Thanks for asking, though.”

“Of course.” He sighs again. “I’ve taken up enough of your time this morning. I keep trying to find a time to call you that is appropriate, but it never seems to work out. So this morning I thought, I’m going to call my daughter and check on her. If she can’t answer, I’ll leave a message.”

“I do love a good voice message,” I say, laughing. “But I’m really glad you called. And thank you for having Alexis check in with me yesterday.”

“I wanted you to know you’re always on my mind.”

“That’s really nice. I think about you, too, and hope you’re well.”

“We’ll get through this. I promise.” He takes a breath. “Take care, sweetheart. You have my assistant Frances’s number, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“If you need anything, call her. I may have to keep my distance, but I can make things happen.”

“Thank you. I will. Have a good day,” I say.

“You, too. Talk soon.”

“Goodbye.”

I collapse back into my chair and let out the deepest breath known to man. The movement settles my heartbeat a bit.

I take a moment to get myself together. Waking up in someone else’s house and being reminded that your personal space has been tainted sent me into another round of uneasiness. I’m less fearful than yesterday—I’ve accepted that Freddy’s to blame. But that doesn’t fix how exposed I feel, and I hope that feeling doesn’t linger long.

I just have to get through it.

Even if it takes boatloads of caffeine to do it.

My coffee is still hot when I take a quick sip and get started on my work. Nothing exploded or fell apart during the night, which always makes for an easier morning. I click on my personal email, hoping the detective remembered to send me the form I need to sign, and type in my username. I need to get this over and done with so I don’t have to think about it all day.

“Hey.”

I jump, looking toward the door. Troy stands with a mug in his hand and a curious look on his handsome face.

“Hi,” I say, letting my gaze linger on his exposed forearms thanks to his rolled-up sleeves. “I didn’t hear you knock.”

“Because I didn’t.”

I shake my head and go back to my computer. “I thought we discussed this.”

“We did. Theo knocks. I don’t.”

I scoff, typing in my password.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?” he asks, sitting across from me.

“Nothing is going on with me.”

“You’re lying.”

Yes, I am. But I’m not discussing this with you. I try my password again. “You’re just mad that I made you wait too long last night for a response. Too bad. I was busy. Get over it.”

“I know something was going on last night, Doll.”

“What are you, some kind of seer now?”

He sips his drink, watching me over the brim with zero amusement.

“Fine. For the record, something was going on,” I say. “My friend Morgan stopped by, and we were doing a little … investigation.”

“About what?”

I smile at him. “You know as well as I do that security issues are confidential.” I laugh at the look on his face. “Aw. That doesn’t feel as good when you’re on that side of things, does it?”

“It’s a little different when I’m asking about you and your friend, and you wanted me to give you the inside scoop on a pop star’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh, it’s a lot different.” I laugh. “You had tea to spill. Morgan and I just carried a bat around my house.”

“And why did you have a bat?”

“I used to play softball,” I say, knowing damn well and good that’s not the answer he was looking for. “Now, if you don’t have a purpose for being here, I do have things to do today.”

“So we’re just going to pretend that everything was fine last night?”

I huff before staring at him. “I told you. Everything is fine.”

He smirks. “I do this for a living, you know. Watch people and notice when things are suspicious. And I’m really fucking good at it.”

“Well, guess what, you burly little investigator? I’m fine. Nothing was going on. I wasn’t scared.”

“I didn’t say you were scared. I asked if you’re okay.”

Shit. I retype in my password. This time, it works. “I’m getting annoyed.”

“Be annoyed at yourself. You’re the one Freudian slipping.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It’s absolutely a thing.”

“Freudian slipping is not a thing. It doesn’t even sound like a thing.” I skim my inbox—no email from the detective. I start to click out of the window when something catches my eye. “You’re just mad you don’t have all the answers.”

If he answers, I don’t hear him. I’m focused on a message sent a few hours ago.

My blood runs ice cold.

White noise crashes over my ears as a shaky hand presses the mouse and opens the email.

To: Lovelace, Dahlia

From: Me

Re: Safety Check

Run or die.

Don’t alert the authorities, or I’ll make the choice for you.

My body tenses as my spine stiffens. Nausea swirls at the base of my esophagus, threatening to gag me with bitter bile. Troy’s voice registers faintly over the blood rushing through my body as my trembling finger opens the attachment.

Oh my God.

I push away from my desk, clasping my hand over my mouth. My breath stalls in my lungs.

“Dahlia?” Troy asks.

I rip my gaze away from the terrifying images on the screen and bring them to him.

As soon as our eyes meet, he jumps to his feet.

My eyes fill with hot tears. I try to speak, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t find my voice through the shock … and terror.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asks, his tone hard.

“Troy … I … I don’t know.”

My voice breaks.

He storms around my desk without an invitation and stands behind me. His energy rushes off him, smashing me in the back as he takes in the photographs displayed on my computer screen.

The first picture is me at the grocery store a few weeks ago, picking out lemons for a new lemon sorbet recipe I found online. The second image was snapped at a pizzeria the night I met Morgan and her brother for dinner. Next is a shot of me on a walk in the park last weekend. The next one, of me in my shower two nights ago, is the one that chills me to the bone. It ends with a picture of me at Morgan’s kitchen table last night.

“What the hell is this?” Troy asks, spinning my chair around so I’m facing him. He holds the armrests, caging me in. “Who sent that?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

He looks at it again, his teeth clenched.

My brain scrambles, searching for an explanation. “My first guess is Freddy, considering last night?—”

“What the fuck happened last night, Dahlia?” His jaw pulses as he stares at me.

He’s phrased it as a question, but it’s a statement. An order. And, this time, it feels relevant to answer.

“Last night, I realized someone was in my house when I wasn’t.”

“What?”

I gulp, staring up at Troy. His eyes are blazing.

“Last night,” I say, struggling to form words under his scrutiny. “I realized last night that someone has been in my house on and off for the past couple of weeks.”

“You realized this last night?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t call me?”

I wipe my palms down my skirt and breathe.

“I should’ve been your first fucking call,” he says, shoving away from the chair.

The movement breaks the moment, and I exhale sharply.

“Call you?” I jump to my feet. “Why? Because my ex-boyfriend has been sneaking into my house and moving around my magnets? You want me to call you for that?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“I called the police and filed a report.”

He takes a few steps back. “Looks like they’re really on top of it, doesn’t it?”

I want to argue with him. I want to explode, letting loose some of the energy making me shake.

Someone’s been watching me. And now they’re threatening to kill me.

“Come on,” Troy says, heading for the door. His tone’s not to be messed with.

“Where are we going?”

He jerks the door open and waits for me to comply. “Let’s go.”

Run or die.

“Troy, I need to think. I need to figure this out,” I say, hysteria rising in my voice. “I need to call the police, I think. I don’t know. What do I do? Do I leave? Do I run?” I clamp a hand on my stomach. “Oh God.”

“Hey.”

I suck in a lungful of air and look at him through the tears in my eyes.

“I got you,” he says, his voice softer than before. His eyes shine. “You’re not in this alone.”

His kind, stupid words cause a solitary tear to roll slowly down my cheek.

“I feel like I might panic,” I say, swaying on my feet.

“Then panic.”

“But isn’t that like rule number one in security? Don’t panic?”

“You can panic because I won’t.” He motions for me to go to him. And I do. “Now, let’s go.”

Troy’s palm lays lightly on the small of my back, guiding me down the hallway.

“You’re not in this alone.”

For the first time in two days, I don’t feel like I’m one hard breeze away from being knocked to the ground.

I glance at Troy. His fingers flex against my back.

And if I am thrown down, I’m pretty sure he’ll pick me up.