Pulse

Chapter 10

Troy

I bring the spoon to my lips and taste the sauce. Not bad for canned garbage ingredients.

The only thing I got from my mother that’s worth a damn, aside from Travis, is her homemade sauce recipe. It came from her mother, my grandmother—a woman I never knew. In my mind, she was a robust, warm lady with a smile and a hug at the ready.

All the things my mother wasn’t.

I take a step back and survey the scene. Steam rises from the stove. The oven light is on, keeping the garlic bread warm. Bits of onion and garlic litter the countertop, and an empty sauce jar sits by the sink. It’s been a while since I cooked a decent meal, and by the looks of it, that’s obvious.

After the call that saved me from making a huge fucking mistake in the closet, I searched for Dahlia to apologize. I found her asleep on the bed. It was no surprise and was a relief, really. The woman had to be exhausted. She’s brave and strong, but the emotional toll of what happened today would weaken even the most seasoned person.

I pulled a blanket over her and came downstairs. Lincoln warned there was little to eat, and he was right, so I ordered a grocery delivery so we could have dinner.

Cooking took my mind off my fuckup in the closet. At least for a while.

I pick up my buzzing phone. “Castelli.”

“Hey, Troy. It’s Ford.”

I set the spoon on a saucer. “How are things?”

“Theo found three cameras inside Dahlia’s house, two of which had audio capabilities. He cut the power to the house before he went in, so whoever’s behind it doesn’t know we know.”

Rage pours through me, making my skin feel too tight for my body.

“Did Theo leave them?” I ask.

“Yes. He had to. If we’d taken them down, they’d know something was amiss. There was a tracker on her car, too.”

“What the fuck, Ford? Who the hell is behind this?”

I turn the burners off and pace the room.

A part of me is furious and feels worthless for not being there to help find the person or people behind this. The other part of me feels grateful to be here, ensuring no one touches Dahlia.

I rack my brain for any details we’ve missed or leads we haven’t picked up on.

“I don’t know yet,” Ford says. “The puzzle pieces are … interesting, to say the least.”

“How?”

“Well, for starters, her father. Do you know how he came into her life? Or when? What prompted that? Joseph Dallo has a storied history and not for anything good. We can’t rule him out. We can’t rule out the people he’s involved with either. There’s a web of characters capable and willing to pull something like this. It’s going to take a bit of time to sort through them. You know how it works.”

“I don’t know much about how Dallo came around. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Do that. We’ve also been digging into her ex-boyfriend, Freddy Henke. Kid’s a dipshit. Up until about a year ago, he was as clean as a whistle. He has a college degree in finance and comes from a good family. They seem to have disowned him after he got hooked on drugs last year. Dahlia was the only stable person in his life. Her neighbor said he saw Freddy drive by late last night, but he didn’t stop.”

I run a hand over my scalp. “What can I do from here?”

“Keep her out of here. You know the drill. Keep her out of harm’s way and let us figure this out.” He pauses. “What’s she doing now?”

“Sleeping. She passed out a few hours ago.”

“That will do her some good. Was everything good when you landed? Had Grey done a check of Lincoln’s house?”

“Yeah. Grey had been here. He did a sweep of everything and rebooted all the systems just like we asked.”

“Great. Okay, well, I was just checking in and seeing how things were going. If you need anything, give one of us a call. And Troy?”

“Yeah?”

Ford hesitates. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. We have things covered here. We’re working every angle. So why don’t you breathe a little? I know you’re technically working, but you aren’t monitoring concerts or your favorite adolescent fans. Surely, you can relax with one grown woman.”

If you only knew… “Sure.”

“I mean it. Do your job but enjoy the time away. I have all the faith in the world that you can do both.”

I stand straight. The silence in the room is unbearable.

There’s a hitch to Ford’s voice that hints at more than he’s saying. Or maybe I’m just self-conscious because I almost kissed Dahlia today like a selfish asshole.

My palm sweats against the phone, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

I must get myself together. No more mistakes. She’s my friend and my co-worker—someone I’ve sworn to protect—and I cannot cross that line. And I really can’t cross it when she’s going through so much. I won’t be the guy who takes advantage of a woman in a situation like this. Even if I want her with every fiber of my being.

My stomach clenches.

“Need anything else?” I ask.

“No. That’s it for now. Call me if you need anything, all right?”

“Talk to you later.”

“Goodbye.”

I end the call and set my phone on the counter beside the spoon. The edge of the phone smacks the end of the utensil, sending the dirty spoon flying through the air and smacking me in the side.

I look down to see red streaked down my shirt.

“Dammit,” I mumble, stripping the fabric off and setting it next to the sink. Just as I reach for the dish soap, movement catches my eye.

Dahlia comes down the stairs, yawning.

My God.

Her hair’s a mess. Her eyes are swollen. A crease is indented on the side of her cheek from how she lay in bed.

And I’ve never seen her this beautiful.

My heart skips a beat as I look at her, drinking her in as she stands at the base of the stairs.

I search her face, desperate to commit this to memory—the way she looks and the way it feels to be here with her right now.

Her gaze drags down my shoulders, over my chest, and across my abs. My skin tingles from the contactless contact. I itch to grab her, hold her, bury my face in her hair, and breathe her in.

But I don’t. I can’t. That would be stupid.

A soft smile graces her plump lips. It does things to me that I don’t want to acknowledge. It makes my mind go places that aren’t safe.

What have I gotten myself into?

“I smelled food,” she says softly, walking to me.

“I was starving and thought you must be, too.”

She holds a hand on her stomach. “Can you hear that? It’s growling.”

“Good thing I cooked, then.”

She’s surprised. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“There are lots of things about me that you don’t know,” I say.

She sits at a barstool across from me and yawns again. “You’re right. I don’t. Let’s fix that.”

“You just woke up. How about we eat before you start grilling me?”

“One thing about me that you might not know is that I’m a great multitasker.” She smiles. “I can do two things at once.”

I hum.

“What did you make?” she asks.

“It’s just pasta and sauce. Both from a box or a can, so don’t have super high expectations.”

“Is there a way without using a box or a can?”

I slow blink. “Yes. You can make both from scratch.”

She gapes. “You’re telling me you know how to make pasta and sauce from scratch?”

“It’s really not that hard.”

“Why, Mr. Castelli. Aren’t you just a surprise?”

I ignore her and take out two plates.

“Sorry for falling asleep earlier,” she says. “I was waiting for you to come back because I didn’t want to interrupt your call. The next thing I know, I wake up to the smell of oregano … or whatever it is.”

“I’m glad you got some rest. You needed it.”

“Have you heard from Ford?”

I fix our plates, grabbing a piece of garlic bread for each of us, before sitting next to her at the counter. She hops up and grabs two bottles of water from the refrigerator.

“He called a little while ago,” I say, watching her move gracefully through the kitchen. “He said they’re sorting through things, and he’ll let us know when he knows more.”

I consider telling her what they found in her house and car but decide against it. We don’t have any answers right now, and without a resolution, it might only make things worse for her. If I can’t do anything else, I can shoulder the information on her behalf.

She hands me a bottle. “We might be here a while, huh?”

“Maybe.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Then I want to say something to you.”

“Shoot.”

“About earlier, in the closet …”

Her eyes are clear and alert. Her features are smooth and calm. She doesn’t look perturbed or regretful, nor does she look upset with me. All good things.

“Dahlia, let me go first.”

“Be my guest.”

I take a breath and turn to face her. “That was on me. All of it. And I’m a prick for doing it. There are so many reasons it was wrong to almost kiss you that I wouldn’t know where to start. Please accept my apology and know it won’t happen again.”

“Well, damn.”

“Well, damn?”

She sighs, twirling her fork into her pasta. “You’ve complicated things.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Not like that.”

“Then how?”

She sets the fork down on the side of her plate, watching me out of the corner of her eye. I’m not sure what she’s going to say. The woman’s unreadable. But my heart pounds relentlessly, anyway, bracing for a turn in our relationship that I can’t repair. I can’t do anything to ruin that. I can’t risk losing someone so important in my life. I won’t.

“I was going to say that I didn’t want it to make things weird between us,” she says. “We’ve both had a wild day, and emotions got the best of us.”

“You think?”

“Don’t you?” She turns on the stool to face me head-on. “I was going to say that the moment in the closet was the realest thing I’ve felt in a long time. And it felt good, it was a relief, to finally pretend that’s not what we want to do every time we’re together.”

What?

“I was pissed that you answered the phone, but I could’ve forgiven you,” she says. “But now I know you think it was a giant mistake, so it’s complicated.”

“You can’t possibly think crossing that line was smart.”

She shrugs. “Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Should I count the ways?”

“How high do you need to count?” She watches me, unflinching. “We’re both adults. We’re trapped in a house together. We’ve been attracted to each other for a long damn time, and if you think this isn’t going to come up when it’s already come up and we’ve been in this house like five hours—and I’ve slept three of them—then you’re a fool. And if you can’t handle it, then call Theo and trade places.”

Flames shoot out of the top of my head. “The fuck?”

“This has nothing to do with Theo. Not like that. And why do you care, anyway?”

I bite my tongue—afraid I’ll say something I’ll regret—even though the things I’d say are the truth.

She shrugs and goes back to her pasta. “Fine. We’ll pretend you didn’t just almost kiss me, and I didn’t want it.”

I get up from the table, Dahlia’s words ringing through my mind.

“I was going to say that the moment in the closet was the realest thing I’ve felt in a long time.”

That might be true for her. But that was the realest thing I’ve felt in my life.

“And it felt good, it was a relief, to finally pretend that’s not what we want to do every time we’re together.”

And every time we’re not.

It was a relief. Although we’re handcuffed by our identities, for the briefest second in the closet, with her in my arms, I felt more freedom than I ever have in my life. It was as if the world stopped spinning, and nothing mattered but the two of us at that moment. The past was irrelevant. Questions about the future were immaterial. It didn’t matter that we were co-workers, or that the risk of losing her or letting her down was unbearable. We just were.

I’ll regret that we can’t be—that I can’t have that, can’t have her—as long as I’m breathing.

Her fork scraping against the plate brings me back to the present. The weight of it all is unbearable.

I have to get out of this room. Away from her.

“I’m going to jump in the shower,” I say.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I storm up the steps, pissed at myself … and totally smitten with her.

I don’t think this is what Ford meant when he told me to relax on this trip. It’s yet another failure on my part.