Pulse

Chapter 16

Troy

“Is this not the cutest place you’ve ever seen in your life?” Dahlia asks, climbing out of the car.

“I’m wowed.”

She gives me a look, warning me to play along.

“Look,” I say, shutting her car door for her, “I’d rather be at the house balls deep inside you. I’m sorry if this little village thing isn’t as impressive as your pussy. Sue me.”

She places her arms over my shoulders, her fingers dangling behind me. She lifts her chin and gazes wickedly into my eyes.

“If you play nice and pretend to be wowed,” she says, biting her lip. “I’ll wow you when we get back.”

I push my cock into her. “I’m ready.”

“How do you get hard that fast?” She laughs.

“Says the woman who gets wet at the drop of a hat.”

I reach between her legs, but she swats my hand away, laughing harder. “Stop it.”

“Why?” I pull her to me, nuzzling the crook of her neck. “Are you wet for me?”

She groans as I press kisses behind her ear. “You don’t play fair.”

“Is that a yes then?”

“Yes,” she says, shoving me away. Her smile stretches across her pretty face. “I’m wet for you. I’m breathing, aren’t I?”

“God, you turn me on.”

She takes my hand, and I reluctantly follow.

I’ll never admit it to her, but the town is cute. It looks like something from a movie set. Granted, it would be a Christmas movie with a yuppie with a bad haircut and a baker who wants to save the town’s Christmas tree farm—but a movie all the same.

Every building is crafted to the smallest detail. The roads are meticulous, the shops are charming, and the landscaping is so fastidiously maintained that it almost doesn’t look real.

“Thank you for bringing me here, even though I know it’s killing you,” she says, leading me onto a sidewalk.

“If someone tries to kill you, maybe they’ll shoot me first and put me out of my misery.”

She gasps. “Not funny.”

“It’s funny when you joke about it.”

“Because I’m the intended victim.”

“Not in my scenario.”

“Shut up,” she says, pausing in front of an old-fashioned ice cream shop. “Is that not adorable?”

“It looks like a dollhouse.”

“The dollhouse of my dreams.” She looks at me. “They boast forty-eight handcrafted flavors. How do you come up with forty-eight flavors that aren’t redundant?”

“Easy. Work through the vanilla variations, then the chocolate ones. Toss a pistachio in there, a buttered pecan. That’s a personal favorite,” I say as we move along down the sidewalk. “You can’t forget the coffee flavor, and a classic bubble gum. There’s mint and cheesecake. What about red velvet cake?”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“What? You asked,” I say.

“Sometimes, I can’t get a word out of you. Other times, you surprise me with the strangest rambles.”

“I like ice cream, okay?”

“Noted. Hey, there’s a bookstore. Should we drop in and take a look?”

“I’ll never say no to a good bookstore.”

We cross the mostly vacant street thanks to the weather. The sky is dreary, threatening to drop bucket loads of water on our heads at any moment. It’s the only reason I gave in to her request to visit the shopping center. I didn’t think anyone else would be dumb enough to be out.

“Hang on,” I say, digging my phone out of my pocket. I look at the screen. “It’s Ford.”

“Take it. I’ll wait.”

I kiss her forehead and answer the call. “Castelli.”

“Hey,” he says, his words clipped. “I have news.”

My stomach tightens. I try to remain passive and not put Dahlia on edge.

“Shoot,” I say.

“Dahlia’s ex-boyfriend, Freddy, was arrested last night.”

“Really? Why?”

“What’s going on?” Dahlia asks, stepping to me. “I can see it on your face.”

Dammit.

“Can she hear me?” Ford asks. “Can you put her on speakerphone?”

I look around and spot an empty grass lot next to the bookstore. “Hang on a second.”

Dahlia follows me across the street away from the sidewalk. There’s not a soul around, so I press the speaker button.

“Okay,” I say. “She can hear you.”

“Hi, Ford,” Dahlia says.

“Hey. So Freddy was arrested last night.”

Her eyes widen. “Why?”

Ford blows out a breath. “He beat up your neighbor, Burt.”

“What?”

“Shhh …” I say, making sure no one overheard her.

“Oh, my God. He beat up Burt?” She takes my phone from me and holds it to her mouth. “Is he okay? What the hell happened?”

She looks at me helplessly. I pull her into my side. It’s all I can do.

“Apparently, Freddy was at your house milling around,” Ford tells her. “And Burt came out on his porch and confronted him.”

“Oh, no,” she says, her shoulders falling.

“Burt had already called nine-one-one before he went outside, so the police were already on their way. In retrospect, that might have saved his life.”

Dahlia’s hand goes over her mouth. “I can’t … Is Burt okay?”

“He’ll live. Lacerations to the face and hands. A broken rib. Two black eyes. The police picked Freddy up a street over and charged him with resisting arrest, assault, and possession of drugs. Other charges are pending.”

“Is Freddy in jail?” I ask.

“He bonded out this morning.”

Dahlia’s eyes squeeze closed, and I think she whispers a prayer. I take the phone from her. She gives it up without a fight.

“This is my fault,” she says.

“This is not your fault.” I lift her chin so she has to look at me. “I mean it. Not your fault.”

Her eyes are cloudy with tears, and I hate it. Even more, I hate the motherfucker that’s doing this to her—and that hurt a poor old man.

“So Freddy is losing his shit,” I say. “Are we thinking he’s responsible for all of this?”

Ford takes a breath. “Actually, no. I have a bit more news on that front.”

Dark clouds roll across the sky as thunder rolls in the distance.

“We’ve been able to trace the IP address from the email you received with the pictures,” Ford says. “We thought there would be a VPN on it to block the sender’s location, but there wasn’t.”

Dahlia looks at me warily. “Who sent it?”

“It came from your father’s house.”

Fucking hell. I run a hand over the top of my head in frustration.

“What?” she asks, struggling to accept this information. “Are you sure?”

“We’re sure. Can you tell us who frequents his house? Who would be there using their internet connection?”

She shakes her head as if trying to rattle herself awake. “Um, I don’t know, really. I’ve only been there a few times. My father, obviously. Alexis. They have staff, but I don’t know who they are or how many.”

I grab her hand and hold it tightly.

“We did a little digging and Alexis was in New Orleans the day you received the email. Unless she scheduled it previously, she wasn’t home to hit send.”

Dahlia takes my phone again, pacing a small circle.

I wish we were at the house so we could sit. I never should’ve brought her here.

“So what are you thinking?” I ask Ford.

“Is Alexis into photography?” he asks. “Does she have a lot of time on her hands to follow you around?”

“I have no idea if she’s into photography or not,” Dahlia says. “I assume she has more time than usual, considering my father is in his office or court these days. But I don’t really know.”

Ford clears his throat. “What about your father?”

She stops in her tracks. “He has no time to do it. And why? Why would he threaten to kill me? He’s the one who initiated our relationship. If he didn’t want me around, he could’ve stayed in the shadows forever.”

“Maybe he thinks that shit is going to hit the fan with his trial, and he wanted you scared enough that you’d leave,” Ford suggests.

“Couldn’t he have just asked?” Dahlia laughs in disbelief. “It would’ve been a lot easier than to go through all this trouble, don’t you think?”

Anger flashes in her eyes. It’s the look of a woman who’s not being heard.

If her gut tells her it’s not her dad … I’ll run with that.

I’ll make sure she’s heard.

“I think we might be getting fucked up,” I say.

“About what?” Ford asks.

“We’re tangling two things together that may not be associated.”

“What do you mean?”

Dahlia stops moving and watches me.

“She got an email that threatened her, right?” I ask. “Fine. Someone sent that. We’re focusing on her father only because of his reputation and because he’s in a court battle right now with some pretty serious charges.”

“Correct,” Ford says.

I hold Dahlia’s gaze. “Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe the two aren’t as connected as you think.”

A slow smile slips across her face.

“Occam’s Razor,” Ford says. “The simplest solution is the common denominator. Joseph Dallo.”

“There are exceptions to every rule.” I grin back at her. “Look, you know I respect you and will not tell you how to do your job. But I do ask, respectfully, that you look beyond Joseph Dallo. Dahlia knows him better than anyone and feels he’s not involved. I think we should put stock in that.”

“You know I respect the hell out of you, Troy. But I think, respectfully, that the man involved with the Magne has the highest probability of being guilty.”

“That hasn’t been proven.”

Dahlia wraps her arms around my waist. I lean my cheek against her head.

I can’t believe I’m going to bat for a man I don’t know—one I suspected yesterday was the perpetrator. Have I completely lost it?

“Thank you,” Dahlia mouths to me.

Or did I just jump without a parachute?

I look at the sky, shaking my head. Fuck you, Lincoln.

“All right,” Ford says. “Let me find out who else has access to Dallo’s Wi-Fi and might want Dahlia dead.”

“Ouch,” she says, making a face. “That was harsh.”

“Thanks, Ford,” I say, winking at my girl. “I owe you one.”

He laughs. “Troy, I owe you so many that we’ll never get even.”

“Let me know if you have any updates,” I say.

“You got it. Talk to you soon.”

“Thanks, Ford,” Dahlia says.

“Stay safe. We’ll see you back here before you know it.”

“Later.” I end the call.

Dahlia heaves a breath as I slide my phone back into my pocket. “I feel so bad about Burt.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ll make it up to him when we return to town.”

“We?”

“Hey, he just fought on behalf of my lady. I’m indebted to him.”

She grins. “I’m your lady, huh?”

“Is that okay?”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be as long as it means you’re mine.”

I pull her to me and kiss the tip of her nose. Surely, she knows I’m hers—even if she doesn’t want me.

Nothing has ever made sense before. I’ve never met another person that I felt like truly gave a single shit about me. No one wanted to listen to anything I had to say. Most people never really see you, and if they do, it’s to see what you have of value they can take away.

Not Dahlia.

She asks for nothing but honesty. She goes out of her way to make me smile. I’ve given her a hard time for two years, and the woman still shows up for me.

She gets angry when she thinks I’m being treated unfairly.

She trusts me to keep her safe.

She gives me space to tell her my secrets and holds me when I fucking cry without judgment.

Dahlia gives me her body, her heart—her laughter and her smiles.

I don’t have as much to give her, and what I do is broken and rusty. But it’s hers if she wants it.

And I hope to hell she does.

Because for the first time in my thirty-seven years on this planet, my future means more than my past.

I didn’t think that was possible.

But I also didn’t think it was possible to fall in love, and I’ve done that.