Chapter Eleven #2
The phone slammed down, and I sat on the edge of my bed, staring down at the mobile phone in my hands, watching with blind eyes as the screen went dark. I had the feeling I'd handled everything the wrong way.
I should have called him the second I heard a sound. Except I hadn't wanted to bother him at work if it was nothing. I should've called him before I touched the envelope, but it hadn't occurred to me that it might be evidence of something. If that's even what it was.
I'd been so afraid it had to do with Big John and me that I hadn't thought further.
I rose slowly, reluctantly leaving the security of my bedroom, to meet Jacob when he came in. The door slammed open as I walked toward the foyer, Jacob's eyes shifting from alarm to relief at the sight of me, alone and in one piece. "You're all right?"
"I'm fine," I said, "but there's something in the kitchen. I don't know who delivered it. It was pushed under the door."
He turned and strode to the kitchen, me following in his wake, still trying to explain what I didn't really understand. He stopped at the edge of the island. I knew the moment he caught sight of the photograph because his body went still.
Standing beside him, studying his face as he took in the details of the obscene image, I knew that something was very, very wrong. His jaw tightened.
I thought I could actually see him grinding his teeth together. His silver eyes went hot with rage, then ice cold. I was alarmed to see his hands ball into fists at his side.
"What is it?" I whispered. Jacob didn't answer. "Jacob?"
He was a statue, only the rhythmic clench of his right fist and the twitch of his jaw muscle betraying any movement. I wish I knew what was going through his mind. Finally, he spoke.
"You touched this?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. Instinctively, I took a step back.
"Just the envelope. Not the picture."
"When was it delivered?"
"Maybe twenty minutes ago," I said, not sure how much time had passed. "I was in the kitchen and I heard noises—"
I stopped talking when Jacob looked at me, the words drying up in my throat at the sheer rage in his eyes.
"You heard sounds at the door and you went to investigate?"
I swallowed hard, wanting to lie and knowing I couldn't. I couldn't seem to speak, my words frozen in my throat. I settled for a short nod. He turned toward me, the muscle in his jaw twitching, his fist clenching so hard I worried he would hurt himself.
Not me. In my gut, I knew that clenched fist wasn't the danger here. I wished I understood what was.
"What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking, Abigail?"
His voice rose to a shout as he loomed over me, two spots of red flushing his cheekbones. I took a step back. I'd never seen Jacob angry before. I wasn't afraid of him, not exactly.
I took another step back, which only seemed to enrage him further. He crossed the distance between us. "Stop fucking moving."
I stopped. I wanted to ask what about the picture had set him off. I wanted to demand he not yell at me. I didn't say anything.
His eyes narrowed on my face, his body vibrating with anger. He was a wild animal I didn't want to provoke. This man, his silver eyes liquid with fury, was not the Jacob I knew. Yet he was.
Here was the intensity he kept bottled up but let out with sex. Here, it was set free in anger.
"I never would have thought you could be so stupid. The next time you hear something you shouldn't, see something you shouldn't, you fucking call me. You fucking lock yourself in your room and you call me. You do not go check it out."
Finding my voice, I said, "What is it? I was afraid it might be about Big John. But it's not. What is it?"
I had to know what had upset him so badly. I didn't believe his anger was just about me, about worrying I'd put myself in danger. This was something else.
"It's none of your fucking business, Abigail. That's what it is. It doesn't have anything to do with Big John or you."
"I figured that out once I saw it," I said, keeping my voice as low and as soothing as I could manage, given his temper. "But what is it? Who are those people?"
His face went dark. Jacob closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were blank of emotion. Moving mechanically, he used a dishtowel to pick up the photograph and slide it back into the envelope. The envelope, he put into a plastic bag.
"I'm going out," he said, ignoring my questions, his voice like ice. I didn't want to pry. I just wanted to help. He didn't care. "Don't go near the door, and keep your phone with you, for fuck’s sake."
The door slammed behind him. A second later, the deadbolt clicked into place. My mind reeled, trying to catch up with what had happened.
I was trying not to feel hurt at the way he'd talked to me. He was right. I should have called him. I'd gotten complacent, so sure the penthouse was safe. The sounds at the door had scared me, but clearly, not enough. I wouldn't make that mistake again.
It still didn't explain the depth of Jacob's rage. I was fine. Nothing had happened. That outburst hadn't really been about me. He didn't care for me enough to get so angry over my safety.
I felt a little sick at the thought, but I knew it was true.
Jacob liked me, and he seemed pleased with the way our deal was working out. But I was his pet, not his girlfriend.
He wasn't in love with me, and he never would be.
I was a convenience. He should have been annoyed that I'd endangered myself, not furious, so why had he been so angry? Who were the people in that picture?
I was going to have to get over my curiosity. Jacob wasn't going to tell me, and it seemed smarter to stop asking. I wanted to take his anger away, to soothe the fury he'd felt.
That wasn't my job. Unless he wanted to fuck it out, his emotions were outside the scope of my duties. I still wanted to help. My chest was heavy with regret and a pain I didn't want to examine.
I'd made this deal. I knew what I was to Jacob, and he'd been more than clear about the limits of our relationship. I'd be the worst kind of fool to start looking for more.
With everything else I had to deal with, I didn't need to start having feelings for Jacob Winters. Gratitude. Lust. Those were okay. Anything more would be a disaster.
I looked at the counter, at the now warm pie crust. I could scrape it up and put it back in the fridge, then roll it out again, but the dough had already been handled too much.
Working it a second time would leave me with a heavy, dense crust. Heavy and dense, like the sick feeling inside me after the scene with Jacob. At that thought, I peeled up the dough and threw it away.
I had nothing else to do with my time. I might as well make a new one since that was all I was good for.
Pushing back the bitter, helpless pain in my heart, I emptied my mind of everything but the ingredients in front of me.
I couldn't help Jacob if he didn't want me to. I couldn't help myself any more than I already had.
All I could do was be here to fuck when he got home and cook his dinner. With a sigh, I started measuring flour, ignoring the hot tears rolling down my cheeks.