3. Emma #4
I wanted to believe they were separate. But coincidences are few and far between in my life.
I may have days. Maybe hours.
Or maybe I’m already too late.
My mind starts sorting through possibilities before I can stop it.
First, Alex.
He has the money and the reach. Control is how he deals with what he believes I did to him. The sedan could belong to him. The man at Liam’s campus could be checking the scholarship before Alex decides what else to take from me.
But that doesn’t make sense.
Alex doesn’t need to follow me. I’m already living in his penthouse, following his rules. He bought the building where I lived and pulled apart the life I made in Pinehaven.
If he wanted information about Liam, he would ask me himself. He would corner me in this kitchen and use that quiet voice that leaves no room to refuse.
He wouldn’t send a stranger.
Which leaves the other possibility.
Someone followed the same trail Alex did. The paintings. The gallery. The clues I left because I was lonely enough to believe ten years had made me safe.
Someone knows Belle Mitchell testified against the Accord.
And that she’s still alive.
Pain spreads through my jaw. I force my teeth apart.
The FBI arrested six people and indicted eleven. Torres told me they broke up the Montana operation.
He never said they got everyone.
The Accord won’t make a spectacle of killing me. They’ll call it a break-in, a traffic accident, anything that keeps their name out of it.
And Liam is easy to find now. Everything I encouraged him to achieve has made him visible.
I put him in their path.
The thought turns my stomach.
Then another possibility takes hold.
What if Alex knows they found me?
What if he found them first?
He could be using the Accord to frighten me into staying because he wants to be the only place I feel safe.
No.
Even Alex has limits.
Children. Murder.
I repeat it until the thought begins to loosen.
But I believed I knew his limits once before.
I was wrong.
Alex finally comes out of his study.
The dinner plates are still on the table. I haven’t touched them since Diego’s call. For the last twenty minutes, I’ve been standing at the kitchen counter with both hands pressed into the granite, trying to convince my legs to move.
Alex doesn’t call out. He never does. I hear his steps cross the apartment, then stop behind me.
“Belle.”
He uses Emma only when other people are listening.
I turn.
His tie hangs loose at his throat, and his hair has fallen across his forehead. It’s after eight, and for once he looks as tired as he should.
His eyes settle on my face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He comes closer.
“Try again.”
“I had a long day. I’m fine.”
He studies me without speaking. My heart is pounding hard enough to move the pulse at the base of my throat.
His gaze drops to it.
“You don’t look fine. You look terrified.”
“I’m not.”
His hand rises.
Every muscle in my body tightens, but he stops before touching me. His palm hovers beside my cheek, close enough that I feel its warmth.
For one stupid second, I want him to close the distance.
His fingers curl, and his hand drops.
“Tell me.”
The words are quiet. Almost gentle.
The voice is too familiar. It once told me I was loved. That I was safe. That nothing would happen to me while he was there.
I could tell him about the sedan. About the man asking questions at Liam’s campus. I could admit that the life I buried ten years ago is finding its way back to me.
But this is also the man who dragged me to Dallas and threatened everyone I love to keep me here.
I don’t know which Alex is standing in front of me.
“I’m fine,” I say.
Something closes behind his eyes.
“All right.”
He turns away.
Only then does he notice the plates on the table. He carries them to the sink, rolls his sleeves higher and turns on the water.
“What are you doing?”
“Washing dishes.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
I watch him rinse the first plate. His watch catches the light as water runs over it, but he doesn’t bother removing it.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
The simple answer catches me off guard.
He washes the second plate and sets it in the rack.
“Go sit down,” he says. “I’ll finish.”
“I can do it.”
His hands stop beneath the running water.
He looks over his shoulder. “Belle.”
My real name sounds different in his mouth. Less like a warning. More like he has run out of patience for pretending he doesn’t care.
“Go.”
I walk past him.
There’s plenty of room, but my shoulder brushes his arm anyway.
The contact lasts less than a second. My body holds on to it.
He smells like cologne, the city and the faint trace of clean sweat beneath both. For a moment, I remember him at twenty-two, coming home from a construction site with dust on his clothes and rough palms that caught against my skin.
Those hands are smoother now.
They sign contracts instead of building things. They take apart lives without leaving dirt beneath the nails.
But when he looked at me a moment ago, I saw the same man who used to reach for me without thinking.
That is the part I can’t trust.
My head knows I’m here because he forced my hand. My body still turns toward him whenever he gets close.
Whatever remains between us isn’t love.
It remembers love, though.
That might be worse.
Behind me, the water shuts off. A plate settles into the rack, followed by another.
Then Alex walks back to his study, Bee following closely behind him. The door closes with a soft click, leaving me all alone.
I go to the window.
Twenty floors below, traffic moves through the city. People walk home, meet friends, stop for dinner. Ordinary lives with ordinary problems.
There’s no dark sedan outside.
Not now.
I press my forehead to the cold glass.
Torres once told me the worst part of witness protection wasn’t running. It was waiting. Knowing the danger was still out there and never knowing when it would catch up.
I’ve been waiting for ten years.
Now someone is asking about Emma Clarke at Liam’s campus. Someone has been watching this building. They’re following the trail from Emma back to Belle.
I may have days. I may have hours.
The next car could be theirs. The next time the elevator opens, someone could be standing there who knows exactly who I am.
But I can’t run.
If I leave, I could cost Liam everything.
If I stay, they’ll find me.
And if I tell Alex, I hand him another weapon.
My breath clouds the window.
Behind me, light spills beneath his study door. He’s still in there, probably thinking about the lie I gave him when he asked what was wrong.
He knew I was hiding something. He saw my pulse, heard the pause before I answered.
Maybe tomorrow he’ll push until I tell him.
The worst part is that some part of me wants him to.
I don’t know whether Alex would protect me or use the truth to tighten his hold.
I’m no longer sure there’s a difference.