Chapter 24 #2
“If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you can fix almost anything.
I’ve never met a smarter, more determined, and fiercer woman.
So many people would follow you to the ends of the Earth.
I hope you know that. You’re not alone in any of this, and I’ll still be here to help you pick up the pieces if everything falls apart. ”
“You’re actually a decent guy, you know that?”
Noah chuckles. “Don’t tell anyone. That’d ruin my reputation.”
I give him a soft smile. “Thank you. I’ll keep you updated.”
Noah steps away from the window and pats the top of the car. “Drive safe, and take care of him. And yourself.”
“I will.”
With that, I pull out of the alley and onto Main Street, heading north toward the Golden Gate Bridge.
My phone buzzes, and Gray’s voice comes through the line. “Traced him to a hotel downtown. Near Regenerative Industries.”
“Okay, thanks. Will you station someone there to watch him?”
“Already have.”
“You’re a lifesaver. Go home and get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Will do. Did you find any evidence?”
I glance at the bag on the floor, the one with all Peyton’s weapons, and think of the poison darts. I’d have to test them to determine if the poison matches the autopsies, but it’s a lead, however small.
“I have something. Whether it turns out to match what we’re looking for, I have no idea. I’ll send it to the lab first thing in the morning.”
“That’s good to hear. Oh, and Nova?”
“Yeah?”
“Good work today.”
“Thanks, you too.”
“It feels like things are finally returning to normal,” he says cheerily.
Guilt twists my gut. Nothing about this assignment is normal, but I can’t tell him that. I can’t even tell Declan or Ella, despite my gut telling me to.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be in touch once I get to Owen’s.”
“Copy. Drive safe.”
With that, I hang up the phone, my hands shaking on the wheel. How did I fuck this up so badly? I’ve never felt so out of my league before. The trial, Gray, Owen—all of it is a mess. A mess I cannot seem to fix.
And I’ve always been able to fix problems. It’s what I do.
Not this time, though.
Crossing the bridge to the North Bay, the drive is longer than I expect and brings me into a remote area.
I’m anticipating a big house with a gate and many cameras and security, but when I pull into the dirt driveway, there is a field of wildflowers on one side and a forest of redwoods on the other.
The gravel driveway is long and winds away from the road. When the house comes into view, I’m pretty sure my mouth drops into my lap.
It’s a small stone cottage no larger than my apartment in the city. It’s surrounded by what looks like a vegetable garden and a flower garden, but it’s hard to tell in the dark.
The house has no lights, no gates, and definitely no cameras. I’d be surprised if it even has central heating.
Stopping in front of the house, I walk around to the passenger’s side in my bare feet. When I open the door, Owen groans. My relief is visceral. Grabbing his arm and waist, I somehow hoist his large body over my shoulder.
I grunt, standing. Owen lets out another moan.
“Almost there,” I say as if he can hear or understand me.
Taking the two stone steps up to the front door, I try the handle and find it isn’t locked. I step through, angling my body so I don’t smack his head against the door frame.
The entryway has a small wooden bench, and hooks above it hold various jackets.
An array of dirty shoes and boots sits atop the wooden bench, all lined up neatly.
The entry opens to a small country kitchen on the left and a cozy living room, with a small wood fireplace, on the right.
Lining every wall space in the living room are shelves.
Books bleed from them and spill into organized piles on the side table next to a brown leather couch.
A large coffee table stands in the center of the room. There’s no television.
I walk to the end of the hallway, where there is a single bedroom. It’s a large room with tall French doors leading outside. The bed is against the far wall. A relatively big bathroom is connected to the bedroom.
Walking quickly to the bed, I deposit Owen on top of it.
He lets out another soft groan but doesn’t move or open his eyes.
I tug off his shoes and wrestle him out of his tux jacket.
Then I take off the vest and unfasten the top two buttons of his shirt.
The rest of his clothes I leave on. Pulling him further up the bed, I let his head rest on his pillow.
By the time I’m done, sweat is pouring down my forehead and chest, and I’m exhausted and out of breath. All I have to wear is my red dress, which is now soaked and doesn’t seem appealing to sleep in, so I go in search of a shirt.
Pulling open Owen’s dresser drawers, I find mostly T-shirts and sweats. I opt for a simple white T-shirt and grey sweatpants with a drawstring. I’m too hot to put the sweats on, so I lay them on the bedside table.
Owen hasn’t moved by the time I finish, and I debate calling Declan and telling him everything. Hell, I’m even thinking of calling Ella, though I know I shouldn’t.
Deciding my exhaustion is clouding my judgment and I’d be better off telling Declan everything after I speak to Owen about what Peyton said to him, I climb into bed.
I’m not sleeping on the couch because I want to keep an eye on Owen’s health.
His chest moves up and down in a steady rhythm, while I try to ignore the nagging thoughts in my head. Before long, I’m asleep.