Chapter 37 YOU ALMOST HAD ME
Chapter thirty-seven
YOU ALMOST HAD ME
I make it back to my bed just in time to collapse under the weight of the last twenty-four hours.
Delaney is dead.
We are trying to find out how, and why.
Someone who I was just under the same roof with may have done it; someone that I care about, because it’s not just Cameron that I made a connection with yesterday. I also grew fond of Leah and Val and can’t fathom that one of them could have done this either.
I stare at the wall as I think of every possible scenario, but none of them fit because Delaney didn’t deserve to die.
Not that anyone deserves to be murdered, but I can’t imagine anything Delaney could have done to merit such hateful revenge.
Unless there wasn’t a motive at all, and one of the women just snapped.
I push that idea aside just as quickly as it comes, though, because that doesn’t fit any better than the other theories. I saw everyone with my own eyes at the station after, and they looked just as haunted as I felt.
The only person I haven’t seen since is Judith, since she was on the back of the property. I stand behind my belief that she is way too small to overpower Delaney and has too much to lose.
The way I see it, there are only two real possibilities left: The police are wrong, and it was only an accident, or it was not a person at the retreat at all, and someone came on the property to murder Delaney, then left, undetected.
I push myself up off the bed to walk over to the adjoining door between Cameron’s and my room to listen.
If he and Reggie are done, I want to tell him my theories and see if he has security cameras around the perimeter of Ravenwood so that we can ask the company to check the footage.
With my ear to the door, I can just make out their muffled voices. I lean in closer.
“. . . increasingly paranoid in the months prior.”
“I assume Cartwright investigated?”
“Yes, and he found no evidence of anyone stalking her.”
I jerk away, like a kid caught spying on their parents. I should stop before I hear anything else, because all three of them warned that it was in our best interest to maintain attorney-client privilege, but I can’t help my curiosity. I lean back in.
“Anything else?”
“That’s everything I can think of regarding Delaney, but there’s always . . .” Cameron’s voice drops just enough that I miss the name. I push my ear to the crack in the door so that I can hear over my thundering heartbeat.
“I wondered about him myself,” Reggie says. “When’s he up for parole?”
“Not for a while, last time I checked.”
“I’ll put a call into my contact at Maury a little later today to confirm.” There is a brief pause, and I cover my mouth in case they can somehow hear my rapid breathing through the wall. “I think that’s enough for today. I’m going to head into the office. Call me if you think of anything else.”
“Thanks, Reggie. I really appreciate this.”
The sounds of them rising from the couch prompt me to retreat, and I jump on my bed before I am caught, although my complete and utter panic will probably give me away if Cameron walks through the door in the next few seconds.
I reel at the revelation that Delaney was paranoid about something, because that makes the idea of it being someone from the outside even more plausible.
And there’s someone in prison they are worried about?
It all has to be connected somehow, and with us working separately, we may have never made the connection.
The room starts to spin just as Cameron knocks, then peeks inside, revealing his beautiful, smiling face, as if he wasn’t just talking about stalkers and criminals five seconds ago.
“Hey, we’re finished. You can—” He pauses when he sees me and closes the distance between us in two long steps. “What happened? Where’s Jalen?”
“He just left.”
“Did everything go okay? I know he can be intimidating.” He kneels down to brush his hand across my cheek and forehead. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you feeling sick? Or just a little shell-shocked?”
“The last one,” I say, but feel my nervous system start to regulate on its own accord under his touch.
“Come back to my room and let’s relax for a while. I’ll order us some lunch, and we can watch TV to get our minds off everything.”
I look into the depths of Cameron’s brown eyes, searching for anything to grasp onto to keep me from spiraling. He returns my gaze, completely open and unguarded, and I find myself taking an audible breath.
“There you go,” he says softly. “Breathe, Drew. In and out.”
The relief of being back in his care after hours of being scrutinized under Jalen’s cold, hard gaze is undeniable, and as he hovers just inches from me, the fear that I had just a minute ago dissipates and is replaced by a feeling of complete security.
I am certain that he has my back, and that if I asked him right now to explain what he and Reggie were talking about, he would tell me everything without reservation.
He wanted us to work together the entire time, just like I did, and only deferred to Jalen and Reggie’s judgment because he believes them to be the better lawyers.
“If you want to be alone, that’s fine too. I can get lost.” He chuckles, unable to decipher my silence.
“I definitely don’t want you to get lost,” I say to soothe the pinch of worry in his brow despite his attempt to disguise it with humor, then scoot forward to test the strength of my legs under me. He takes a step back to watch, but frowns when I struggle to get to my feet.
“Here, let me help.” He places one arm under my legs and the other behind my back to pick me up in one fell swoop.
“Cameron!” I squeak as I am thrown off balance and forced to wrap my arms around his neck to hold on for dear life.
“Sorry, I should have asked if you were afraid of heights first,” he quips as he carries me towards the door.
I open my mouth to argue that he should have asked if I wanted to be picked up first, too, but close it again to stop a laugh from escaping now that his smartass comment has had a chance to land.
I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
His gaze flicks to mine with a wicked grin before he angles us to fit through the door, and I pull myself in closer to help, which brings my face dangerously close to his neck.
Before I can stop myself, I take in a deep breath of his smell, which is that delicious combination of warmth and woods and him.
I come to my senses just in time to stop myself from nuzzling into the space where his jaw meets his neck and spit out a very unconvincing request for him to put me down.
“As you wish,” he says, and stops in front of the couch and lowers me to my feet, but doesn’t fully let go, and instead moves his hands to my waist to make sure I am steady.
I get him to let go of me by straightening my sweater then settle into the far end of the couch to put some space between us.
He walks back to the kitchenette to get the room service menus, and I take the opportunity to compose myself before he comes back, even though every part of my body that was just in contact with his is still tingly and warm.
“This is a perfect segue into that favorite things conversation that I wanted to have with you.” He sits right next to me in the middle of the couch, effectively ruining my plan to keep some distance, both physically and emotionally, between us.
“Tell me everything that sounds good to you on the menu so that we can get the favorite foods question out of the way.”
I look sideways at him as he drapes his arm across the back of the couch, but my resolve breaks when he smiles down at me.
“You seriously want me to tell you what I think of every dish?”
“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What better way for me to learn what you like?”
I look back down at the menu, finding nothing that I wouldn’t eat. “Everything here sounds great.”
“Oh, come on, there has to be something you don’t like.” He leans in to point at a pasta dish. I stiffen as his delicious smell overwhelms my senses again. “This ravioli piccata has mushrooms and capers. There’s no way that you like both of those things.”
“I love mushrooms, and capers are fine. Not my favorite, but I’ll eat them.” I shrug and lean the other way as discreetly as possible without hurting his feelings. “I couldn’t eat that dish, though, because I’m pretty sure it’s made with lemon zest.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
“Couldn’t,” I say, then realize that I never disclosed my citrus allergy to him. I probably should now that we’re going to be staying here together for a while. “I’m allergic to citrus.”
“What?” he asks incredulously as he searches my eyes.
“Why didn’t you speak up when Ollie asked who had the citrus allergy yesterday?
” I try to think of an excuse that would explain without having to share Leah’s secret with yet another person and come up short.
“You even asked for the lemonade over the wine! Why would you do that?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t tell you.”
His eyes widen like I’ve just shape-shifted into a green alien before his eyes. “You purposefully drank lemonade when there was a completely suitable alternative, and the reason why you did it is a secret?”
“Exactly.”
He shakes his head again. “I think I might lose sleep over this, trying to figure it out. How bad is the allergy? Should I get a few EPI pens, or do you carry your own?”
“No, it’s not anaphylactic. I just get a stomachache, and it burns my throat. The reason is truly not that interesting,” I say, waving him off. “It’s just not my secret to tell.”
“Oh,” he says. “So you did it for someone else’s benefit?”
I nod.
“Well, that makes sense. I probably could have guessed that myself after a bit more time to think about it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You are incredibly selfless, so it makes sense that you would hurt yourself to help someone else.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief. “I was just keeping a secret like any good friend would. That doesn’t mean I’m selfless.”
“You are, though,” he says. “You might be the most selfless person I’ve ever met, actually.”
I frown at his words, and it deepens when he starts naming examples to prove his point. “You de-escalated fights all night to try and keep the retreat going, and you stayed with me to do the dishes even though you were a guest.”
“That’s called just being a good human, Cameron. Anyone else would have done the same,” I argue.
“Maybe, but they didn’t. Only you did.”
I look back down at the menu, unconvinced.
He continues. “You pushed aside your own needs to take care of me when I went nearly catatonic back at the house. You told Reggie and Jalen that you would sacrifice your own defense if it meant helping mine without blinking. So, yeah, I stand by my statement. You’re selfless. And quite impressively so.”
My cheeks flame so intensely that I wouldn’t be surprised if he felt the heat from where he sits. I don’t know how to respond, so I keep the game going instead. “How about you? Do you like mushrooms and capers?”
“No, I hate them both. Favorite music?” he asks.
“I like a bit of everything,” I say. “You?”
“Oh, come on, you need to be more specific. What’s your go-to karaoke song?”
I laugh. “Do I strike you as the type of person who does karaoke?”
“I guess not,” he says. “Favorite holiday?”
I huff, because I already know that he won’t like my answer that I don’t have a favorite.
“Favorite Christmas album?” he asks, moving on.
I open my mouth to say Christmas with the Chipmunks but stop when a sly smile quirks his lips. “Nice try. You almost had me there.”
“It was worth a shot.” He shrugs.
“I think you have one more clue if you want to use it. Although I am feeling confident that I’m going to win this one. What was the prize again?”
“You still need to pick one, but I think I’m getting close, so don’t count me out just yet. Oh, and I forgot to ask earlier, but what is your favorite drink?”
“You should already know that one.”
He beams. “Other than the chocolate-covered strawberry latte.”
“Coffee in general, although my regular order is just a mocha latte. If coffee isn’t available, then just plain water.”
“What about soda or tea?”
“I used to be addicted to Dr Pepper in college, but I don’t drink it anymore. You?”
“I am more of a classic Coke guy. What did you study in college?”
“Nursing, but I dropped out before finishing my prerequisites.”
“Why?”
“That’s when my dad died.”
He nods slowly, and before he says the words, I already know he is going to ask me what happened.
I’m surprised he’s waited this long, since he was probably curious ever since he read my blog post. Even though it’s painful to speak about the absolute worst day of my life, I find that I want to tell him, so I take a deep breath and begin to explain what happened on the morning of my birthday, March thirteenth, eight years ago.