Chapter 14
ELARA
Ionce read in a book, it was like she spoke in a foreign language. The news was so shocking to me. The line stood out because I remember thinking that there’s no way that words could literally not make sense because of shock.
But now I get it. He’s just told me that Lucian is out. But it’s also just like he spit gibberish.
I squeeze the edge of the table, lean back in my chair, and look over my shoulder to make sure Mira didn’t sneak back out here to eavesdrop. “How?” I whisper.
“He paid a guard to loosen his cuffs, staged an attack during a prison transfer, probably arranged for the transfer too.”
“Wuh-when?” I clear my throat, annoyed at the stutter.
“Day before yesterday.”
“So that could’ve been him yesterday?”
Rhett stares at me, this gentle giant who carried Mira from her hell, who kissed me, touched me, set me alight. And then broke me into a million pieces. Okay, that’s a little dramatic, but I think I’ve earned a little drama.
“Yes,” Rhett says.
I let the news roll through me like thunder.
I can feel pieces of me breaking, like future versions of me are fading into black and white while the rest stubbornly remains in color.
The fun girl on an adventure with a random handsome neighbor is gone.
The confident, sassy woman who can choose how much she shares is shattered.
“Right,” I murmur.
He tilts his head at me. “I know it’s a lot.”
My mind spins to Mira, to practicalities. “The police haven’t contacted me,” I murmur.
“Out here, Elle, sometimes the precincts don’t talk to each other. My buddy says it’s been all over the news though, so someone should’ve seen.”
I swallow. “Should I call them?”
He steps forward and shakes his head. “No.”
I stare up at him, this man with fire in his eyes. “Why not?”
“Lucian is a mob prince, Sunshine.”
“You shouldn’t call me that,” I murmur. “Not anymore.”
He swallows. “He’s got connections, some of them even in the police. If the cops are moving slowly, or trying not to get involved, then leave them to it. If you call up and the wrong cop hears…”
“Lucian might hear about it.”
“If he’s looking for you, Elle. That’s a big if.”
I let my arms hang at my sides, thinking of Mira alone in her bedroom, probably terrified, probably reliving that night. “Someone was here,” I whisper.
“We don’t know if it was Lucian.”
“We need to get those cameras,” I say decisively, standing. “Will you still take us? We can do the boyfriend-and-girlfriend thing, like we decided. Make-believe, yeah, Rhett? We can pretend? Because I don’t know how I feel about… this, right now.” I gesture at him, at us, at everything.
He nods, planting his fists on the table, then standing with me. “What do you want to do about?” He gestures toward the hallway, toward Mira.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “She’s already scared and confused. If she knew Lucian was back…”
Rhett walks around the table, raises his hands, hesitates when I cringe away. But the cringe doesn’t come from where he might think. It’s the fact I want him to touch me, almost need it, but I don’t know what this is anymore.
“I should get ready,” I say.
“Lucian isn’t necessarily back,” Rhett grunts. “If he’s smart, he’s in Mexico.”
“If he’s smart,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I don’t want to rely on that.”
I walk toward my bedroom and get changed quickly. I splash cold water on my face and tie my hair in a bun, no makeup, flushed and blotchy and real. I don’t even care right now. My heart is in my throat. I’m going to have to lie to Mira.
She’s waiting for me in the hallway. “Are we going somewhere?” she asks, holding her backpack, a nervous smile on her face.
At least she’s still talking, still smiling.
“Is Rhett coming?” she asks.
Of course I’m not going to tell her. I can’t. “Rhett and I are still doing that funny boyfriend-and-girlfriend thing, angel,” I tell her. “That was what he wanted to ask me, if I still wanted to do it. But he didn’t want you to know in case you got upset.”
She shakes her head stubbornly, like she’s determined for everyone to be okay, to be as small a problem as possible. “I’m okay. I’m not upset, Sissy.”
I kneel, take her into my arms, and gently stroke her back. “It’s okay to feel, Mira,” I whisper.
“I’m fine,” she says stubbornly. “A-Okay.”
“What is it about this guy, huh?”
“He saved me,” Mira whispers. “You weren’t there, Sissy.”
“I was there.”
“You were sleeping,” she says, then carefully corrects herself, “Unconscious. You didn’t see. But he did. And he made it better.”
I swallow a giant ball of emotion and try not to cry. “Come on, let’s get going.”
We walk into the kitchen together. Rhett is standing next to the table, sleeves rolled up on his flannel shirt, cargo pants on, chunky boots, looking ready for anything. He offers me a tight smile. “Ready?”
I look at him for a few moments before replying. He could’ve lied to me, let me live in this fiction for a while longer… but if he’d done that, could I ever have trusted him again? Or would I always be questioning everything?
“Ready,” I say.
Mira takes my hand and leads me outside with him.
“Stay in sight,” I tell Mira as she pushes the shopping cart around a corner. She skips ahead, nodding, slowing down just a little.
Rhett walks beside me, a wall of muscle and presence. He’s close enough to imply we’re together without actually touching me. Now that our masks are gone, we have had no contact.
Find the light…
He was there for Mira. He carried her out of that dark place. And because of him, she’s humming softly as she pushes a shopping cart away. That means something. But it doesn’t make this simple. We’re supposed to be running away, not getting dragged back into our past.
“I saw a gallery across the street,” Rhett says, as he puts a thick cardboard box into the shopping cart. “A walk-in photography exhibition. I might’ve, just maybe, picked this exact Target because I knew it was across the street…”
He sneaks a little look at me playfully. And I smile, telling myself it’s the role, the fake-girlfriend thing. If Lucian were spying on us here, it would be good for him to see me with a big, strong, handsome man.
“You’re so sweet.”
He narrows his eyes, sensing the fakeness. How can every inch of me blaze to touch him, and yet that same body be scared of it too?
At the checkout, Mira insists on helping Rhett load the conveyor. They’re all smiles the whole time. It melts my heart seeing her like this.
After we load the stuff into his car, Rhett leans against the hood, drumming his fingers. “What do you think about the exhibition?”
“Can we, Sissy?” Mira says, tugging on my hand.
“Sure,” I murmur, though I’m not sure.
We walk across the street, Rhett always nearby. The lobby is marble and imposing. It reminds me of the gallery I was going to show my work in once upon a time, before everything went to hell.
The study is on human struggle shown through natural features.
Rock faces that look like screaming people and an ocean wave that appears like a blue-fingered hand grasping at something beneath the waves.
I stop at this piece, struck, studying the subtlety of the colors, the contrast between the waves and the ocean beneath.
“Do you like that one?” Mira asks.
“It’s impressive,” I murmur. “And beautiful. It’s… chaotic, but has order too. I know that sounds lame.”
“It doesn’t sound lame,” Rhett says. His voice deepens. “It does not sound lame, Sunshine.”
I reach out, take his hand, tell myself the whole time it’s about the threat and the chance somebody could be watching us. But really, I want to feel his warmth, his… presence. Mira takes my other hand, and we all study the impossible hand.
“Excuse me?” a lady says from behind us.
I let go of Rhett’s hand and turn to see the gallery owner standing in a sleek black suit, a powerful looking professional woman with stylish glasses and a gleaming nametag.
“Yes, Marjorie?” I ask.
“This might sound… but are you Elara Vance?”
I squeeze Mira’s hand, pulling her instinctively against me. The woman looks terrified.
“Why?”
Rhett steps forward, half blocking us with his bulk. “Say what you need to say, Marjorie.”
“I got a text fifteen minutes ago, and it said—” She pauses, shuddering. “It said that if you came in here, a woman and a girl, and a man, all matching your descriptions, I had to tell you, Elara…”
“It’s okay,” Rhett says with surprising softness. “Take your time.”
Marjorie lowers her voice to a hiss. “I can’t say it with the little one there.”
“Why don’t you tell me?” Rhett says. “Come on. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
They step away. The woman gestures and talks as they cross to the other side of the gallery. I clutch Mira to me because I know this is bad. I know it’s starting again.
Rhett returns, his face twisted in pure hatred.
“What?” I whisper.
He leans in close and talks into my ear. His warm breath tickling down my neck is my only anchor for any kind of comfort. “An anonymous number texted her. Said that if we came in here, she needed to tell you…”
“Rhett.” I grip his shirt, feel his hard abs beneath. “Tell me.”
“The texter is watching you. Waiting. They enjoyed going through your house when you weren’t home. They enjoyed watching you sleep. And they’re going to enjoy…killing you.”
The words hit me like a Mac truck, but I don’t let it show. Mira is pressed tightly against me, standing on her tiptoes as though she’s trying to hear.
“Thank you for not lying,” I murmur.
“My concern is, how did he know we were here? If it is him.”
“It’s him,” I say. “Who else would go through all this trouble? Follow us? Find out this gallery owner’s phone number?”
“How did he even know we’d come in here?” Rhett grunts.
“He knows I like photography, remember. He knows how to hurt me.”
“Sissy.” Mira nudges me urgently. “What are you talking about? What was the message?”
I stroke my hand over her hair. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you.” I can barely even think it.
“You’re talking about him,” Mira snaps. “That’s what it sounds like.”
Oh, crap. She’s right. I’m not used to lying to her. But I can’t tell her that Lucian is out, can’t shatter her entire worldview and feeling of safety.
“He’s in prison,” I hiss. “We’re talking about… the…”
“The person in the woods? Who smoked the cigarette?”
I swallow, disgusted with myself. “Yes.”
Rhett shoots me a look. He didn’t realize we’d slipped up either. Does that mean he’s not a liar? I mean… more than he was by not opening up with this stuff from the start. He leans close, lowering his voice just for me again. “I’m going to get a look at the security footage.”
“But you’re not a cop anymore, right?”
“She’ll show me,” he says, matter of fact. “If he followed us here…”
He takes us all to the security room after a brief conversation with Marjorie. Rhett checks the footage, always standing beside us, always moving to make room for us like he wants us near. He’s alert and protective… and I like it. Even if I hate this situation overall.
Find the light.
He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he murmurs. “So how did he…” His eyes snap wide open. He grits his teeth, then offers Marjorie his hand. “Thank you for this, ma’am. My advice would be to forget this ever happened. It had nothing to do with you, but I’m sorry you were caught in the crosshairs.”
He hurries us outside, shaking his head.
“What is it?” I ask.
“He didn’t follow us,” Rhett grunts.
I keep one arm over Mira’s shoulders as we hurry across the parking lot.
As soon as we reach the car Rhett leans down and starts patting it down.
“What are you doing, brr-Rhett?” she asks.
“Checking if there’s something stuck to my car. Like a magnet.”
“Can I help?”
Rhett looks up at me as his hand thunks beneath the car, clanging the metal as he searches.
“Sure, sweetness,” I say.
Mira darts to the other side of the car, reaching around for it. I scan the parking lot and the surrounding stores. He could be hidden in any of these cars, watching and waiting.
Online, in chat groups about stalkers, they say you can’t blame yourself.
It’s something in the stalker, not the victim, and even if you think you’ve done something to attract them, it’s still on them.
Because no matter what you did, they would’ve always found a way to warp it into something else.
I try to remind myself of that as my baby sister pulls out a big metal block and waves it like a trophy. “I got it! I got it!”
Rhett strides over and reaches for it. Mira shakes her head and offers her other hand for a high five first. He laughs and slaps hands with her, and again, that little something in me melts.
Rhett takes the device and studies it in the light. “Yep.”
“It’s a tracker?” I ask.
“Whoever did this worked fast,” Rhett says. “Followed us here, searched the surrounding area, anticipated that you’d go into the gallery and got the owner’s number.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. It’s exactly ew what Lucian loved to do, big, stupid schemes that made him feel like some villain out of a Saturday-morning cartoon. Too ridiculous for reality, but unfortunately, this asshole’s real.
“Elle,” Rhett says, tapping the roof of his car to break my trance. “We’re going home, and I’m installing that security system. We’re going to be okay. I promise.”
“I know,” I reply. “Of course we are.”
I say that for Mira’s benefit, obviously, but I’m not so sure. Maybe I should’ve stayed on the West Coast. Buying this place was a disaster waiting to happen. But I thought I would have years, not days...
We pile into the car, and Rhett begins the drive home. Mira hums and looks out the window. The sight of her being a normal kid will never stop being a miracle to me.
Rhett reaches over and takes my hand, the other confidently on the wheel. I hold tightly to him, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. This isn’t perfect, but at least he’s a good man.
“What are you thinking?” He asks softly.
I glance in the rearview mirror. Mira has stopped humming and her eyes are closed, but I’m not sure she’s fully asleep yet.
He notices me looking and smiles knowingly.
For the next few minutes, we’re quiet. When Mira snores gently, I lean in close to Rhett.
“I was just thinking… no matter what has happened, no matter what we’re going through, and sure, this might end with nothing between us or…
” Or everything. But I can’t say that, because it sounds too silly.
“At least you’re a good man. A cop. A soldier.
A bounty hunter. You’re not a coward who breaks the law, who thinks the rules don’t apply to him. ”
Rhett swallows, gripping the steering wheel hard.
“That means something, Rhett.”
He nods.