Chapter Thirty-Five #2
“Know what?” Jules pushed her hair behind her ears. Each of the women in front of her smiled and quietly laughed as though they were in on a joke she had missed. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Rhys. Years in the making,” Mom explained.
Jules’s spine straightened. “Absolutely not.”
As though physically restraining words from coming out of her mouth, Abigail pressed her lips together, only to give up and share, “Wes and I agree.”
When Rhys entered the kitchen, everyone but Jules burst into giggles.
He stopped abruptly, eyebrows arching and a frown pulling his handsome face into a mistrustful glower. “What?”
“No idea,” Jules said. “Ignore them.”
“I’m going to call a driver for Tabitha,” he explained. “She can’t find her car keys.”
Sloane pushed off the cabinets. “I’ll take her home.”
“Let Rhys call a car service,” Mom insisted.
“It’s fine.” Sloane gave Mom a quick hug. “Catch up with your girls.”
Dad banged on the French door. “Someone, bring out the veggie kabobs.”
Mom held up her hand as she walked to the refrigerator. “If you change your mind, Sloane, come back. We’ll have more than enough.”
As Sloane and Mom went in opposite directions, Rhys pulled up a seat next to Jules at the kitchen island bar. Abigail pulled a hard cider bottle out of the beverage chiller. “Want anything?”
“I’ll take one,” Jules said.
Rhys shook his head. “Pass for now.”
Jules slipped her phone into her pocket, and she, Rhys, and Abigail stepped outside and sat on the couches in the outdoor living room. Potted plants and a pergola separated them from her parents. It wasn’t exactly a soundproof barrier, but it afforded them some privacy.
Abigail set her cider on the side table. “Are you in a good-enough place to talk about what happened?”
Jules shrugged. “I couldn’t tell anything from the videos the cops showed me, but the guy in charge is leaning toward Mason.”
“Get out. Really?” Her brow knitted. She focused her attention on Rhys. “What’s that look?”
“It’s not a look.”
“Lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to us.”
Jules focused on him. “What are you thinking?”
“I think…” He shrugged. “That it’s not my job right now. I don’t have all the information. I don’t understand the motives, and…” His shoulders bunched again as though he was frustrated and skirting a line between professional and personal. “Others would raise my suspicions more.”
“Like Tabitha?” Abigail asked.
“Tabitha didn’t burn down my house.”
His jaw tensed. “Knowing what I know? If I had to choose someone to focus on, Tabitha is…”
“Crazy,” Abigail supplied.
He shook his head. “Focused on you.”
Neither Mason nor Tabitha made sense. “Why would Tabitha do that? What possible reason would she have? At least with Mason, there’s some convoluted explanation.”
“I don’t get how it connects to what happened at the bungalows,” Abigail said. “Have you told Mom and Dad?”
“No. And you won’t either.”
“I know. I know.” Abigail held up her hands. “But when it comes out in the news or the investigation or leaks, Mom’s going to string you up by your toes and never let you forget it.”
Jules would cross that bridge when they came to it. Her phone buzzed, and she opened a text message from Scarlett. “Scar’s in New York at that party Sloane got her tickets for.” Jules flipped through the pictures. “She’s wearing the necklace we got her.”
Abigail scooted onto the couch with Jules and Rhys. “She looks fantastic.” She repositioned Jules’s hand to show Rhys. “Doesn’t she?”
“Gorgeous,” he said, scrolling through his phone.
“You didn’t even look.”
Rhys made a point of looking as Abigail swiped through the photos, and Jules laughed. “Good choice on the necklace—wait.” He snagged the phone and thumbed back. “This is today?”
“Yeah,” she said, the word sounding more like a question than an agreement.
“Who’s this?” He held up a shot of people bunched together for a photographer.
Jules focused on the picture. “No idea.”
Abigail shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You might.” He enlarged the photo. “Does anyone look familiar?”
They stared.
“No.” But she didn’t have his memory. Rhys knew exactly who they were looking at. “What’s going on?”
“Text me those pictures.” He pushed off the couch. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay here tonight.”
“Rhys?” Jules jumped up, and Abigail followed. “What’s going on?”
As he said quick goodbyes to her parents, she caught up with him. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure.”
He was always sure. “Rhys…” She grabbed his arm. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I need to talk to Viv.”
“Then call Viv from my dad’s office.”
Urgency burned in his dark eyes. “I’ll talk to her while I’m driving.”
“Driving where?”
Tension flexed in his jaw. “Downtown. To talk to investigators.” He glanced over her head as if staring down demons, as if he had so many things to say but didn’t know how to say them.
“What? Why?”
Rhys backed her to the wall. “Everything’s going to be fine. I need to pull on a string. That’s it. When I come back, I’ll have answers.”
She believed him, not because she needed to but because fifteen years of being around him had taught her to. “Do you promise?”
“I swear to you, baby.” He pressed his mouth to hers. His tongue slipped along the seam of her lips, quick and hungry, but he groaned as he inched back. Rhys the Bodyguard had quickly emerged, and the man was back to business. “I’ll get Wes over here as soon as I can. Don’t go anywhere.”
Her trepidation resurfaced. “Why did one of Scarlett’s pictures set you off?”
“That’s the question I’m going to get an answer to.”