The decisiveness in his tone irritated me. I didn’t like it when Jett handled me as if I had no say in the matter.
“Don’t treat me like I’m some fragile butterfly, Jett.” I folded my arms over my chest and regarded him. “I’m going to make myself useful by returning to my apartment to find out whether Sylvie was right about the handwriting. I think I know where Clarkson’s letter is. Brian can accompany me.”
Anger crossed his features before he shook his head.
“No.” His voice was forceful. “I’ll be back before evening, and we’ll go together. First I’m dealing with my father, and then we start digging into Clarkson.”
“You’re worrying about me when you’re the one walking around with a gun,” I murmured dryly.
“I’ve heard women like a guy who knows how to fight and defend himself.” A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. He was trying to be funny by pretending he had everything under control, but the cagey expression in his eyes gave away his real thoughts.
I ignored his statement.
“Not when you intend to hurt someone.” My fingers brushed his cheek gently. “Promise me you won’t hurt him. He’s your father, and you’ll only end up hurting yourself.”
“I can’t make that promise. You know that,” he said. “But I can promise you I won’t do anything I’d live to regret.”
He pushed my hand away and walked over to retrieve the phone on the sideboard, then handed it to me. “I want you to carry this with you. If something happens, call me. Okay?”
He kissed me on the cheek, and then grabbed his jacket. I watched him walk out the door and close it behind him.
“I’d rather you gave me a gun than a stupid cell phone,” I muttered, and pushed the cell inside my handbag. It was true. I never would’ve imagined I might want to carry a gun. In fact, the thought of having a weapon in the house used to scare me. But now, after seeing what had happened to Liz and having been subjected to violence myself, I had never wanted anything more than to be able to defend myself.
Chapter 28
JETT’S WHOLE “WEAK woman/strong man” attitude was ridiculous. I didn’t want to feel useless while he did all the hard work. If Jett thought he could treat me like some fragile flower that had to be protected at all costs, he was wrong. I harbored no plan, no intention, no desire to be that way. The thought alone made me livid. I, weak? I could take care of myself. Besides, Jett wasn’t the only one who needed answers. I, too, sought to get rid of the nagging questions inside my head. I wanted to find out if Sylvie was right about the handwriting and maybe shed new light on the whole Lucazzone secret.
Peering through the window, I watched him leave with Kenny, and then grabbed my handbag. The kitchen was empty. Jett’s buddies, Brian included, had gathered in the open-space living room slash hall on the floor below Jett’s room. Thank God for football games accompanied by the usual male shouting and yelling. I sneaked past them and had reached the first floor when I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder.
“Where are you going?” Tiffany, Brian’s girlfriend, asked. Regarding her oversized turquoise sweater and her short black hair with violet streaks, I begged my mind to come up with a good lie.
“Jett wants me to get a feel for his car. You know, acquaint ourselves.” I groaned inwardly at my lame excuse.
“Cool.” She shrugged. “But you can’t drive it.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said.” I rolled my eyes in mock irritation, ignoring her patronizing tone. “I’m just going to sit in it for a while. He’s an amazing driver, and it looks so easy.”
“It’s not.” Her lips curved into a fake smile and disappeared a second later. “The keys are in the locker room in a box on the wall. Have fun!” She walked away. We had been staying for a few days, and I still didn’t know what her issues were. I climbed down the stairs, passed the security cameras, and let myself out.
The buildings looked more ominous than ever—maybe because it was a cloudy day promising a rainy night.
I crossed the backyard and reached the gate. The guard frowned but didn’t comment as I walked through and called a taxi.
During the drive to Sylvie’s apartment, I could no longer ignore the thoughts inside my head. There were too many loose ends, especially the part where Alessandro Lucazzone worked together with Robert Mayfield. If I didn’t get answers, I’d never find peace. My fear would continue to consume me. I couldn’t spend my life hiding. I missed work, shopping, and meeting for coffee with Sylvie, and, most importantly, I wanted a normal life with Jett so I could prepare for motherhood.
Eventually we reached the apartment, and I let myself in. Everything was quiet, but the air smelled of Sylvie’s perfume and memories. So many happy memories.
Fighting the sudden onset of nostalgia, I removed my shoes and walked barefoot to my former room. Everything was tidy, the bed made. Just like I had left it when I moved in with Jett. I headed for my desk and began sorting through the mail pile Sylvie had kept for me. And there was a lot of it. It took me a while to find Clarkson’s letter.
I scanned the old-fashioned writing. The “B” and “S” were curved—as though he was into calligraphy. There was little doubt the owner of the book was the same person who’d written down my name and address on the envelope.
I jumped in my skin when something clicked in the hall and footsteps thudded on the hardwood floor.