“Just like that?”
“Yes. He reached over and took her hand, and she threw up all over his shoes.”
I felt my lips quirk.
“Then what?”
“Rab ... Elizabeth passed out.”
My humor vanished. “Did she hurt herself?”
Cecilia shook her head. “Daniel moved really quickly and he caught her before she hit the floor.”
I stood up, instantly angry again. “Daniel caught her? What the fuck was Prince Charming doing while his wife was about to hit the floor?”
“Jumping back and cursing about his shoes,” Cecilia looked at me knowingly.
“He cursed her?” I snarled. “He was more upset over his splattered shoes than his wife, the one he begged to be returned to him?”
My mug shattered against the wall where I threw it forcefully, coffee dripping down the walls. The plate of unwanted toast followed, the plate exploding in hundreds of shards as it hit the wall.
“Joshua! Calm down!”
I swung around, my breath laboured. “Don’t tell me to calm down, Cecilia! Fuck! I made the wrong fucking decision! I never should have sent her back!”
“Joshua! Maybe he had a thing about being thrown up on! Maybe he was just so shocked, he didn’t think. You can’t immediately jump to a conclusion like that. He apologized afterwards.”
I shook my head and snorted. “He apologized? How … civil.” I looked at Cecilia intently. “She woke up here, bleeding and bruised. Scared out of her wits. She didn’t know who she was or who I was, but she allowed me to comfort her. She let me touch her, hold her.” I closed my eyes, remembering how she felt tucked up under my chin, shaking and scared. I opened my eyes and stared at Cecilia. “If she had thrown up all over me, I still would have held her and comforted her.” I drew in a painful breath. “Her husband takes her hand and she throws up and passes out? That’s not a nervous reaction, that’s her body remembering. That’s her body rejecting him.”
I sat down and grabbed my throbbing head. “I shouldn’t have sent her back, Cecilia,” I reiterated and my voice broke. “She isn’t safe.”
She looked at me shrewdly.
Silently, she reached into her bag and pulled out a folder, slamming it down on the table in front of me.
“Then stop wallowing. Do something about it.”
I sat back, my hand scrubbing my face in exhaustion. I had been through the files Cecilia brought with her again and again. Frank had been busy.
Brian was an only child. His mother having died when he was younger, he was raised by his father. Pictures of them showed their similarity: both tall men, both stern looking. Even in pictures where they were smiling, it looked forced. Brian never married, not even a serious relationship from what Frank had found out, until Rabbit. At thirty-eight, he was twelve years Rabbit’s senior; six years older than me. Brian James, on paper, seemed like a stand-up citizen. Well educated, top of his class in everything he had studied. He was active in sports all throughout his school years. He excelled in business and was currently the CEO of James Industries in Toronto. Brian was heavily into charity work, and I noticed with a grimace, heavily into making sure that fact was well-documented. He kept his PR people busy, and Frank had included many of the articles about Brian’s generosity. But aside from being a media hog, there wasn’t a hint of scandal or as much as a parking ticket in his past. Anyone doing a cursory background check on him would only see a respected, normal person.
But there was a reason Frank had the nickname, the Pit Bull. He was an inexorable Private Investigator; like a dog with a bone, he didn’t give up. He had dug deep into sealed records with his hacking skills. Incident after incident of aggressive behavior on Brian’s part was recorded, right from grade school into his first year of university, all locked and hidden away in sealed records. Bullying issues, unprovoked attacks on teammates, issues with authority figures seemed to be the pattern, which, when laid out on paper, appeared to grow worse as he grew older.