“What was that about?”
“I’m being set up. Blaine, Stellan and John are trying to make it look like I’m the one threatening Lindsay.”
And a video of what they did to me just appeared.
Her hand moves to her mouth, a gesture of shock, but she’s too smooth. Too professional. Salma catches herself, then slowly lowers her hand, bracelets jangling at the wrist. “I see. The newspaper article?”
“And some texts Lindsay received. They’ve been traced to one of my phones. It’s all being done to make me look like I’m unhinged. Like I’m the one who’s trying to hurt her. Turn me into a stalker, make Harry look bad for hiring his own daughter’s crazy ex...you can put the pieces together. And if they get their way, Lindsay will be left in an unprotected state and her current team will hand her off to the -- ” I crack my sentence in half. “No. That can’t happen. I have to go and stop them.”
That’s as emotional and revealing as I can afford to be.
A tingling starts in my knees. It is not unpleasant. Full-body flushes are like a horn on the battlefield in ancient times.
A call to arms.
In a way, I am relieved. Excited, even. While I’m a tactician and a strategist, four years has been too long. Too much planning, not enough action. Too much rumination, not enough motion.
Too much pain.
Not enough pleasure.
An image of Lindsay crashes through me, as if she’s entered my bloodstream and strokes me from the inside out. What will she think of me when she finds out? When she views that --
All I want to do is find her. Steal her away. Take her someplace where none of this can touch her.
All I want is peace.
Too bad I have to go through hell to get it.
I leave.
Salma doesn’t try to stop me.
Chapter 15
“Silas!” My voice sounds like shrapnel ripping through flesh. I’m on my emergency phone and he’s answering before I realize I’ve shifted to his first name, the soles of my feet digging into the floorboards of my SUV, the unrelenting sun turning the cab of my car into a sauna of retribution and recrimination. The air tastes like regret. “I need your help. Now.”
“What do you need, Drew?”
So much for “sir.”
“Block texts going to Lindsay’s phone. Effective five minutes ago.”
“I can block all future texts, but -- ”
“Scrub them. Now.”
“She has her phone on her, sir – Drew. Too late.”
Fuck.
“Where is she?”
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
“SILAS!”
“She’s...er, well, she’s asking for you.”
Careful what you wish for.
You just might get it.
“Me?” I gasp.
“Yes. We’re under strict orders not to have her see you, be seen with you, come within a thousand yards of you, even -- ”
“I get the point,” I grind out.
“But you know Ms. Bosworth.”
My grimace turns to a tight grin.
“Sure do.”
“She’s insistent.”
A lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow.
“What’s her mood like, Silas?”
“Her...mood?” He asks the question like he’s not sure he heard me right.
“Yes.”
“It’s, um...she’s pretty stoic. Broken record. She just walked over to the senator’s office and it looks like she’s arguing with her mom and dad.”
Lindsay can take on Harry.
Monica? Not so much.
I’m a man of action. I plan and strategize, examine tactics and enact scenarios.
Waiting isn’t my style.
“I’m persona non grata at The Grove, I assume.”
“If it were legal to shoot you on sight, I’m pretty sure Marshall would have ordered the team to do so,” Silas replies with a rueful huff.
“I guess I have to see her.”
“You guess?”
“I do. I need to see her.”
“What’s going on? Is there intelligence I haven’t seen yet? A viewing of new evidence I missed?”
Oh, is there ever.
“This is personal. Between Lindsay and me.”
“Understood.”
“But it has to do with the texts on her phone. How many people have access to that information?”
He names Paulson, himself, and one techie on the team.
“Scrub those texts and remove the techie.”
“I have to clear this with Paulson,” Silas insists.
“Then do it.” Every word out of my mouth feels like I’m one step closer to death.
“Sir, why are the texts so important?”
As I look out the windshield, the world widens. My hands itch to have Lindsay here, in my arms, her skin under my heated touch, to have her concrete and palpable, able to be grabbed and secured.
Then again, maybe I need her as an anchor.
To keep me from floating away.
“Sir? Drew?” His voice changes, choked with compassion, and it hits me.
He knows.
He saw.
Bzzzzz.
A text from a number I don’t know.
Jane gave me a burner phone. Ignore whatever they’re telling you. Find me at the shore tonight at 8 p.m. Silas will help.
“Drew?” Silas’s voice is back to normal. “Anything else I can do for you?”