Right now, though, none of that matters. Right now, it’s all about Henry Darcy. “Well?” Liam presses.
“I don’t know if she should—”
“Of course I will,” I interrupt.
“You shouldn’t be involved in this,” Dallas says.
“Bullshit. I am involved.”
He starts to protest, but I hold up a finger to silence him. “Yes, I am. Of course I am. Because I love you. And I love you, too,” I say, glancing back at Liam. “And if there is even the slightest chance that Henry Darcy is going to expose my lover and my best friend and the rest of your guys, then you need to know. We need to know. And if I’m the best person to figure that out, then I’m damn well going to do it.”
“She’s right,” Liam says. “And it’s not dangerous. It’s just a writer talking to a witness.”
“Fine,” Dallas says, but I can tell from his expression he doesn’t like it.
“All right then,” Liam says. “One mission accomplished. Now I guess I’ll go get rid of the woman in your bed.” He grins. “The things I do for you …”
“Wait,” Dallas says as Liam turns toward the door. He moves around the desk and opens a drawer, then pulls out a stack of blue envelopes.
I frown, confused, as he holds them out to Liam. “I’ve been getting these for a while.”
Liam approaches, looking as clueless as I feel. He takes the letters and skims over them one by one. I read over his shoulder, words and phrases seeming to reach out and punch me in the gut.
my darling
passion
mine
patience
me
only for you
I glance up at Dallas. “What the hell?”
His expression is hard. “They started coming about a year ago. About a dozen so far. No fingerprints. No return address. Most by messenger, some left at the door or under the windshield wiper of my car.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before?” Liam asks, voicing my thoughts.
“Doesn’t have anything to do with Deliverance.”
“Hello? Lifelong friend here. Some crazy chick is sending you psycho letters—”
“Possessive, maybe. But I didn’t think the sender was dangerous. At least not at first.”
I look from him to the door, imagining the girl across the hall in his bed. “But now that Fiona let herself into your bed …”
“You think it’s her?” Liam asks.
“I don’t know,” Dallas says. “But the timing’s right. The first time I went out with her was about a year ago. Could be that she thought my attention tonight meant that everything she wrote in those letters is true.”
Liam exhales. “Fair enough. I’ll chat her up when I walk her out. See if I can get a read.”
Dallas nods. “There’s another letter in the bedroom on the table by the door. Came Monday, but I didn’t open it until earlier today.” He glances at me. “I was distracted before.”
“I’ll make sure she sees me pick it up, then watch her reaction. If we’re lucky, the woman doesn’t play poker.”
“Sounds good. And pass everything on to Noah. Maybe he or Quince can work some magic. God knows Archie and I haven’t had any luck.”
“Will do.” Liam gives me a quick hug before heading out of the room, though I’m not sure that I even hug him back. My mind is in too much of a whir, my chest tight with memory and fear, and it’s all I can do to keep quiet until the door shuts behind him.
The second it clicks into place, I turn my attention back to Dallas. “What the hell do you mean this has nothing to do with Deliverance? You need to tell him. Even if you haven’t told him the details, he needs to know.” I’m talking too fast, my words tumbling out.
Dallas stares back at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and I blink, suddenly realizing that he hasn’t a clue what I’m talking about. He honestly doesn’t see the connection between these letters and our kidnapping. “You really have no idea who’s sending them.”
It’s a statement, but he takes it as a question. “None of the women I’ve—”
“Open your eyes, Dallas. It’s not one of your bimbettes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the woman sending the letters. I’m saying it’s obvious who she is.”
The Usual Suspects
“Obvious?” Dallas repeated, not entirely sure he was comprehending her words. Because it sure as hell wasn’t obvious to him. “Just from glancing over the letters, you know who’s sending them? Fiona?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not Fiona.”
The tightness of her voice belied the way she perched casually on the edge of his desk. And he couldn’t help but notice that her hands were clutching the mahogany desktop so tightly her knuckles were white.
Not Fiona, he thought, as a chill crept up his spine. And not good.
“Who.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed, then glanced toward the door. “Does Liam know what happened to us inside? What the Woman did to you?”