Lying slut!
My stomach churns and I turn, running for the door, barely making it outside to the landing, leaning over the railing of the stairs to puke my guts out. Because there is no denying it any longer.
I’ve been found.
*
I have no idea how long I’ve been standing here, still grasping the damn pepper spray, staring down the twelve-ish feet below at my own vomit. Not really seeing it, just dazed.
I need to form thoughts, damn it. What was I going to do? I couldn’t just camp out on my front step all night, for God’s sake.
My phone begins ringing, sending a startling jolt through me at the break in silence. Closing my eyes, I mumble quietly, “Please, don’t tell me he’s calling me now.”
Reaching down into my purse lying at my feet, I halfheartedly pull out my phone, cautiously eyeing the caller ID. Instantly, my eyes fall closed. Because, really? Really? Now?
Swiping the screen, I accept the call because he never calls me after work. Not unless it’s urgent, so I know I have to answer.
“Yes, Kavanaugh?” I try to school my voice and attempt to make it sound normal. And promptly fail as I hear how weak, meek I sound; my voice actually wavers, damn it. Basically, I sound the complete opposite of the normal, everyday Noelle Davis. Which is just great because there’s no way in hell my boss won’t notice. But, I can still hope, right?
There’s a brief pause on the other end. “What’s wrong, Davis?”
Poof! There go my hopes on that.
“Nothing,” I say much too brightly. “What do you need, boss?”
Another pause. Damn it, Foster Kavanaugh. “Davis,” his voice is nearly a low growl, “what’s wrong.” And, yeah. He says this, not as a question, but as a demand. Because he knows something’s up.
And that’s when the unthinkable happens. That’s the moment when I become my worst nightmare—everything I hate being. Weak, meek, and pansy-like. Because, right then, I break down crying.
“Fuck,” I hear him breathe out on the other end. “Are you at home?”
Sniffling, I swallow a sob before answering him. “Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
“I think so.”
Another muttered curse. “I’m on my way. Keep your phone and your pepper spray out.”
I utter an, “Okay.” We end our call, and it’s then I slink down on the top step, pulling my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. My hands are still clenching my phone and pepper spray, but for the first time since I entered the house, I feel something.
Knowing Foster’s on his way to do… Shit, I don’t even know what he’s going to do, but just the fact that he’s coming over—my boss who can’t stand me and only puts up with me because I do a great job of running his office—it makes the tightness in my chest and the fear subside just a bit.
Probably for the first time in longer than I’d like to admit.
Chapter Five
Foster
I knew it when she answered, before she even finished the first word. Something wasn’t right. Noelle Davis was in some sort of trouble. Sure, she had tried to hide it, but I could hear it as clear as day, could detect the tremulous quality to her voice.
After Harley and I finished our run and I showered, I called Noelle to ask her a quick question about a contract for one of our newer sites. I didn’t feel like dragging my sorry ass back into the office but knew I needed to distract myself from thoughts of Hendy and work always granted me that kind of reprieve.
Grabbing my wallet, keys and phone, I set the alarm and lock up, sprinting down the stairs to my truck. It takes me less than two minutes to get to her small house. She rents an older, shaker-sided one-story beach home on stilts. Pulling into the driveway, she’s sitting on the top step, looking the furthest thing from my usual ballsy office manager.
Exiting my truck, I bound up the steps, two at a time before crouching in front of her. Her head is down and the tears are dripping onto the fabric of her skirt.
“Hey,” I say softly. “What’s going on?” She still won’t look up at me, and I glance over at the front door.
That’s when my entire body stiffens. What the fuck? Her door has been jimmied open, the wood splintered. Raising to stand, I slide my phone from the front pocket of my khaki pants and instantly dial my buddy at the Sheriff’s office.
“Kavanaugh! What kind of trouble are you in this time, dude?” Ty’s tone is jovial, teasing. He did me a solid when Lee had some trouble a short time back.
I heave out a sigh. “Sorry to bother you, man, but I’ve got a, uh, friend who’s had her place broken into. You think you could help out … discreetly?”
“A friend, huh? She?” He’s poking at me and with good reason.
“My office manager,” I add succinctly with a firmness to my tone because I don’t need him getting any ideas.