37
Rory wasn’t capable of killing a woman—was he?
Her head swam while Freddy packed the hamper into the Lexus.
He threw together a picnic lunch, consisting of the cold meats and crusty bread, popping in some basil pesto and spicy chutney. He siphoned off the hot coffee into a flask.
“Thanks, Freddy. It was so nice to meet you.”
“No worries, honey. Hopefully we’ll see a lot more each other.” He winked. “Drive safely.”
Lana considered phoning Marcus, to tell him she was leaving Fermanagh, but she knew he would try and stop her—and more than likely succeed.
Anyway, this was between her and Rory.
There would be plenty of time to explain after she helped Rory with his life changing predicament. Marcus would have to understand why it was her duty to help Rory in his darkest hour. Not because she was in love with him—because he still reserved a small space in her heart.
Lana couldn’t stand by and watch Rory being hung out to dry, for something he allegedly didn’t do, without at least trying to help.
The long drive back to Belfast was tedious. Her mind flitted from one horrendous thought to the next. She relived the afternoon when his nails had bitten into her neck when they were having sex.
And then quickly shirked off the image of his fierce expression.
She finally arrived at his house in Jordanstown, hesitating at the front door. Memories of time spent there with Rory flooded back in tidal wave. A time before Verto Veneri.
Her life had changed so much since that fateful decision. Lana’s for the better and Rory’s, well, his life could be well and truly ruined.
She sucked in a deep breath and marched the entrance, finding the door unlocked. When she stepped inside, the air was cold.
Her gaze darted to the ransacked living room that looked as though a whirlwind had crashed through the house, leaving the television smashed up in the middle of the floor and furniture upturned.
She glanced back over her shoulder, scanning every corner. Whoever was here had long gone. Her heart raced and the hairs on arms lifted. They were looking for Rory.
Climbing the stairs, her breath caught when she reached the top. A fresh bouquet of vibrant yellow roses soaked in a crystal cut vase sat on the bedside cabinet.
When she moved into the bedroom, her heart sank at the devastation. Her heart hammered in her chest as she took it all in. Whoever did this brought flowers.
Yellow roses. Like to roses sent to her office.
Her scalp tingled.
Their clothes were strewn across the room, drawers pulled from the chest of drawers and the bed sheets rolled back.
She swallowed the lump of terror in her throat when she saw the black dress worn on her first night to the swingers club. It was the only item neatly laid out on the mattress with the same stilettos placed on the floor directly below.
A creak startled her. Lana slapped a hand over her mouth to hide a scream. Her knees weakened and adrenaline coursed through her veins, pumping so fast that swore she would faint.
Run!
Something was wrong—very wrong. Another muffled noise drifted up the staircase. Someone else was in the house.
She had nowhere to hide, no escape route. The hammering heartbeat against her sternum, thundered in her ears as footsteps climbed each step.
She whirled around and darted behind the door, pressing her spine flat against the wall. The unfortunate choice of hiding meant she couldn’t see who entered the bedroom until the door slammed shut.
Her eyes squeezed shut for a split second. A chilling laugh tore at her heart when they pinged open.
“Finally, you’re here. It’s about time.”
Lana gasped in preparation to scream but a large hand smacked over her mouth. Fisting her hands, she slammed into a solid torso.
The familiar, handsome face before her wore a broad sanctimonious smile. A sharp sting pierced her bicep.
Her legs trembled and her knees buckled as the walls closed in. From a rampant beat, to steady thrum, her heartbeat slowed.
A blanket of darkness swallowed the room. The world hid in the shadows of her mind as the sedative blended with her blood and her heavy lids shut out the face of her captor.