“It’s not Marabella,” he says. “There’s another explanation.”
“That’s what Kayden said. He thinks I removed it during a flashback.”
“If you space out like you did today in the car, I can see that.”
“Yes, but if it’s Marabella—”
“It’s not Marabella.”
“It would destroy Kayden if she betrayed him.”
“You’re right, but this is one time that I can say I have zero, and I mean zero, doubt in someone.”
“Those we trust—”
“Come up with another theory.”
“Someone hacked our security system.”
“Matteo has about four levels of hack notifications set up,” he says. “He’s truly one of the best in the world.”
“One of the best means there could be another who’s better.”
“You’re reaching, Ella. Someone is always here. If you’re not in the tower, Marabella uses that time to clean and cook for you. And I’m usually in the store, as is Giada.”
“You’re right. Maybe I’m obsessing over the wrong thing.”
“Caution is good. We’ll stay vigilant and we’ll talk to Matteo.”
“That sounds good,” I say.
“I’m going to head downstairs.”
I nod, and he gives me another steady look. “You’re safe here. Not that I think you’re cowering in a corner, because that’s not who you are, but you’re safe. He can’t get to you here.”
“I’m not worried about me,” I say. “I’m worried about what I bring to all of you.”
“If they come for you we’ll be waiting, and we’ll enjoy every moment, because there are lines we can’t cross otherwise. Okay?”
“Yes.”
He studies me another beat and then rounds the island to leave. I stand there a moment that turns into ten before I whirl around and follow, heading through the living room on a path to the bedroom. Once there, I round the bed and walk to my nightstand, opening up the journal to start flipping through it, looking for any other missing pages, but there are only the two. I stare down at one of them that is, and will myself to remember ripping them out, but I don’t. And right now, my memory is at 70 percent, the dark spots all seeming to revolve around the most traumatic events. I didn’t tear this page out. I believe that, so if it wasn’t me, where is it?
seven
Anxious to hear Matteo tell me there is no possible way we’ve been hacked, and to ensure the people surrounding Sara are good people, I hurry downstairs to our tower exit. The door lifts and as has become a habit I duck under it and find Adriel entering from the front door, a grim set to his jaw, the sound of a furious rain pounding outside. He motions to the porch, silently telling me Kayden is there. And though I have no explanation, I get the impression he thinks my joining Kayden is well timed. A knot of concern forms in my belly that something extending beyond Giada’s frequent antics has gone wrong. Before I can ask for details, Adriel is across the foyer and headed toward the Center Tower’s steps.
Steeling myself for whatever has happened, I walk to the door and open it, finding Kayden leaning on one of the two heavy pillars framing the porch. The chill of the rainy night air mixed with the rain is nothing compared to the palpable edginess of his mood. His shoulder holster is back in place now, holding one firearm and not the two Adriel is wearing, but even now, with his back to me, there is an air of danger and power about Kayden that makes him lethal beyond any weapons or his willingness to use them.
I don’t announce myself and he doesn’t turn, though I have no doubt he’s aware that I’m here. We feel each other that way. It’s indescribable and special, the kind of feeling that makes you want to marry a man. I pull the door shut and walk to the opposite pillar, watching the ridiculously large droplets pound onto the driveway and the broad expanse of the gated yard. For several minutes, we just stand there, and it is not the unspoken words between us zigging and zagging but something else bothering Kayden, something I wait for him to share, and hope that he will.
“Rain,” he says softly, “like tears, washes away the blood, but never the death.”
I press my back to the pillar, and for just a few moments he remains in profile, tall and larger than life it seems at times, most assuredly now. It’s the effortless power he radiates, I think, the calmness he projects, which still manages to be confidence
and control. Things often mixed with just a hint of haunted torment, driven by tragedy that few see or choose to see, but I know it well. I see it in his eyes, taste it in his kisses. I hunger to ease the way it cuts him to his soul over and over and over again.
“Kayden, I—”