Haley lets out a breath, and I can tell how badly she wants to come over to me, but she’s torn. She’s sweet, and she’s a good friend, and she’s torn, because to come over here would mean leaving Daphne by herself. And she won’t do it.
“He’s not dangerous,” Daphne says.
“That’s. Fucking. It.” I go to the door and open it. Gerard’s waiting outside. “Send a team to Daphne’s apartment. Clear it out.”
He nods and goes, and when I turn back, Daphne is staring at me. “What did you tell him to do?”
“I’m sending a team to get your things. You’re moving in with me.”
“Leo, no!” She stands up too and squares off with me, but it’s useless. She’s petite, like Haley. She’s no match for the things I know, for the things I’ve lived. “I’m fine in my apartment. You have security there, too.”
“I’m firing all of them. It will take some time to find replacements.”
“Why? Why? I like them.”
“Because they let a stalker into your apartment to leave a gift. What’s next? Are they going to let him in to watch you sleep? Shower?”
“How is it better if you’re the one watching me sleep?”
“I’m not going to watch you sleep. I don’t care if you sleep. Stay up all night, if you want.”
“I want to stay in my apartment.” Her eyes flash. “I belong in my apartment. I’m fine in my apartment.”
“Will you be fine when you wake up to him standing over your bed one night?”
“Leo—”
“Will you be fine if you wake up gagged and bound? Tell me.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
I step closer, look down at her, make her look up at me. It’s an asshole move, and I know it. “And will you be fine if I have to come identify your body after he’s murdered you? I’m the one who would get that call, by the way. Would that be all right, Daphne?”
Tears have gathered at the corners of Daphne’s eyes. She doesn’t let them fall. “He’s not going to kill me.” Her hands ball into fists at her sides. “He’s not like that.”
“Tell me his name, and I’ll tell you if he’s like that.”
Daphne looks away. “I’m not telling you his name.”
“Do you even know what it is?”
“Yes. I’m just not telling you. You’d go after him.”
“He probably deserves it.”
A ringing silence. Haley smooths her blanket over her legs, her eyes on mine. Does she wish I was softer, in this moment? I fucking hope not. I can’t be softer. Not with this rage eating through skin and bone.
“You are ridiculous,” Daphne says, but I can feel her giving in.
I can also feel her resentment towards me, but that’s all right. It doesn’t matter if she hates me. As long as she’s safe. I’ve always protected my sisters, from the time we were little, when our father hit us, but it feels sharper now, more acute that I almost lost Haley. “Good.”
“How long am I supposed to stay here?”
“Until he forgets about you.” I try to sound soothing. Even though I’d like to keep her here forever, locked up in some tower like a fairy tale princess.
“Like you’re going to forget about Haley when she’s gone?”
My dear sister says the question sweetly, because she knows, she knows I’ll never forget about Haley. I will never get over her. “It’s different,” I say, which is a lie. It’s not different.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s different because you love her.”
The word love makes my skin turn hot and then cold and clammy. I’m careful not to look at Haley. I don’t want to see her reaction—either her hope or disappointment. “This isn’t about me,” I say, my teeth gritted.
“Isn’t it?” she asks, her tone gentle, her expression knowing.
I’m reminded that even though she’s innocent, she’s a woman now. A woman who sees through my bluster. Who knows I’m exactly as bad as the man I’m guarding her from. I didn’t get my reputation for nothing. The beast is too close to the surface. “This is about you being in over your head. I always knew you were naive, but I never thought you were a fool.”
She gasps. Hurt simmers in her dark eyes. Anger, too.
“You want to end up on a true crime podcast? Not on my watch. I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression you had a choice in the matter. You’re staying here. End of story.”
Chapter Eight
Haley
Leo’s house is laden with silence. The quiet bleeds into every room, thickening the air. Making it hard to breathe. Hard to walk. My feet feel like I’m dragging them through water. I’ve woken up late. Late in the day, I mean. The sun angles dimly through the second-floor windows. How did that happen? A person doesn’t just sleep all day and wake up to emptiness.
“Leo?”
My voice doesn’t reach as far as it should. I clear my throat and try again. The house is quiet. I’m quiet. We’re all quiet, like we’ve been tucked under blankets of insulation, like we’ve been buried in snow. Except I can see through the windows. Snow’s not falling today.
No Eva in the guest bedroom.
No Gerard at the top of the stairs.
No Mrs. Page in the dining room.
It takes forever to walk from one room to the next. I keep getting turned around. I think I’m near the den, but then I go in the door and it’s Leo’s bedroom. He’s not in here. I trace a careful path back to the stairs and go down.
I reach his office door an eternity later. The door is shut tight. Jiggling the doorknob does absolutely nothing. Did he seriously lock me out of his office?
If he’s in there now…
I press my ear to the hardwood, a dull indignation at the center of my chest.
And then I hear it.
A wet, choked rasp.
No. No, no, no. Leo’s in there, and he’s dying. I jerk my head away from the door but the sound only gets louder. I can hear him so clearly, but it won’t open. Smooth metal denies my scratches. “Please,” I beg the doorknob. It doesn’t turn. My hands slip on the surface. I pound at the wood with a fist but it’s solid, not like the flimsy doors in my house, it’s solid enough to keep me from him. An agonized wheeze fills the hall, echoes in my ears. I can’t find my phone. Where is my phone? There’s no time to call anyone. I just have to get inside.
The doorknob rejects me. My hands slip off. I’m useless. So useless. I can’t even put pressure on the wound. Silence rings around my scrabbling at the doorknob. No sirens. No one is coming.
I turn to look down the hall—Gerard has to have heard me—and when I turn back there’s no doorknob. “No.” It comes out on a whisper, my voice gone. All I have is my hands. I beat both fists against the door, again and again and again. It does nothing. Nothing. I beat harder. I’ll tear through the damn thing. I’ll tear it down. I clear my throat and try to shout for help again. A whisper. A pathetic whisper. Jesus.
“Help,” I scream.