Page 60 of Beyond Question

“No,” I whisper as I read the message, the word a plea that no one can answer.

Because I did this to myself.

Unknown:

You’ve caused quite a stir, Jo. Made the news all the way over here.

My heart recuperates quickly, no longer splattered against the tile beneath my feet, but now beating away at my ribs in a rhythm as wild as my racing thoughts.

He found me.

Nearly thirty years, andhe’s found me.

And it’s all my fault. My foolish, prideful fault. My little performance at the Annual Quill Awards has just set fire to the life I built here, far, far away from that man and his reach.

My limbs begin to tingle as my body tenses, the old fight or flight response kicking into full gear as my gaze flicks around my office. If he saw the speech, he knows where I am, knows about Turn the Paige. It’s only a matter of time before he shows up on my doorstep.

Or worse, onhers.

My hands shake so badly I finally do drop the phone.

It bounces off the desk with a loudclang, then hits the tile floor with a loud, telltale clatter that echoes within my office.

Rylan is in my doorway a moment later, looking at me with concern knitting her brows.

“Just dropped my phone,” I say, “I’m fine.” Although I’m painfully aware that the crack in my voice gives away the lie. And the tension at the corners of her big brown eyes confirms it.

So I wave her away. “Really, it’s nothing.” I reach between my legs and pick up the phone, holding it up. “Just a cracked screen.”

“You seem…”

“I’m fine, Rylan,” I snap, wincing as soon as the words are out of my mouth and she flinches in response to my tone. But if there ever was a time that I wish the line between boss andemployee hadn’t been blurred by friendship, this is it. Because the fewer people close to me now, the better.

She gives me a curt nod, then leaves.

I rise quickly and hurry to the door, shutting it softly, then lean my forehead against it. Closing my eyes, I breathe deeply, trying to calm my racing heart.

The hell that man put me through has been brought back to the forefront of my mind with one simple text—and the use of a nickname no one has used since I left England.

Jo.

Just two, simple, harmless letters, and I’m thrown back in time thirty years, consumed with heartbreak and loss, confusion, and, most of all, fear.

One, simple nickname, two letters, and I’m pregnant and homeless, running away all over again, desperate as I flee as far as I can to get away from that man and the control he exerted over me, the threat of what would become of me, of my baby, if I stayed.

Another text alert startles me and bile creeps up my throat.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, then open them slowly and reach for the phone. Maybe it’s Travis again, chiming in with something flirtatious, a clever quip about the food, or—

Unknown:

You owe me twenty-five thousand pounds.

A brief second later, another text follows:

Tell me, what does twenty-nine years of interest come to?

A whimper slips past my lips and I drop the phone again, this time following it to the floor as I sink to my knees. Tears trail down my cheeks as I stare at the device as if it’shim.