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Eden

“I’d be curious to see the conversation you had about me. I don’t suppose you still have it?”

I shook my head. “After she gave me all the details for contacting you, she told me I should delete the conversation to keep both of us safe, in case someone ever got hold of my phone.”

“And, due to the position you were in, that made perfect sense.” His tone didn’t sound mocking, more thoughtful. “Covering your tracks has become second nature, I imagine. But there are always traces, if you know how to access them. My brother is a tech wizard. If you will allow it, I’ll ask him to take a look at your phone history and see if he can recover the messages.”

My heart plummeted in my chest. “That’s possible?”

“Nothing is ever truly deleted.”

“I thought things like that only happened in the movies.”

“Even fiction has some basis in reality.”

“That’s terrifying.” And it was. To me, anyway. Was that why Chester kept tracking me down? Oh god, was that possible? “I lost my cell when the men grabbed me. I don’t know if I dropped it or they took it.” I licked my lips. “Would … if deleted messages can be tracked, can people?”

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve seen in the movies how people can put trackers on phones. Is that a real thing, as well?”

He picked up on my meaning immediately. “You want to know if your ex was using your phone to keep updated on your location. There are apps that will do that. It would make sense. Especially if his last confirmed location was the motel in New York.”

“I was told to switch off my cell before I boarded the plane for Dallas.” My voice was low. I lifted my eyes to find his. “Is that something you would have requested?”

“No. I’d have told you to ditch the phone completely and would have sent you a burner to use. But it suggests someone knew or, at the very least, believed there was a tracker on your phone.”

“I’m so stupid. I just thought it was because he was a detective that he knew how to find me.”

“You’re not stupid, Eden. You just don’t live in a world where you expect things like that to happen.” He lifted a hand, and a flight attendant came over. “Could we get something to drink?”

And just like that he ended the conversation, and I didn’t try to start it back up after drinks had been delivered. Instead, I picked up one of the magazines scattered around and flicked through it and left him to concentrate on whatever was on the pile of papers he was thumbing through.

***

We took a cab from the airport to the hotel—another suite with two bedrooms—but I didn’t get a chance to investigate too deeply before Bishop whisked me out again.

“There’s a boutique just down the road. You’re going to need enough clothes for the month, as well as something to get married in, and a couple of evening dresses for the engagement weekend. You have two hours to pick out everything you think you might need. I’m going to drop you off. I have a few errands to run, and I’ll be back to get you.”

His hand touched my back to turn me toward a door. “Here we are.”

I looked at the building in front of me. On each side of the door, there were window displays. Mannequins dressed in clothes ranging from jeans to ballgowns.

Bishop pushed open the door and stepped back so I could enter before him. My eyes darted around. This place was not the type of clothing store I shopped at. A plush carpet covered the floor, soft music played through hidden speakers, and the shop assistant was dressed like she was about to go for an expensive evening out. She approached us, a smile curving her red lips.

“Mr. Chambers,” she greeted Bishop. “We have everything ready. I’ll just need your signature.” She turned her attention to me. “Ms. Marshall. I have started on a potential selection for you to look through. If you’ll follow me, we can get started.”

I threw a panicked look at Bishop, who smiled. “You’ll be fine. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He turned his back on me and moved across the store to the cashier desk, where he took a pen and signed something.

“Come along.” Red nails which matched the lipstick covering her mouth plucked at my sleeve. “We have a lot to do in very little time.”

“Bishop said we have two hours.” How long did someone need to buy clothes?

“Exactly! My name is Delta, you can call me Dee, and I’ll be your personal shopper while you’re here.”

“Personal shopper?” I turned back toward Bishop and her grip on my arm tightened.

“Leave the man alone. He’s not necessary for what we’re about to do.” She stopped and eyed me. “Unless you want him to sign off on what kind of lingerie you’re buying?”

“What? No! It’s not like that. We’re not …”

“Of course, you’re not.” She gave me a knowing look and my cheeks burned, embarrassment twisting my insides.

What did she think was happening here? Did she think he was buying my affections, so I’d sleep with him? Oh my god, that’s exactly what she was thinking.

“He’s not … we’re not …”

Delta … Dee … laughed, tugging me through a curtain and into another side of the store. “He’s not what? Your sugar daddy? Honey, that man must be what … fifteen years older than you?”

I turned my head, trying to see Bishop through the gap, but he wasn’t in view. “No. I don’t know. I have no idea how old he is!” Jesus, that made everything sound even worse!

“Sometimes it’s best not to ask. Enjoy it while you’ve got his attention. Men like him never stay interested for long.”