Page 76 of Scorned Beauty

“Dom told you about our affair?”

“Yes, and that he fucked up.”

I could argue that I wasn’t totally innocent, but our short time together was a long story to relay over the phone.

That was why when Bianca asked, “Where are you?”

I responded, “Outer Banks.”

“I’ll be there this evening. Drop me the location.”

I didn’t say no.

Chapter

Nineteen

Dom

She’s brought in reinforcements.Fuck.

I lowered my binoculars when I spotted Sandro’s Escalade pull in beside Sloane’s van. There was something satisfying about using this old-school stalking instrument. I’d also installed cameras around Sloane’s property, including inside her house. Not because I was a pervert. I just wanted to make sure she was still breathing.

I timed my installation when she went to town to pick up groceries and go to twice-weekly therapist sessions. She’d stay in town for three hours tops and it took me two days to set them up. Admittedly, it had taken me longer because I rolled around her bedsheets and sniffed them.

Fuck, maybe I was a pervert.

Missing her was a constant ache in my chest. Since her disappearance, I couldn’t eat. I rarely slept. For three weeks straight, I drank whiskey from the bottle and smoking seemed like its pathetic companion. Sera actually had the audacity topull a cigarette out of my mouth when I’d instantly lit up after I finished a stick.

“You stink like a chimney,” she had said. “Fix your shit, cuz.”

But how could I when the person who could fix it for me was missing? Many times I’d put unrelenting pressure on Trevor, having him comb through forums and databases, so maniacally extreme that Matteo had to get involved to rein me in. He’d throw us both out of The Underground and order us to get some sleep. Finally, I’d convinced Trevor to hack into Harriet’s email, forum threads—she belonged to many, including the true crime ones—and search history.

She loved true crime. And when the FBI categorized the missing witness, Elyse Bailey, as another victim of the Mistress Strangler, it was in the news headlines again. The autopsy revealed strangle marks around her neck, with WHORE carved into her stomach. But the rest of us knew better. Some victims were made to look like the Mistress Strangler did it. Like the husband who got his sidepiece pregnant. But I wondered if a few of these were the work of Grigori's crew. Dress the kills to fit open cases. The feds were tightlipped about Elyse’s autopsy. Their lab was processing the DNA, and I was told not to leave New York for almost five weeks. I was cleared around the time Trevor narrowed down Sloane’s location from Harriet’s conversation with someone in the forums.

Harriet googled Corolla beaches, and she was communicating with Carrotcakeforever from Corolla.

Either Sloane loved carrot cake or she was referring to her hair color or Ginger’s.

I tracked down where she was staying and made an offer to the owner of the beach house beside it. He was a retired schoolteacher in his seventies. I sent him on vacation that would last two months. He said he needed this property back in thewinter in time for Thanksgiving with his family. I sure hoped I could convince Sloane to give me a second chance by then.

I had this overwhelming need to take care of her. Watching her barely eating, it was a struggle not to storm in there and force-feed her. She slept a lot, but it was anything but peaceful. I ached to snuggle up behind her and soothe her restlessness. I wanted to fight her demons, even if one of her demons was me. And when she was awake? The blank look on her face gutted me. But instinct was screaming at me to give her space to work through her grief. I might not be directly responsible for Billy’s death, but I could have offered her help when she needed it. Instead, I rejected her. Did I reject her as she was miscarrying our child? If I hadn’t rejected her, she wouldn’t have been in that basement at all. Those torturous thoughts wouldn’t leave me and I couldn’t work through them on my own without knowing that Sloane was okay.

My phone buzzed. It was Sera.

Sera

I know you’re watching us right now, stalker. Best not to show up tonight until I get the lay of the land.

Me

Put in a good word for me.

In your dreams. You’re lucky Bianca isn’t heading over there right now to castrate you. I can’t stop Sandro, though, so expect him.

I’m shaking in my boots

I paced and paced.I needed another cigarette and since I respected the owner’s wishes of keeping the interior smoke-free, I walked out to the wraparound patio, sat with another bottle of whiskey and started smoking.