Page 9 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

Birdie

The last card Butterfly Man has dealt burns a hole in the bottom of the box. It’s not a newspaper clipping but a photograph.

A stark white lighthouse looms against the sky, its beam cutting through the darkness. Edgartown Lighthouse.

I hold the picture. “What is this supposed to mean? He knows my favorite lighthouse in MA? We’ve already established that when he left that envelope the other day.”

Tristan’s demeanor shifts subtly. To most, he’d appear calm, but I’ve learned to read the signs.

The slight tightening around his eyes, the imperceptible tension in his shoulders—he’s on high alert.

His hand shoots out. His eyes, sharp and focused, zero in on the back of the photo. “Jesus. Behind it. Look.”

I flip the photo, and my heart dips. Scrawled in what looks like blood are two chilling words: FIND ME.

“Oh my God. Is this blood? Real blood?”

He takes the picture from me and brings it to his nose. “Yes.”

“Butterfly Man was in one piece when he broke in tonight. He left that box before he came to visit, which means this could be the blood of his next victim. Gia. Blake. We must go to the lighthouse.” I nod emphatically. “Now.”

His gaze darts around the car and back to the photo as he seems to assess potential threats. His hand moves absently to his side, where he keeps his concealed weapon. “No. This is a classic ambush setup to lure us out, to unsettle us and push us into making a mistake.”

“Tristan, I have to see it for myself. If they’re dead, I need to see it.”

“And if they’re not? What if he’s left them for dead at the lighthouse, and you arrive at what will be a crime scene? What are you gonna tell the police? Your detective won’t be able to save you then, Birdie.”

It’s not the first time Butterfly Man has tried to make me look like a suspect. Blackmail is his backup plan to claim me; be mine or rot in prison. He knows I won’t be able to resist, and I’ll rush to see if he’s kept his promise. A trap like Tristan says.

“What do you suggest we do? I can’t just sit there.”

“That’s exactly what you need to do. Go to bed for fuck’s sake.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? If you think for one second that I can sleep or go back to that room where I’ve been violated by a creep twice …”

He winces. “You don’t have to say anything to make me feel more guilty than I already feel.

You hired me to keep you safe, to stop him from violating you, and it happened again under my watch, and for that I can’t even begin to show you how sorry I am.

But like I own up to my shit, you should own up to yours.

All of this could have ended tonight if you’d chosen to stop him. ”

Rage jolts inside me. “So now it’s my fault you failed to keep your fucking promises?”

“I didn’t say that, but I know what you’re doing.” He stares right through me. “You never wanted me to catch or stop him. What you really want is the people who hurt you dead, at any cost.”

“I’m tired of this shit. Running in circles, wasting time when there could be a body out there—”

“Do you even want him gone after he kills your husband for you?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me, Birdie. Do you want that murderer to die or not?”

I open my mouth, but the words catch in my throat. Do I want Butterfly Man, the murderous psycho who has used me for his sick pleasures, who has put blood on my hands, who has infiltrated my life and is on the verge of ruining it, dead? The answer should be simple, shouldn’t it?

But nothing is that simple. That unhinged killer is the only one who truly sees me, who understands what I need. He’s doing what I couldn’t. When everyone else has failed me, he’s brought me the justice I’ve been robbed.

Tristan’s eyes narrow. “That’s what I thought.”

“You don’t understand,” I whisper.

“Oh, I do, Birdie. Trust me.”

I have no time for this. “Then take me to the lighthouse.”

“No!” He waves a hand angrily at the box.

“There are only two things we can do right now. You just sit here while I get rid of this shit or we call the cops and we deal with the consequences before the situation escalates beyond containment. I’m not gonna let you destroy yourself over that bastard. ”

“I won’t, I swear. We’re just going to drive there and take a walk. No one will suspect anything. I go there all the time, and everybody knows it.”

“At four in the morning?”

“I’m having trouble sleeping, and I thought the beach air might help, or I want to watch the sunrise because it’ll inspire me… I don’t know, if it comes down to being questioned, I’ll come up with something.”

“Like you always do.”

“Yes, like I always do. Because everything is a story, and I’m the storyteller. Now, please, take us there, Tristan. He left me that clue because he wants me to see whatever is there, and I don’t wish to disobey him. Not after what he’s done to me tonight.”

“Why can’t you see that this is too dangerous?”

“Not as dangerous as provoking him again. Do you not want to know whom he might have killed? To find out if it’s all over?”

“It’s not over, and you know it. This is a trap.”

“Perhaps, but what if we don’t go and he punishes us by leaving something there that could incriminate us?”

His head jerks at me, and concern flashes across his face. “Fuck.”

“Yes, fuck, so please start the goddamn car.”

His nostrils flare as he lifts his wrist to his mouth. “Marcus, Brandon, do you copy?”

A faint crackle comes from his earpiece before he says, “We’re heading to Edgartown Lighthouse. I need you two to follow us but keep your distance. Stay out of sight unless I give the signal. Understood?”

Another crackle.

“The rest of you, stay on high alert,” he continues. “Secure the house. If anyone, and I mean anyone so much as approaches the perimeter, engage to kill. Clear?”

My heart skips a beat. “What?”

“I repeat, engage to kill.” His eyes dare me as he turns the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. “You do things your way, and I’ll do things mine.”

My stomach ties into one knot after another. I text Spencer the second we move, a casual request to let me inside the lighthouse if possible. The timing and sending location could be used as evidence; I was nowhere near the lighthouse—the crime scene.

The drive to the lighthouse is eerily quiet. The roads are empty, the world oblivious to the flames licking us unsatisfied until nothing is left but ash.

As we round the final bend, the lighthouse comes into view, stark white against the inky sky. Flashes of red and blue surround the parking lot.

“Fuck,” Tristan mutters, slowing the car to a crawl. “That complicates things.”

“The police are already there. It is a crime scene.”

“And we have incriminating evidence right here in the car.”

My eyes widen at the box. “What are we going to do?”

“Give me the clippings and the photo.”

Swiftly, I open the lid and fish them out.

He takes the car lighter out and burns the evidence.

Then he throws it out of the window. “Now, it’s just an empty box.

You can’t get arrested for having one of those.

Not unless they test it for blood and DNA, which I don’t think they will right now, not yet. ”

I swallow hard. “Thank you, I guess.”

We pull into the parking lot. Police cars and an ambulance crowd the small area.

Yellow tape surrounds the perimeter. The lighthouse an accusing finger.

The familiar setting now cut out of a nightmare.

Tristan kills the engine, his eyes scanning the scene as two officers approach the car.

My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear over its rhythm.

Part of me wants to flee, but it’s too late.

There’s no turning back. I must find out what Butterfly Man has done.

“Stay in the car and don’t say anything,” Tristan mutters, his hand hovering near his gun.

The gesture, meant to reassure, only amplifies my anxiety. “What are you going to do?”

His jaw tightens as he holds my gaze. “Protect you.”

An officer knocks on the car window, and Tristan half opens it, getting the license and registration documents ready. “Good day, Officer. Tristan Morra, Monarca Security. This is Mrs. Birdie Abel, and I’m her security detail. Is everything all right?”

The officer cranes his head and inspects us suspiciously.

The chilling ocean breeze carries the scent of salt and something sinister.

Is it the metallic tang of blood? The cloying sweetness of death?

My imagination runs wild, conjuring images of what awaits us beyond the yellow tape.

He takes the papers from Tristan and examines them.

“The lighthouse is closed. You need to turn back.”

“I see. May I know what happened?”

The officer twists his lips as he hands Tristan the license back. “Murder.”

Who died? Is it Gia? Just Gia? I can’t turn back before I know everything. Just as I rack my brain to find an excuse to stay, a familiar figure emerges from the crowd of officers.

Jacob.

A cold sweat breaks out down my neck as he spots us and makes his way over. My carefully constructed world of lies and half-truths suddenly feels as fragile as a house of cards in a storm.

What does Jacob know? What has he found? And most terrifyingly—what will I have to do to keep my secrets safe?

He exchanges a few hushed words with the officer, who nods and steps away. My fingers dig into my palms, leaving crescent-shaped indentations when Jacob leans down to the car window.

“Birdie?” He glances between me and Tristan, his voice a mix of surprise and suspicion. “What are you doing here? Did someone call you already?”

“C-call me?” I clear my throat. “Why?”

“To identify the body.” Jacob frowns suspiciously. “But that should be done at the morgue.”

My stomach drops.“Body? Whose body, Jacob?”

“We believe the murder victim is Gia Connelly, your assistant.”

It shouldn’t come as a shock. I knew Gia was going to die. When I came here, I expected to find her dead. Part of me even wanted it. But why when I hear Jacob’s words, the definitive finality in them, does it feel like the world has tilted on its axis?

Gia might have lied to me, failed to support me when I needed her the most and slept with my husband, but I blame Blake for it. Sweet, efficient Gia wasn’t malicious. She was naive and fell for his charm just like I did. She didn’t deserve to die like this, another casualty in this twisted game.

Or am I the naive one here? The delusional girl desperate for any shreds of love in any form, who still believes there are good people in this world whose intentions aren’t exploiting her for themselves?

A scream builds in my throat, but I swallow it down. I can’t break now. “What?” I choke out.

“I’m sorry, Birdie. I thought you knew. When her sister didn’t answer, I thought they called you. You’re listed as the victim’s emergency contact.”

“How...how did it happen?” Please don’t say she crashed her car after loading her blood with drugs.

Jacob hesitates, his eyes flicking to Tristan. “She was shot.”

“Shot?” I don’t need to feign surprise. I didn’t expect that at all. “Here?”

“I can’t say that for sure yet, but most likely not.

No one heard a gunshot, and the preliminary body examination indicates an earlier time of death.

She was killed elsewhere, and then her body was dumped here.

” He narrows his eyes at us. “What are you doing here this time of the day if no one called you about the murder?”

I swallow. “I…had trouble sleeping again, so I thought to come here, watch the sunrise, get some ocean air. It helps me sleep…and write.”

“Could you not get the same from your terrace or the sunrise and ocean air here are different?”

The air rushes out of my lungs. I open my mouth to speak, but Tristan rolls his gaze at Jacob. “They are for her. This is her favorite spot on the island. Don’t you know that from the investigations ? The whole town does, so you must have already been tipped off.”

“I must have forgotten.” Jacob starts a staring competition against Tristan. “But thanks for the pointer on my next date, Morra.”

Tristan’s fist clenches on his thigh. “What are you doing here, Detective? This is Edgartown. Last time I checked you’re with Oak Bluff Police or did you transfer? Again?”

Yeah, why is Jacob on Gia’s case?

Neither Jacob nor Tristan blinks. “I was called in because of Saldana’s case,” Jacob says finally without breaking the menacing eye contact, his voice low. “There are...similarities in the crime scenes that can’t be ignored.”

Similarities. My mind races. What has Butterfly Man done? What clues has he left behind this time?

“There might be a connection between Connelly’s murder and Saldana’s,” Jacob adds.

My blood runs cold. “Connection? But Saldana wasn’t murdered; she committed suicide. It’s official. You told me and the whole country that.”

Jacob studies my reaction. “Then you can imagine the spot that puts me in. I don’t like it either, but the investigation has reopened. Let’s hope Saldana’s manner of death is the only thing I got wrong.”

Tristan tenses beside me as I struggle to keep my face neutral. “What do you mean, Jacob?”

“It means I’m going to need both of you to come down to the station. We have a lot to discuss.”

“So I’m a suspect again?”

“Right now, everyone is a suspect.”