Page 22

CHAPTER 22

Tristan

Birdie takes Gia’s phone, and we both watch. On the small screen is a breaking news alert— “Bestselling Author Katie Saldana Dies in Car Accident.”

Blood drains from Birdie’s face as she scans the brief details. Katie is found dead in her crashed car after texting what seems to be a suicide note to her husband. There’s a photo of him crying and a screenshot of the text. I can’t live with myself anymore. I’m sorry.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Gia says. “Why make that video if she was gonna kill herself? Katie wasn’t a saint. She was a greedy, fierce competitor that would stop at nothing to be famous and rich. She wouldn’t just confess to stealing Birdie’s work just to clear her conscience. She made that video with all that bullshit about drug abuse and going to rehab to gain readers’ sympathy. She was trying to stay in the industry. She wasn’t going to bow out, let alone end her life.”

Birdie exchanges a glance with me, a reminder to keep the secret she doesn’t want to share with her assistant.

“Cancel culture is brutal, Ms. Conelly. Saldana was hoping to gain sympathy but look at all the negative comments she received. They’re literally telling her to end her life.” I bring my phone and look up Forced by Katie Saldana. I click the book retailer link and check the latest reviews she got. Then I show Gia and Birdie the webpage. “Look, they brought her book rating down to one star. She must have known she wasn’t going to survive this blow.”

Birdie exchanges another subtle glance with me, a thank you this time. I swear there has been, for the briefest of moments, a smirk on her lips, too.

Gia’s phone chimes in Birdie’s hand. “It’s Martha,” Birdie gives Gia her phone back, “she must have tried my phone after the news, but I left it upstairs. Tell her to come over. We can’t figure this out over the phone. Katie’s suicide changes everything.” She walks toward the backyard.

“Where are you going?” Gia asks as she places the phone on her ear.

Birdie rushes away without looking back. “I need some air.”

I follow her to the blind spot in her garden, where I know she’ll stop. When she spins to look at me, I try to read her face, what’s hidden behind the opaque mask. Is there horror after she’s found out her stalker is capable of murder? Is there any guilt in there, because, despite everything, Katie’s death is a tragedy Birdie is the reason behind? Or is all what’s lying underneath is vindictive relief?

“What are you thinking, Birdie?”

“Saldana didn’t kill herself. The car crash has the stalker’s fingerprints all over it. You were right. The sick bastard murdered her.”

That’s not what I want to know. I’ve asked the wrong question. What’s inside your mind, and how does the murder make you feel, if it makes you feel anything at all? I should have said, but I don’t because a woman like Birdie Abel, one that hides her emotions too well, won’t let me find out. “We don’t know that for sure. She could have buckled under pressure. You saw the comments and reviews.”

“That’s something you tell Gia to make her stop asking questions, to protect me like you always do, but you don’t believe that.”

“You’re right, I don’t. A woman like her wouldn’t crash her car to kill herself. She’d have used drugs or slit her wrists as a cry for help, a last attempt to gain sympathy. He killed her and made it look like suicide.”

She studies my expression. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you? You think if I’d called her earlier, she’d have still been alive.”

“There’s nothing you could have done to stop him.”

“That wasn’t your opinion this morning.”

“Warning Saldana today like I asked you was only an attempt to do the right thing. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But if we’d called the cops and warned her yesterday, she might have been alive. Is that what you’re saying? You’re blaming me for her death?”

Like I, she’s asking the wrong questions. “You chose to protect yourself, Birdie, and if you’d told me about the book yesterday,” I look her in the eye without a blink, “I wouldn’t have called the police or asked you to warn her until I’d gotten the book back for you. I’d have chosen to protect you. ”

“You will protect me at all costs, even if that cost is your moral compass?”

“ I’ll sever any ties, discard any shred of my humanity without hesitation. For you, no line is too far, no act too cruel ,” I quote from my favorite book, the best she’s written, The Nightingale’s Whispers.

“That quote…” There’s a spark in her gaze as she holds mine. “Why, Tristan? Gratitude? Honor? Those don’t make you remove your soul for anyone. Why would you do that for me?”

Why do you think? I take a step closer, as if closing the distance between us could let me into her psyche and allow me to decipher what’s buried behind her eyes. “Are you relieved Katie is dead?”

Her face remains an impenetrable mask. “What kind of question is that?”

The right one.

“Her death goes beyond anything she brought on herself,” she says when she realizes I’m not backing down. “The thought of deriving any pleasure from a person’s death, no matter how deserved is…”

“Is what, Birdie?”

“Sickening. It’s sickening, Tristan.”

“What about the thought of him, of someone being able to get that close, to love you beyond obsession, to take a life just to send you a message?”

She cocks a brow at me. “What about it?”

I take another step closer, leaning in until our faces are inches apart. “Does it sicken you, too? A man taken to a murderous extreme to prove his devotion. To show you he’d go to any lengths, cross any line, to rid you of anyone who’s caused you pain.”

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t retreat from my advance. “You’re treading a fine line, Tristan."

“Am I? Or am I simply vocalizing what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself?” My voice lowers to a rumble. “Part of you wants this, wants someone so unshakably obsessed with you they’d burn the world down if that’s what it took not only to keep you safe, but to make the people who hurt you pay for what they’ve done to you…”

Her lips part, but no words come out. Pupils dilated, her eyes flash with anger, intrigue and a dark desire even a woman like her can’t hide.

“…just like in your books.”

A muscle in her jaw twitches. For a moment, I think she’ll slap me. But then she moves even closer, so close I can feel her breaths mingling with mine. “I think I’m mature enough to know the difference between fiction and reality. Are you?”

My heartbeat rumbles at her closeness, at her smoldering gaze, at her intoxicating scent. I swallow to fight back the rising tide of feral instincts, the urge to forget our roles and only remember she’s a woman and I’m a man. She’s testing me, and I can’t fail.

Slowly, I draw back until our lips no longer dangerously close, holding on to her gaze as a shield. “He killed for you, Birdie. He kept his promise. Now, he expects you to keep yours.”

“I’ve never promised that lunatic anything.”

“Yes, you did. You had a chance to warn Katie last night, but you didn’t. You accepted his rules, and he did everything you asked him to. But he understands you might not keep your end. That’s why he took the book, to use it if he must, to claim his prize.”

Her bravado shatters with fear. “You think he’ll set me up? Frame me for her murder?”

“We can’t rule anything out. Your Butterfly Man has raised the stakes in his twisted game. Katie’s death is only the beginning, proof of just how far he’s willing to go to get what he wants. A man who is willing to take a life to make you his won’t be above blackmailing you or framing you for murder if you don’t comply.”

She gulps. “What are we going to do?”

Marcus’s voice blares through my earpiece. “Tristan, we have a situation. Your presence is required in the control room.”

I fight back a grimace, turning on my microphone. “Copy.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

I nod for her to follow me inside. Electric tension crackles between us as she falls into step behind me. Marcus finds me in the hallway. “It’s the food delivery guy. We have him in the control room, ready for questioning.”

“What? Why? What did he do?” Birdie asks.

“Upon inspecting the food, we found a foreign box he attempted to sneak in the delivery,” Marcus answers.

I reach the guestroom across from Birdie’s office that we’ve turned into the control room. “Have you opened the box?”

“Negative. We checked if it was clean before we moved it inside. It is safe to open, but we thought we should wait for you to open it yourself.”

I nod. “Birdie, please wait with your assistant while I deal with the situation. Marcus, stay with them at all times.”

“Copy.”

“No,” Birdie protests. “I must see what’s in that box myself.”

“We don’t know who that delivery man is or what he wants from you.”

“You can’t possibly think he’s the stalker. He can’t be that stupid to show up here, pretending to be the delivery man.”

“Nonetheless, once I’m positive whoever that man is poses no threat to you, and that box has nothing inside that can harm you, I’ll let you in.” I gesture for Marcus to take her away, and I enter the room.

Brandon Gatsby, the youngest on the team yet the fiercest in the whole firm, is inside with the delivery…boy.

“Andrew Callahan. Sixteen. We contacted the restaurant and confirmed he worked there.” Brandon gives me the boy’s driver’s license and tilts his head toward the monitors where a box with the restaurant logo is nestled on the desktop. “Upon conducting the preliminary security check, we discovered the contents of that box weren't food. Following protocol—”

“Thanks, Brandon. Marcus filled me in,” I interrupt, staring at the boy. I can’t waste any time.

Andrew wriggles in his chair where his hands have been zip tied behind his back. “Please, sir, I didn’t do anything. It’s that man…he gave me five-hundred bucks and told me to deliver that package with the food. He told me to hide it in a restaurant box so it’d be a surprise. I never opened it like he told me.”

I hold up a hand to stop Andrew’s rambling explanation. “Slow down. Who gave you the package? Describe him.”

“I don’t know his name. I couldn’t see his face either.” Andrew’s gaze roams between Brandon and me. “He is about your height and build. He was wearing a hoodie, a cap, shades and…he had a face mask on.”

My blood runs cold. “Did the mask have any significant print on it?”

The boy gulps nervously. “Yes. A big creepy butterfly where his mouth is supposed to be.”

I exchange an alarmed glance with Brandon, who has clearly made the same terrible connection. Of course, the stalker is the one to deliver this surprise under the guise of an innocent transaction.

“Where did the exchange take place?” Brandon asks Andrew.

“The restaurant parking lot. I was just getting into my car with the orders. He walked my way, all nonchalant, handed me the package and the cash and said to deliver it to the writer’s house with the food.”

He walked. No vehicle to track.

“Which you really shouldn’t have done,” Brandon scolds. “This was an extremely reckless and dangerous situation you put yourself in.”

The boy’s eyes widen with a mix of fear and contrition. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” I cut him off sharply. “Did the man say anything else? Anything that could hint at what’s in the box or who he was?”

“He…he said he was a big fan of the writer who lived here, and it was…a big day for her today, but it wouldn’t be complete without this package. He said it was…the second part of his gift.”

My gut twists as I look over at the unassuming package. Whatever is in that box has something to do with Saldana’s death. What fresh hell could be waiting for us inside it?

I bring out my pocket knife and stand in front of the box.

“Can I go now? Please, man, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise,” the boy pleads.

“Quiet,” I order and cut the box open with the knife. Squaring my shoulders, I look inside.

At first check, it seems like a box inside a box. I cut open the smaller package, too, and carefully peer at the contents. “What the hell?”

Brandon stares inside the box with me. “What is this? It’s just a book.”

Forced by Katie Saldana. I stretch my hand at him. “Gloves.”

He fishes a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and puts it in my hand. I put the gloves on and examine the book. Inside, there’s the note Birdie printed and pasted on the title page and the smudges in the shape of her initials. When I flip the pages, I find the infamous paragraph that she has stained with her cum. This isn’t just a book. This is the book Birdie was sending Saldana before the stalker stole it.

I feel a bulge in the book’s exterior. Examining it further, I find the flaps of the dust jacket neatly folded into a hidden compartment.

“Is this normal in fancy ass books?” Brandon chuckles. “I’m a paperback guy.”

“No, they’re not, and you’re not a reader in the first place.”

He snorts. “Yeah, who am I kidding? Is there something in there?”

I slide my fingers inside the book covert pocket and hit a folded piece of paper. My hand halts, and I speak into my mic. “Get Mrs. Abel in here.”

“What…what are you gonna do to me? Please let me go,” Andrew sobs.

I roll my eyes at Brandon. “Let him leave.”

Brandon sets the boy free and escorts him out. When Marcus brings Birdie here, I order him to give us the room. Then I tell Birdie everything.

She stares at the book. “He must be hiding another note inside. Let’s read it.”

I take out the piece of paper and unfold it. The note is in the same handwriting as the other two I’ve seen, and a butterfly is sketched at the end as the signature.

“I’d spill rivers of blood,” I begin, “burn this entire world to the ground if that was what it took to let you see me. I’d become a greater monster than any you’ve faced just to safeguard your radiant light from being extinguished. You’re my sole tether to whatever fleeting sanity remains. My obsession. My weakness. My everything. And I will protect you no matter the depravities I’d unleash upon anyone who tried to harm you.” My jaw clenches as I glance at Birdie. “It’s another quote.”

Her face reddens. “From The Nightingale’s Whispers , your favorite book, the one you’ve just quoted from. Coincidence?”

“I cleaned the house myself, Birdie, and where we talked in the garden is a blind spot. The stalker couldn’t have heard us. It’s impossible.”

“That’s not what I meant. He might not be watching us inside the house anymore, but he is watching from afar. He knows I hired you.”

“His cameras were still in your office when you interviewed me. I mentioned how much I loved The Nightingale’s Whispers. ”

“The book is a gift like he said. He never intended to frame me. He is protecting me by sending the book back. But the note…that’s not for me. This time, it’s for you, Tristan.” She swallows. “And it’s not a gift…it’s a warning.”

My eyes tighten at the words scribbled in all caps after the quote.

NEVER THE HERO, IT'S ALWAYS THE VILLAIN THAT SAVES THE GIRL.

NEVER THE HERO, IT'S ALWAYS THE VILLAIN THAT GETS THE GIRL.