Page 40

CHAPTER 40

Birdie

Marcus presses a finger to his ear, and a frown crosses his face. “It’s that detective again asking to see you, Birdie.”

I look up from the book I’m reading and adjust my glasses. I have a pretty good idea why Torrance is here. It’s been five days since Butterfly Man’s last note, six since I’ve seen Gia alive.

My eyes meet Tristan’s. He’s sitting on the couch polishing a military knife like a sociopath. Sometimes, I want to chuck a book at him. We’ve barely spoken after the shower scene , but now is not the time for radio silence.

“I’ll see if I can dismiss him,” Marcus says.

“No.” Tristan coaxes the blade to a mirror-like sheen. “Let him in.”

Marcus glances at me for confirmation, and I nod once.

Tristan stands, knife swishing against the cloth in hand, as Torrance’s hulking frame fills the living room entrance. The two men regard each other warily before Tristan puts his weapon back in his ankle sheathe.

The detective greets me and then stretches a hand toward Tristan. “Detective Jacob Torrance, Oak Bluffs PD. And you are?”

Tristan’s eyes shoot daggers at the detective. “Tristan Morra,” he says tightly, ignoring Torrance’s outstretched hand. “Mrs. Abel’s head of security.”

A charged beat passes as they stare at each other before Torrance drops his hand and inclines his head at me. “How many bodyguards do you have? I counted four so far. Two at the gate, the guy from the last time I was here and your head of security . Are there more?”

Yes, Tristan first came with four bodyguards. Marcus, Brandon, Dixon and Riley, and then he added a new member after we received Butterfly Man’s last note, Maddison or Morrison or whatever.

I steel myself, fingers gripping the spine of the book. I’ve been preparing myself for this conversation for days, but there’s something about being in the same room with this man that makes me nervous. “Is that why you’re here, Detective? To count my bodyguards?”

“I’m just curious how many you need when the psycho stalking you and threatening to kill people to earn your love turned out to be a myth.”

“Certainly, it is something more pressing than curiosity that brings you here, twice in one week.”

Torrance chooses the seat closest to mine and makes himself comfortable. “Can I talk to you?” He glances sideways at Tristan. “Alone?”

“Is my client under arrest?” Tristan asks, his face made of stone.

The detective snorts. “We’d be having a very different conversation if she was.”

“Then no. Absolutely not.”

A grin stretches Torrance’s mouth. He keeps it on as he peers at Tristan, weighing him in, a second too long. Then he switches his gaze toward me. “Does he speak for you?”

“When it comes to her security, yes, I do,” Tristan answers.

Torrance doesn’t take his eyes off me when he repeats, “Does he speak for you?”

A muscle pulses in Tristan’s jaw. His lips part, but I raise a hand to stop him before he says anything we might both regret. “Why don’t you say what you’re here to say, Detective? There are cameras everywhere. He’ll hear it anyway.”

He regards me carefully, studying me like he’s just done with Tristan. Can he hear my frantic heartbeat? Can he see through the mask about to smash into pieces if he keeps looking at me with those steely eyes? Finally, he gives a small nod, and I allow myself to breathe. “Very well. I’m here to—”

Tell me Gia is dead. Butterfly Man killed her.

“—tell you Saldana’s case is closed. It’s no longer a homicide investigation.”

I blink, and then I blink harder. “What?”

“We found CCTV footage of the man that was in the car with her. He left the vehicle when she was still alive. We found other footage that confirmed Saldana was driving by herself a few minutes before the crash. There is no evidence that someone else was in the car with her when it happened.”

“Does that mean her death is officially a suicide?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Not with the details he’s disclosed earlier, the breadcrumbs Butterfly Man left on purpose to lead back to me. Torrance painted a very palpable picture of how Butterfly Man took Saldana and killed her, as if he were there with them every step of the way. He was certain Saldana was killed, and my stalker was the main suspect in her murder. Now, he’s found new evidence that proves she killed herself and my stalker is a myth?

I don’t know if I should be pissed or glad. Who is running that shit show? Saldana was murdered, and Butterfly Man killed her as a favor to me. The police couldn’t be more wrong. And what about Gia? She’s never missed a day at work or ghosted me before. Her disappearance can’t be just a disappearance, not after those photos. How have they not found her yet? Does Butterfly Man still have her? Why has he not killed her yet? What is he doing to her?

Infinite questions jam my brain, seeking answers that I can’t find. This is his narrative. He’s always in control. He won’t let me or the police find Gia until he wants us to. “What about the man in the car?” Who the hell is Butterfly Man?

“Unidentifiable male. No clear photos of his face anywhere. He’s been very cautious, most likely because of his profession.”

“What profession?” That requires masterful stealth skills, access to drugs and the ability to control police evidence.

“It can’t be confirmed, but my friends at the station couldn’t find a better theory than the one you proposed. He’s a drug dealer.”

Butterfly Man is not a drug dealer. He’s too smart to be one. Besides, he’s stalked me for so long he must know how much I loathe drugs. He must know, no matter how delusional he is, I’d never accept to be with someone who sells them for a living.

But he’s smart enough to pose as one.

Was Saldana not lying about having a drug problem? Was it real and Butterfly Man used it to lure her into her death? Is that how he is going to get Blake, too? Tristan exchanges a glance with me, and I can feel the detective’s eyes on us.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Abel?” Torrance asks.

I push my glasses up my nose and set the book aside. “Yeah. It’s just a lot to digest, but thanks for stopping by to let me know.”

“I thought it would be best if you heard it straight from me, and I’d like to apologize in person, for the other day.”

My brows shoot up my forehead. “An in-person apology from the police. That’s refreshing. Yet too hard to believe.”

“I understand your experience with the force, on multiple occasions, has been less than satisfying, but I hope that by coming here today I can prove that not all of us are the same.”

“Like I said, too hard to believe.”

“Well, who knows, maybe one day I can change your mind.” He flashes his teeth at me. It’s not that menacing smile he’s given Tristan. It’s nice and genuine. Detective Torrance, when he’s not trying to trap people into a confession or thinks everyone is a suspect until proven innocent, can be charming. “If you’ll let me.”

Excuse me? Is this what I think it is? Is Detective Torrance flirting with me?

I wouldn’t know. In books, I can write men who flirt in every way imaginable. In reality, I wouldn’t see the signs if they were glowing in neon. I’ve only been courted by two men—monsters—my whole life. My gaze, reflexively, travels to Tristan. A man like him can tell if another is flirting with me.

Tristan is standing closer to me now. His posture is so stiff, and murder is written all over his expression.

Jealousy. Possessiveness. Yes, these signs I can read like an open book. Torrance is definitely flirting. What the hell?

“Now that my official business here is over,” the detective smiles at me again, “I’d—”

“Better go,” Tristan grinds. “You must be busy, so is she.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to keep you from,” Torrance stands and points at the book I was reading, Ravishing Her , “what must be a very important read. By the way, I finished your book the other day.”

I arch a brow. “The one you were going to give your sister?”

“Guilty. I started it out of curiosity, and I couldn’t put it down. You’re quite the storyteller, Mrs. Abel.”

So he keeps telling me . It’s never sounded like a compliment. It’s always felt like an insult. You’re quite the liar, Mrs. Abel. Except for this time. The first genuine praise he’s given me, and it’s tarnished by that stupid name. “Thank you, and please, since your official business here is over, call me Birdie.”

Tristan throws his murderous gaze at me. I pretend I don’t feel the danger radiating from him or see his knuckles turn white as he clenches his fist.

“I will do that.” Torrance’s face lights with excitement. “Would you like to grab a coffee sometime, you know, to discuss the book with your new fan, who is gonna be very dedicated to your novels from now on?”

My lashes flutter. Is this happening? Is he asking me out? Right in front of my menacing bodyguard who is seething with jealousy?

Smash!

I jump, my heart leaping into my throat. Shards of porcelain scatter across the floor, the remnants of an 1860 Sèvres vase now lying in ruins.

“Oops. How clumsy of me. I must have accidentally bumped it.” Tristan says without the least bit of remorse. “Was that expensive? I’ll pay for it.” He stands between me and Torrance. “Now, I believe you were leaving.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension so thick I could cut it with Tristan’s knife. Finally, Torrance inclines his head back at me. “How about dinner instead? Take a caffeine break and try a real meal for once? Pick you up tomorrow at eight?”