Page 50

CHAPTER 50

Tristan

I stand beside Birdie in the control room, my eyes fixed on the monitors. Every car that approaches slows down, then speeds away at the sight of the media circus. Until a familiar SUV approaches.

“There.” I point at one of the screens. “He’s here.”

Birdie leans in. “It’s showtime.”

We watch as Torrance’s vehicle comes to a stop just short of the reporter line. His face visible on the high-resolution camera, he grimaces in concern. It’s not the reaction I expected.

He doesn’t get out immediately. Instead, he pulls out his phone and makes a call. His brow is furrowed, his free hand gesturing animatedly as he speaks.

“What’s he doing?” I mumble.

“I don’t know, but he looks worried. Genuinely worried.”

“He knows we can see him. Of course, he’s acting worried.”

After a few minutes, Torrance ends the call and sits there, staring at the reporters. He makes no move to engage with them or to approach the gate. Instead, he reverses his SUV and parks it down the road, out of sight of the cameras.

“Is he leaving?” Birdie asks incredulously.

Her phone rings, grabbing our attention. “It’s him,” she says. She puts the call on speaker when she answers. “Hey.”

“Hey, um, I’m outside, but… Are you aware there are reporters outside your house?”

“Hyperaware.”

“Okaaay. Are you all right?”

She exchanges a glance with me. “Yes. Why would I not be?”

“Because you’re a private person, and I’ve never seen the press camping outside your house before. Besides, you couldn’t sleep last night and had to go out so early in the morning. Something must have happened.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Torrance pauses. “Shit. Please don’t tell me I caused this with our date. They took photos and spun lies, didn’t they? How? I took every precaution... Ugh, I’m so sorry, Birdie. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. Did your husband contact you? Did he hurt you in any way?” Agitation pulses in his voice at the end.

Her lips pursed, she lifts a shoulder at me, as if asking, “You think this is still an act?”

If I’m being honest, the guy sounds genuinely concerned, but I’m not going to be vocal about it.

A satisfied smile appears on her face at my scowl. “No, Jacob. Why don’t you come inside, and I’ll explain?”

“Sure. But do you think it’s a good idea with their cameras there? I don’t wanna cause any more damage.”

“You won’t. I’m waiting for you.”

When she hangs up, my eyes revert to the screen. The detective appears on another camera, walking towards the gate with a coffee tray in his hand. He’s keeping his head down, clearly trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. As he reaches the crowd of reporters, he pauses, visibly taking a deep breath, before he pushes through them without engaging.

When he reaches the intercom, he presses the button. The buzz echoes through the house, and I look at Birdie, waiting for her signal. She nods, her face a mixture of guilt and anticipation.

“Let him in,” I radio.

On the monitors, the gate opens, and the guards make sure only Torrance is in. Marcus’s gaze shoots daggers at the detective, and he takes his time searching Torrance thoroughly. Before Marcus lets him in, he opens the six coffees on the tray one by one and smells them. “Why six?”

Torrance shrugs. “For all of us. Birdie, me and her security. If there are more of you inside, please send my apologies. You can share, though.”

“Is there dairy in all of them?”

Confusion crosses Torrance’s face. “Except for mine, I think so, yes.”

“And why is that? Are you lactose intolerant?”

“No,” Torrance says warily, “I’m vegan. What is this all about?”

“Please take your cup from the tray.”

Torrance sighs impatiently and does as he’s told.

Marcus puts the lids back on the cups and throws another glare at Torrance. “The rest will be inspected before being served. Let’s hope it’s just milk in them. Enjoy your coffee, Detective.” Then Marcus ushers Torrance inside the house and tosses the coffee tray in the garbage.

I snort a laugh.

“He didn’t need to do that.” Birdie gestures at the monitor. “I know Marcus must hate Jacob for giving him diarrhea, but it’s obviously a mistake. Jacob being vegan explains everything. He must have thought the ice cream was diary-free even if he was misinformed. That’s why he ate it, loved it because, let’s face it, vegan ice cream must taste like crap, and recommended it to Marcus.”

If he didn’t lie to Marcus on purpose, got lucky with the flowers, didn’t tip the press and his morning call was purely coincidental, it means he’s squeaky clean and we’re back to square one. It means he’s a good guy, and she’s going to fall for him because that’s what she deserves. A good guy.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions before I check his story.” My fists clench as I head out. “Stay here until I’m done with him.”

Torrance puts his detective face on when he sees me in the hallway. “Where’s Birdie?”

“She’ll join us shortly.” I guide him to a seat in the living room. “Did you enjoy your ice cream last night? My friend here tried it based on your recommendation, and he said it was amazing.”

Torrance unbuttons his suit jacket and sits, setting his coffee on the table in front of him. “That’s good to hear. It was so delicious.”

“I don’t remember seeing vegan options on the menu, though. Why did you say it was?”

“Many restaurants will have the option to switch ingredients to accommodate dietary restrictions even if they’re not on the menu. You just need to ask, and that’s what I did. I asked the waiter if they could serve vegan ice cream, and he said yes.” His eyes dart between me and Marcus, who still has a murderous glare on his face. “Will either of you tell me why the hell are you interested in my diet, and why it’s more important than filling me in on the press situation out there? And where is Birdie?”

“I told you she’d be here shortly.” I pointed at the taunting vase in the kitchen. “What’s the name of the flower shop where you got those?”

“Why?”

“Security reasons. Name and location please.”

“Give me your number. I’ll share it with you.”

“Just show me on your phone.”

He scoffs and fumbles with his phone. Then he shows it to me. “There.”

I take a screenshot. “Where were you before you transferred to Oak Bluffs?”

“SON OF A—” Birdie yells, and a loud thud follows.

Marcus, Torrance and I rush to the control room. I barge in first, guns out. There’s a chair broken on the floor. I jump over it and securely press Birdie against the wall, covering her with my body. My eyes roam the room, assessing for intrusions or breaches, but there’s no one in the room except Dixon on surveillance. “What happened?”

Dixon throws his hands in front of him. “Mrs. Abel smashed the chair.”

I spin and get out of her personal space. Her face is crimson, and her knuckles are white. “Birdie, what’s wrong?”

“Blake,” she seethes, shoving her phone between us.

There’s a text from him on the screen. I got your divorce papers, little bird.

“It’s him. Blake gave the press the note.”