Page 69 of Loss and Damages
Duncan strides in moments after me.
“What did you find out?”
He slides a folder across my desk, but I don’t open it.
“We traced the number to a burner phone bought at the Quik Mart on Highway 75 outside of Hollow Lake, two weeks ago. They paid cash.”
I sigh. “Time of purchase? Do they have a security camera?”
“They have cameras on site, but they aren’t functional. Only for show. The clerk doesn’t remember much. Two punks, dressed in black, ball caps low on their heads. She didn’t pay attention. They scared her, and she only wanted them to leave.”
“Great. Anything else?”
“Not at this time.”
That’s not acceptable. “They destroyed Miss Ferrell’s art gallery and roughed her up. I want them hung for that, Duncan.” I control the quiet rage. I want to pay them back for what theydid to Jemma and there won’t be anything left for the police to lock up when I’m done.
“Yes, sir. Is that all?”
“I’m not going to tell her this is connected to me. Not until I have to. I’ve contacted the Hollow Lake PD and they’re going to do the best they can without scaring her.”
That one cop, I don’t remember his name, he’ll do more than keep an eye on her. I saw the way he kept touching her while they spoke in the back of the ambulance. He wants her, and I have to be thankful for it. For now.
Duncan nods. “I’ll check in when I know more.”
I’d been prepared to bargain with Jemma all night if that’s what it took to convince her to give me a little time, a little space, until the sale of the 1100 block blows over. She was so sure I didn’t want her, and when that asshole threatened to do more than destroy her gallery, I had to leave. I couldn’t risk them hurting her, or worse, because she’s associated with me.
I fed right into what she expected, but I had no choice. Not if I want to keep her safe.
The way she let me make love to her last night, without protection. Christ, how could she not know I love her? She couldn’t feel it in my touch? The way I had to run my hands over every inch of her skin all at once, my cock buried so deep inside her I couldn’t claim another millimeter, but it wasn’t enough.
I told her I love her, but she didn’t believe me.
I believed her, when she said it to me.
The words sit heavy in my heart. I can’t do anything with them.
That night, functioning on no sleep, I drive out to Jemma’s. I shouldn’t be behind the wheel when I’m so tired, but I want to see her. I need to see that she’s okay. I drive the town car Duncan uses to pick me up for work, hoping no one will suspect I’d drive myself anywhere with what’s going on in the city. It’s not smart, but I’ll risk it. Police officers are constantly parked in front of Milano Management and Development keeping protesters from damaging the building. Wilkins has been scarce since his press conference, putting out his own fires.
Pitts was smart to get out of town, whether because of me or fear of retaliation.
No one is happy about the sale.
Jemma included.
Billionaire Bastard. That was the headline the paper ran with after the news of the sale broke. Is that what she thinks of me?
I park down the road from her gallery, the car’s wheels in the grass. It’s dark, and from the outside it looks like nothing happened. On the drive out, I called the gallery’s landline, and in the voicemail greeting, Jemma’s softly explained the vandalism and promised the gallery would be open tomorrow. She worked hard if she can reopen in the morning. I hope she had help. I don’t like the thought of her doing anything alone.
I lean against a tree in her front yard, and through the large picture window in her living room, I watch her move back and forth by the kitchen stove’s light. She’s wearing a nightgown, and the hem drifts around the middle of her thighs. Her shoulders slump, giving off the impression she’s sad and tired. Maybe she can’t sleep. If I went inside and held her, could she fall asleep then?
I’ve never felt this way about a woman, and I don’t know why Jemma’s so special. The quiet way about her, maybe, or the pleasure she finds in small things. She wouldn’t care about adiamond ring, but she’d treasure a quiet evening at home with me.
Home.
That’s a concept I haven’t thought of in a while. The penthouse where I grew up wasn’t home. Maybe it was to Leo, but I’ve never felt welcome there. The penthouse I purchased when I moved out on my own never felt like home. It was a place to stay, a place to sleep, when I wasn’t working.
I haven’t spent enough time at Jemma’s cottage for it to feel like it’s home. The closest to home I’ve ever gotten was when she told me she’d never leave me.
