Page 124 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
It’s been about half an hour since Tabby finally revealed all the sordid details of our little melodrama, and in that time I’ve charged through three of the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining—those all came and went with lightning speed. At the moment I’m mired in depression, and I doubt very much that I’ll ever arrive at the final stage, acceptance.
Acceptance requires forgiveness. And I will never, ever forgive myself for what I’ve done.
I should have stood up to my father. I should have refused to leave her. I should’ve told Isabel…Victoria—Christ, I can’t keep it straight in my head—the truth from the beginning. We could’ve worked it out together. And the way I spoke to Victoria in St. Thomas, the way I worded everything…Tabby was right. I did drive her away. First I abandoned her when she was pregnant with my child, and then, fifteen years later, I forced her to abandon the life she’d built for herself, out of fear I’d turn her into the police for her extracurricular cyberspace career.
On the bright side—which is about as bright as midnight at the bottom of the ocean during an eclipse—at least I finally found out what Victoria was doing in Laredo.
I have a daughter. We have a daughter: the woman I forced to run away and I.
God, what a bloody mess.
“Parker?”
I lift my head from my hands and stare up at Connor. He’s standing over me, concern written all over his face. Darcy and Tabby are sitting at the kitchen table with me, one on either side. They look almost as wrecked as I feel.
“It’s gonna be OK, brother. We’ll find her,” he insists.
I drain the dregs of the glass of scotch Darcy poured me, swallow the burn, and set the glass on the table. When I speak, my voice is so low it’s nearly inaudible, even to me.
“We haven’t been able to find any trace of her in St. Thomas, except the washed-up clothes she obviously wanted to be found. No one spott
ed her in Newark, though we know she went there to get the bug-out bag, which means she wasn’t spotted anywhere on the way from the Virgin Islands to New Jersey. She’s obviously traveling in disguise. She has a new identity and, according to Tabitha, a million bucks in one-hundred-dollar bills, and another five million in unregistered bearer bonds. She has the means to live more than comfortably for the rest of her life.
“And if she thinks she’s being followed, or thinks the police are getting close, she can simply create any new identity she wants, along with an entirely new history to match. She knows how to become someone else. Even you couldn’t find a hint of her, Connor, and you’ve been looking for a week. And if you can’t find her, no one can.”
I exhale, hard, and close my eyes. “It’s over. She’s gone.”
Tabby says, “Um…”
I crack open an eye. Tabby is looking at me sheepishly, twirling a lock of her red hair between her fingers.
Now both my eyes fly open. “Please tell me there isn’t more,” I beg, instinctively knowing there is by the look on Tabby’s face.
“First I need you to promise me that what I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room.”
At the same time I insist, “Absolutely!” Connor snaps, “Spit it out, woman!”
Tabby drops the lock of hair from between her fingers. She gazes up at Connor with fire in her eyes. “You have to promise, too, jarhead,” she says, and smiles. Her grin looks a little like something an alligator would be proud of, dangerous and toothy.
“He promises. He signed a contract with me, right now he’s on the job, and anything that’s said in the course of his work for a client is completely confidential.”
Tabby’s smile grows wider. She appraises Connor with a challenging look. “Is that right, jarhead? No matter what I say, you can’t tell anyone? Not even the police? And you can’t use it against me?”
A carnal smile takes over his mouth. He lets his gaze drift down to her chest, and then he says, “Oh, I’ll use something against you.”
Darcy snorts. “You men are seriously obsessed with your dicks, you know that? How you walk around with those things, I’ll never know.”
I pound my fist on the table. “For fuck’s sake—nothing is leaving this room!”
Tabby’s smile grows satisfied. “Good. Because Victoria isn’t Polaroid.” She turns her gaze to me. “I am.”
Connor does a double take that looks as if it might cause him a serious case of whiplash. “You? Edward Scissorhands Pixie Dust Fairy?”
Oozing sarcasm, Tabby drawls, “The very same. How d’you like me now, bitch?”
My jaw, once again, is on the table.
Nodding, Darcy says, “I can totally see it. And now I’m getting more ice cream.” She rises from the table and ambles over the fridge.
