Best Kept Secret (Rochester Trilogy 3)

“Joe came over. He thinks Emily is alive.”

“What? That’s—that’s crazy.”

“Yeah. I thought so too.” I’ve felt like I was going out of my mind since I got the call that they were dead. “But he has her on camera. It’s grainy security footage, but it’s her.”

“Hmm.” Again with the soothing. Again with the calm. “It could be anyone, really. I don’t know how reliable that kind of footage is.” This was a mistake. From beginning to end, it was a mistake. I should have fired her months ago. That was the time to admit I wanted her with me all the time, and not in a way that could fit into a boss-nanny relationship. Now she’s somewhere I can’t see and can’t even begin to imagine. Some shitty Houston neighborhood that’s so far out of my reach, anything could happen. “Why are you calling me about this, Beau? You don’t care. Like, you sent me away.”

I pace away from the window, my hand in my hair, a death grip on the phone. Frustration burns across my belly. “I wanted to keep you safe. I sent you away to keep you safe.”

A slightly hysterical laugh bursts out of her. “Listen, either I’m in your life or I’m not. You have to choose. And you know what? You already did.”

She’s right. She’s right. If she’s safe there, I should in fact let her go. I should end this call, and I should let her go.

* * *

Jane

Emily’s in my ear, close enough that I can smell the faint floral scent of her. Close enough that I can feel her anxiety vibrating in the air. She can hear Beau’s low voice through the speaker.

I’ve had some experience keeping my cool in impossible situations.

This has managed to blow through my composure. I’m shaking. I never imagined that I would be having a conversation with my boss, with my lover, with the man who rejected me, while I was being held at gunpoint.

How’s Paige? Emily mouths. Her whole body is tense.

I raise my eyebrows back in the universal expression for this is insane.

Her eyebrows rise. It wasn’t a request.

My eyes flutter closed. “How’s Paige?”

“She’ll survive.” The truth is in Beau’s stressed-out voice. It’s gravelly and pained.

My heart squeezes. It took so long to gain their trust. Beau doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s been through things, too. Paige isn’t the only one whose life got turned upside down when her parents died. Now it’s happening again.

It must feel like her nightmare is starting over again.

It certainly feels like mine is starting over. Losing my father. Being plunged into the foster homes, which were dingy and sometimes dangerous. It feels eerily close to what I’ve experienced in the last twenty-four hours. Beau and Paige became my family. Now I’ve lost them. And I’m facing a woman with a gun.

“You’re safe?” Beau asks, a thread of concern in his voice. I don’t understand it. If all he wants from me is confirmation that I’ve locked the doors, then he’s already too late. Emily is in the apartment. There’s no getting her out until she wants to go, and I’m pretty sure she’s not just going to leave me here to live my life in peace.

The thought of Paige suffering hurts, too. She doesn’t deserve another minute of pain in her life. So maybe it’s a good thing that I walked away. It drew this madwoman away from her. If I don’t survive this encounter, at least I’ll have done that much. “I’ll be fine,” I say.

“Good. Stay that way.”

There’s finality in his voice, and I realize this may be the last time I ever speak to him. What will he feel when he finds out I was shot? Guilt, probably. I wish I could spare him that. Emily steps closer, eyes narrowed. She points the gun at the floor, but what would it take for her to lift it up and end this? Nothing. If this is the last chance I ever have to speak to him… “I don’t blame you, you know. None of this is your fault.”

A harsh laugh. “I fired you, Jane. Are you trying to make me feel better about it?”

“Maybe.” That’s love, I think. Wanting to spare him even as I ache. What a strange moment to realize I’m in love with him. When I can’t possibly tell him.

“Don’t.”

I swallow hard.

“If anything happens—”

“I’ll call,” I say, my voice tight. I don’t want to hear his worry for me. Don’t want to imagine what’s going to happen at the end of the call.

The phone disconnects.

We stand there at an impasse. Is she going to shoot me? Maybe. In a way she feels too rational, too sound for that. Then again even rational people can be dangerous when they’re backed into a corner. I put my hands up to show that I’m not fighting, but I do take a step into the room. And then sit down in the chair that she vacated.