It was probably better for all parties involved if I didn’t ask the specifics regarding that particular step of Cade’s plan. (Plausible deniability, and all.)
I thought he was finished after those two steps, but he spoke again. And what he said nearly made my head spontaneously combust.
“Step three is Florida.”
My breath caught. “Florida?”
“Yeah. Florida.” He stared at me. “And that step’s already done.”
What was he saying?
“Done? How can that be done?”
“You know I called my contact down in Orlando. Asked him to do some digging into your uncle.”
I gave a hesitant nod.
“Well, I finally heard back from my guy today,” Cade said. His eyes went soft, as did his tone. “Your uncle is dead, Imogen. He died three years ago. Pancreatic cancer. It took him quick — three months between his initial diagnosis and hospice care.”
I shook my head, rejecting this information.
No.
No, that wasn’t possible.
“He can’t be dead,” I choked out in a strangled voice that sounded not at all like my own. I sat up suddenly on the bed, feeling the need to move but not knowing where to go. My spine pressed into the headboard. Without it, I might’ve fallen over.
Cade sat up too, moving close to look directly into my face. “He’s dead, beautiful. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re free of him.”
I was free of him.
My eyes flooded with hot tears. “But— But I?—”
“But what, Imogen?” he prompted gently, when I choked into silence.
“I’ve been running from him. All these years, I’ve been running…” I shook my head rapidly. “I was running from a ghost?”
Suddenly, I was in Cade’s arms. They were tight around me, holding me together as I fell apart. I sobbed against his neck, unable to contain all the emotions raging inside me.
My uncle was dead.
My nightmare was over.
And the worst part was… it had been over for a while, now. Three years. I just hadn’t known it. I’d been so terrified of confronting my fears head-on, I’d kept running long after I could’ve stopped. Kept walking that tightrope. Never settling anywhere, never putting down roots. Never truly belonging.
Maybe if I hadn’t been so conditioned to constant flight… Maybe if I’d chanced looking back over my shoulder every once in a while…
“Shhh,” Cade breathed against my hair. His hand moved up and down my spine in soothing strokes. “Don’t waste any more tears on that man, beautiful. He doesn’t deserve them.”
I pulled back a bit, so I could look into his face. The expression I saw there made my throat feel tight. I wished I had a camera so I could take a snapshot, but I didn’t need one. As long as I lived, I’d remember Cade Hightower’s face in that moment. It was burned into my memory like a brand.
“You ready for the rest?”
My brows arched. “The rest?”
“Step four of making you free,” he said slowly, eyes never shifting from mine. “Is your estate.”
I blinked. “My estate?”