Chapter Three
Rosalie
I dream of her.Of us.
Of two broken girls whose fate seemed to interweave in the cruelest of ways. We met at a funeral home of all places. One mourning the death of her parents and the other saying goodbye to her aunt, the only family she’d ever known. Both alone in the world. There’d been something familiar, a shared sorrow when we ran into each other in the hallway.
A friendship bloomed that day, and suddenly, neither of us was alone. We became friends, then roommates and coworkers. Then we became sisters. Family.
“Kristin!”
It’s her name on my lips when I wake up with a start, my head pounding as I look around, trying to catch my bearings. Hoping more than anything that I’ll see the familiar purple walls of my bedroom and that somehow, the whole ordeal will just be a terrible nightmare, but it’s not.
I’m not in my tiny bedroom. I’m in Beau Donovan’s guest room because going home wasn’t safe, not while Leopold has my ID and knows where to find me. Not when I had nowhere else to go.
God!
I run a hand through my hair and push it back from my face, fighting the tears that cloud my vision. I close my eyes and inhale through my mouth, pushing down the panic that threatens to choke me.
She’s okay. They’ll find her. She’ll be okay.
I force myself off the bed, dragging my feet to the bathroom as I repeat the words in my head like a mantra, wanting so desperately to believe them. Fighting the guilt that I’m here in the safety of a former police officer’s home while my best friend is God knows where.
She’s okay. They’ll find her.
The hot shower I take does little to help with the grogginess I feel, and I’m sluggish as I drag on the jeans I wore yesterday, wincing at my sore knee when I tug them on. I shove on the hoodie Beau lent me last night before walking out of the room. I need to know if the cops have any news. If they found the asshole who tricked Kristin, then maybe they know where she is.
I head downstairs and follow the scent of coffee to the kitchen, and then I see him, bathed in the soft golden light filtering through the kitchen window, and he looks...
It should be impossible for someone to look as perfect as he does with the morning sun casting low shadows and highlighting every rugged angle of his face. I’m mesmerized, utterly speechless as I watch the way the sunlight plays on his skin.
He’s standing behind the kitchen counter, his tall, muscular frame filling out the shirt rolled at the sleeves. The light catches the subtle waves in his dark brown hair, cut short on the sides but longer on top. His beard is long and full, framing a strong jawline that gives his handsome face a rugged charm.
His gaze lifts to mine, light green eyes that seem even more striking in the morning glow. They hold a depth, a warmth that I could get lost in forever. My heart does a little flip, a flutter so unfamiliar that it gives me a start.
“Good morning.” His voice is deep, rough like gravel, and it calls to something inside of me that I quickly push back.
“Morning,” I force out, stepping into the room and walking to the opposite side of the counter. “Um, did you hear anything? Did they find her?”
My face falls when I catch the look in his eyes. He doesn’t need to say anything, not with the pity written there. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “The cops are still looking into it. They found the trailer, but the man had already left.”
It’s not like I didn’t expect it. Heck, the cop who took my statement last night warned me that Leopold could’ve gone into hiding, but hearing they found nothing crushes me. “Will they ever find her?” I ask, brokenly, even as tears threaten to spill. “If the man left, then—”
“Hey.” I nearly jump when a hand covers mine. The tears spill, clearing my vision when I look at the massive hand touching me, so large and strong against my small one. “The cops are doing everything they can. I promise you that.” His eyes, when I glance up, give me a little more confidence in his words. “Right now, however, you need to worry about yourself, Rosalie.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my brows furrowing with confusion.
“You still can’t go home. Not yet. Not while the men who took Kristin are still out there.”
I bite into my lip when it trembles, hating how our lives are falling apart right when we were getting a handle on things. Kristin and I made our little house our home, and the thought of someone breaking in feels like a violation of our little haven.
“I could get new locks,” I suggest, brushing my fingers over my wet cheeks. “Maybe if I change the locks, then—”
“It’s not going to keep them out, Rosalie. You know this.”
“It’s our home.”
“I’m sorry.” His hand squeezes mine. “I’ll drive you home so you can grab what you need for a few days. After that, we’ll figure out somewhere safe for you to stay until they catch Leopold and whoever he’s working with, and find your friend. It’ll be okay.”