Truth We Bear Page 7

  “As a service member, your DNA was in the system. When we find a body, we run its DNA against everything we can. This includes the military database.”

  I nodded. Apparently I’d put myself in this situation. I was shocked this wasn’t part of Abigail’s plan.

  “Do you know anyone who’d want to harm your parents, Mr. Blakely?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t remember. I don’t remember anything from that time. I was young, traumatized…” I’d already said too much. I should have stopped at young. Better yet, I should have stopped at no. “I wish I could help you. I really do. Is there anything else?” I hoped I wasn’t coming off as an emotionless sociopath.

  “Here, let me give you my card.” Montemurro reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a crisp white business card. He handed it to me. “If you remember anything, anything at all, you can call me directly. My number is listed there.”

  I nodded and shoved the card into my pocket. “Thanks for doing this, for coming here, for…finding them.”

  “Well, we played no role in the discovery, but I’ll pass along your gratitude when I speak with the head detective of that precinct.”

  So he was going to write a report on our meeting. Fan-fucking-tastic. Could this day get any worse?

  “As a courtesy, Mr. Blakely, don’t leave the city anytime soon,” he added.

  Fuck my life. I nodded and assured him I had no plans to leave the area. Before they could ruin my day even more, I quickly escorted them out, slamming the door behind them a little harder than intended.

  “Great,” I mumbled under my breath.

  “You lied,” Jezebel said as soon as I turned around. “Why not tell them the truth? You’re innocent in this crime, James.”

  “This is… It’s just too much right now. You’re the only person I’ve ever told.”

  When Jezebel had spilled her secrets to me about the death of her parents, in a moment of weakness, I’d opened up to her. I’d told her I’d lived in a self-sufficient community and that a man came and murdered everyone. But I’d never told her about Abigail, about our planned marriage, about how I’d left everything behind. I was embarrassed that I had been used as a tool to further his plan, and now, I was guilt-stricken for lying to her for so long.

  “So no one else knows about what happened back then?”

  Swallowing the knot that was truly beginning to suffocate me, I lied to the woman I loved. Again. “No. No one else knows.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Then

  A loud knock echoed through our small home. I ran to the door and found the pastor. I scowled, unable to control myself. I wanted to turn him away. I didn’t like him, and I was sure my parents didn’t like him. I’d considered asking him to let Abi move in here so she didn’t have to be around him either.

  “James,” he said, nodding his head as he pushed past me into the hallway. “Where are your parents?”

  I wanted to push him back. I didn’t care if he was the pastor. He couldn’t come into my home without permission. We had strict rules at Living Light. Mother once told me you had to lock up everything in the other world, but here, we didn’t do that. We trusted our neighbors. I tried pushing him out the door, and he smirked. Anger boiled inside me.

  Before I could answer his question and tell him to leave, Mother turned the corner, her smile fading when she saw the pastor.

  “James, go to your room,” she said. Her tone was short, her face in a scowl.

  I frowned. Had I upset her? I’d been rude to the pastor, and Mother always told me to respect my elders. But he didn’t deserve my respect. Was I supposed to respect someone undeserving? I didn’t know what to say to relieve her anger, so I said nothing.

  “Now, James,” she added.

  I nodded and ran up the stairs, pretending to go to my room. When I reached the top step, I crouched down, hiding in the shadows. I knew it was disrespectful and against the rules to eavesdrop, but I also knew there were things my parents weren’t telling me. If I didn’t listen, how would I find out what they were hiding?

  “You announced the marriage at the sermon. We never gave our official approval!” Mother said.

  She was angry. Her hands were balled in fists at her sides. She frowned, her forehead wrinkling. I’d never seen Mother so angry. Maybe she wasn’t upset with me. Maybe she was mad at the pastor. I couldn’t help my smile. Maybe she would tell him to leave and never come back. He could leave Abi here. I would take care of her.

  “I gave you a week to respond,” he said simply.

  I grimaced at his smugness. I didn’t know why I hated him so much. It upset me that God used him. Why didn’t He speak through someone else—someone more deserving? Father would be a good prophet. I sent a silent prayer to God, telling Him He should really reconsider speaking through the pastor. I made sure to speak nicely, because Mother once said we are never to question God.

  Sometimes, I didn’t believe the pastor even loved God. I knew it was a crazy thought, but I trusted my instincts. The only other time I hated someone right away was when I met Tommy. He and his parents moved here a few years ago, but they had to leave when Tommy wouldn’t follow the rules. He would sneak into houses and steal things. He would skip sermon. He would fight other kids. My parents told him to behave, but he never did. I’d always hated Tommy.

  “We’ve decided not to move forward with the marriage,” Father said. I hadn’t heard him enter the room, so I took a couple of steps toward them, hoping I could see better.

  Father was taller than the pastor, so I knew when I grew up, I’d be taller than him, too. I think the pastor didn’t much like my parents. Maybe he was scared of Father because he was a stronger man. I hoped I’d grow up to be stronger than the pastor, too. Father said it was my responsibility to care for the community because it would be mine someday. So when God told the pastor I was to marry Abi, I knew it must be true. Abi and I would lead the community together. I smiled at the thought.

  “James is too young for this,” Mother said.

  Again, her tone was short, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She never spoke to me that way. I was happy I never upset her so much. I tried hard to follow the rules, so I didn’t understand why the pastor could so easily break them and not get in trouble. Father always said there was an order. Before the pastor came, Father helped with sermon. But now, the pastor said he’s not allowed.

  “I mentioned that the marriage wasn’t happening until they were sixteen,” the pastor replied. Everything about the pastor seemed mean, from the way he spoke to you to the way he looked at you. Patiently, I waited for Mother to tell him he was no longer welcomed at Living Light.

  “That’s still too young,” Mother countered. “We want him to grow up, to be a kid, to follow his passions. He can’t do that married to your daughter.”

  Why was she explaining the same things over and over again? Why didn’t she see what I saw? She needed to send him away. He didn’t belong here.

  “This marriage will solidify my role in this community. We need to maintain order.” The pastor sounded angry, his voice gruff.

  I balled my own fists, ready to charge the pastor if he hurt Mother. Father was there, but he hadn’t spoken again.

  “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You want control of the community.”

  “I want the community to succeed in my vision, yes.”

  “In your vision?” Mother scoffed.

  “I speak for God,” he said simply. “And God would like you to join me in this cause.”

  I was so angry. I was upset with God for choosing to speak through the pastor. I was angry the pastor was so mean to us. But mostly, I felt bad for Abi. I didn’t want her to live with him anymore.

  “This is not happening, Pastor. Either you fix this, or we’re taking James and leaving. And believe me, more will follow us.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Now

  Jezebel squeezed my hand as we stood just outs
ide the small gallery. The front of the building consisted of wall-to-wall floor-to-ceiling windows. Inside, I could see paintings of modern art that closely resembled the art Jezebel painted at home. Each canvas was splashed with color, each stroke seemingly unintentional, but real care had gone into every mark. That was what I loved about modern art. It looked like a mess, but truthfully, it was organized.

  As I took in the scene before me, I was baffled. Tara had accomplished the impossible. She’d secured a location in Manhattan for a last-minute weekend party. While I admired Tara’s talent as a negotiator, Jezebel seemed tense beside me.

  “This is the perfect place,” I said, trying to ease her nerves.

  She nodded.

  “Good crowd, too. Not too many people.” I offered a wide smile.

  Again, she nodded.

  I cleared my throat. “Come on, love. Your minions await.”

  This time, she chuckled. Score!

  “There are more people than I was expecting. I can see the production company’s team in there. What if they ask me how the writing’s going and they hate my answer? What if they want me to kill off the main characters or something drastic?”

  “You write romance, babe. They’re businessmen. The number-one rule in the romance business has got to be not to kill off your protagonist or the love interest.”

  “Nicholas Sparks kills off his characters all the time.”

  “Yes, but he writes love stories. Love stories are tragic. You write romance. To quote a pretty fabulous writer I know, ‘Romances are just wicked hot.’”

  She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked my arm before leaning against me. I smiled as I reminisced about the time Jezebel told me that. We’d had a similar conversation after I’d finally read one of her books. I hadn’t been prepared for its promiscuity, and she’d told me that romances are supposed to be wicked hot. Though her stalker was afoot, life seemed simpler then.

  “This is pretty awesome, isn’t it?” she asked.

  She eyed the crowd inside, but I eyed her. Jezebel was the strongest person I’d ever known. I was often in awe of her strength. She’d overcome so much in her young life. I couldn’t comprehend the moments she felt weak. I couldn’t understand how she didn’t see what I saw every time I looked at her—one hell of a strong woman.

  “Yeah. Pretty awesome,” I said.

  Hand in hand, we emerged from the darkness of the street and entered the chaos of the party. The moment she stepped into the room, she was a star. I met more people that evening than I’d met over the few years I’d lived in Manhattan. To be honest, I couldn’t remember anyone’s name. Director this, producer that… All I cared to do was watch Jezebel in her element. There was truly nothing more beautiful than a creature in its natural habitat. She was fierce, wild, strong-willed, and utterly gorgeous. I was proud to be on her arm, to spend this night with her.

  “We’ve contracted a couple different writers to work on the screenplay. We’d love for you to be part of the decision process for the final script,” a man with light-blond hair said. He was young, and his pale-blue eyes sparkled when Jezebel looked at him.

  Jezebel smiled. “I’d love to participate.”

  “Perfect. I can have Mary handle the details with Tara.”

  I leaned in, brushing loose hair behind Jezebel’s ear. She shivered under my touch. A movement so brief, so simple, yet so intimate, I was sure no one but me witnessed it, even though all eyes were on Jezebel. “I’m going to get us some drinks.” I placed a kiss to her temple, nodded to the man we’d been speaking to, and walked to the bar.

  “Two glasses of champagne, sir?”

  My cock stirred at the thought of the other night.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Make it three,” a familiar voice said. “I’m impressed. This doesn’t seem like your scene. How did Jezebel convince you to attend?”

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, Tara. You know that.”

  She smiled, nodding. “You two are most definitely in that annoying lovey-dovey stage.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was definitely not a stage. Jezebel would bring me to my knees long after these beginning years.

  “She looks gorgeous tonight,” Tara said, eyeing Jezebel from across the room.

  I followed her gaze, nodding my approval. “There’s never a moment when she doesn’t,” I said softly.

  “She’s really recovered well. I think we owe that to you, James,” Tara said.

  I shook my head. “It was all her. She wanted to see a therapist and put in the work to get better. I was just there to witness it.”

  Tara smiled. “You truly don’t see it, do you?”

  I arched a brow. “See what?”

  “You’re her anchor. You’ve been a blessing, James. A godsend.”

  I cringed at the thought. Ever since Living Light, I’d done my best to keep God out of my life.

  “She was strong enough to face what happened, confront her past, because you were there, right beside her.”

  “As were you,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Not in the same way. You were able to help Jezebel love herself again. You showed her she was deserving of love. I couldn’t do that for her, even as her best friend. I’d prayed someone would come into her life and make her see just how invaluable she is.”

  I swallowed hard and stared at Tara. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t take credit for the hard work Jezebel had put into her recovery, because all I did was be there when times were too tough for her to stand alone. In those moments, I carried her and her demons.

  She smiled at me. “It’s okay to admit you were an important part of her recovery.”

  Tara was a few years older than Jezebel. They’d both attended the same undergrad university, and since they’d both majored in English, they’d had a few classes together. It hadn’t taken long for them to bond over books and lattes. I imagined them staying up late, confessing their love for the written word.

  Aside from that, Tara was Jezebel’s opposite in every sense of the word. She had dark-black skin and short, natural hair. She loved to work. Her business was put before anything else. She was technical, whereas Jezebel was emotional. Occasionally, Jezebel’s inability to take the business side of this industry seriously annoyed Tara to no end, but she loved her like a little sister. I was grateful for Tara.

  “If I’m taking credit here, then you should, too,” I said.

  “What’d I do?”

  “Well, for one thing, you told her to hire a bodyguard. I literally can’t thank you enough for introducing us.”

  She barked out a hard laugh.

  “I think Jezebel admires you. She may not share your disdain for emotional thinking, but you are definitely the person she wants to be like when she grows up.”

  “Aw, James. You’re a big softy!” She smacked my arm, smiling.

  I laughed, but something just beyond her silhouette caught my eye. “Incoming,” I said, turning as a stranger approached, her sights on Tara.

  Instead, I set my sights on Jezebel, watching as she laughed at a joke someone made. Her eyes grew wide, her hand covered her mouth, and she bellowed loudly. I didn’t regret missing the joke, but I did regret missing the way she’d lean against me when something was too funny for her to even hold her own weight. Without me there, she had to support herself. Once again, I was in awe of her strength. It wasn’t too long ago she was fighting for her life. So few people experience what she went through and live to tell the story. But if anyone could do it, I wasn’t surprised that it was my sexy wordsmith.

  My eyes trailed her frame. She wore a form-fitting, dark-teal dress. It was sleeveless and low-cut, leaving her back nearly bare, especially with her hair pulled back. Her strappy black heels made her legs even longer. I ached to rip off her dress. I was sure she’d picked out this attire for just this occasion.

  I didn’t know much about fashion. Thankfully, men had it easy. Most days, I
wore a suit, but even when I dressed casually, I noticed the approval simple jeans and a T-shirt received. I’d put effort into my look tonight, not wanting to disappoint her. I’d styled my hair, trimmed my “shadow,” as Jezebel liked to call it, and even ironed my suit. At her request, I’d ditched the tie and left the top buttons of my shirt undone. I knew this look made her crazy, and I’d felt her lustful eyes on me all night.

  Someone grabbed Jezebel’s attention, so she said goodbye to the man who was monopolizing a bit too much of her time. I couldn’t see the woman she was speaking with now, but I assumed she was some producer at the company. I wished I knew more about this industry, because sadly, I had nothing cunning to say when people asked about my role in the publishing world.

  “Just tell people you’re the man responsible for bringing everyone together,” Jezebel had said when I brought this concern to her this morning. “I mean, it’s your job to protect a pretty important piece.”

  “Sir?” someone said, bringing me back from my memory.

  I turned toward the bartender. Tara was already happily sipping her drink. I added a twenty to the tip jar and took the two remaining glasses.

  “It’s a great party, Tara. Thanks for doing this,” I said when she wasn’t speaking with the brunette who’d sauntered over earlier.

  She smiled. “Jez deserves this.”

  “Mrs. Johnson,” I said to Tara, smiling and nodding as I turned to walk back toward Jezebel.

  “It saddens me to know Jezebel will ruin one of the last remaining polite men with her brazen tendencies,” Tara said as I walked away.

  Internally, I chuckled. She was right. Jezebel was turning me into a sexual fiend, and I definitely didn’t care.

  “Champagne,” I said, offering Jezebel her glass. She blushed as she took it, dragging her teeth over her lower lip. I suppressed a groan, even though my dick throbbed in response. She had a way of capturing my complete attention, and I was sure she knew of this power she had over me.