Possession (Fallen Angels #5)(117)
Author: J.R. Ward

That expression … what if it revealed who he really was?

“I don’t know what to say,” she blurted.

“I told you, all you need to do is listen.” Duke sat on the couch, and braced his elbows on his knees, his eyes nothing but straight-shooter as he stared up at her. “And here’s the part I’m not proud of—well, actually, I’m not proud of a lot, but this … this is the part that involves you. When I saw you at that café? I knew you’d been to see him—you had that … hypnotized look on your face as you walked out. See, our roles got reversed after the Nicole thing. I started to track him at that point—and I went there that night to … I don’t know. I was pissed off because I’d just covered the child support he was supposed to be paying for, like, the hundredth month in a row. But when you looked at me, and I got out … there was something between you and me. Later, I went to that theater hoping that you were just there to hear him sing, but then you said he’d asked you to meet him.”

“So you wanted to see me because he wanted me, too.”

His eyes didn’t blink, didn’t move … didn’t lie. “That’s right. I asked you to the Iron Mask because I wanted to take something he wanted—but Cait, that didn’t last. Listen, I swear on … well, I don’t have anything of any value to swear on … but everything changed for me. I’ve been head f**ked over the whole thing between you and me, because I knew things had started wrong, and I didn’t know how to tell you. It just never occurred to me that he’d get to you before I could, to be honest. He hasn’t shown any interest in me since what happened with Nicole.”

Cait looked down at her Poland Spring bottle. Picked the corner of the label. Chewed on her lip.

For some reason, the image of G.B. and that receptionist fighting together dogged her. The woman had been viciously mad, out of her mind, totally rude—and G.B. had handled it so smoothly, like he seemed to handle everything.

But then behind that wheel of his car, his face … that beautiful, handsome face … had been so twisted.

Which was the real one? That was the question.

She cleared her throat. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I know. I’ve had to live with it all my life, and I still can’t understand it. Not fully.” He laughed harshly. “You want to know how weird it is? I’ve been going to a psychic for years, down on Trade Street. None of this seems real, so I thought maybe someone who deals in the unreal could help … protect me or some shit. I don’t know.”

“Has it worked?”

“No. She’s just been calling me nonstop about a dream she’s been having about some brunette.”

Cait touched her hair. “What kind of dream?”

“She just wants me to stay away from—” He stopped. “But listen, you’re a blond now, right. Although honestly, if she was talking about you? She was probably right. You don’t need this shit.”

Duke got to his feet and went to the door. As he turned and looked across at her, he was grave. “I’ve said my piece, and I’m really glad you heard me out. You don’t ever have to see me again—but I just want to ask you for one thing. If he shows up at your door, if he calls or texts you, if he writes you a song and wants to sing it to you, get the f**k away from him as fast as you can. Please. I beg of you, don’t have anything to do with him.”

Cait measured every single thing about Duke for the longest time. “Did you hear about the girl who died at the theater?” she murmured.

“I’m sorry?”

Cait shrugged and got down from the window’s ledge. “There was a murder—I guess it was two nights ago? Downtown at the Palace Theatre, where he’s been rehearsing. I didn’t think about it at the time, but he told me the police are on him about it. You don’t suppose…”

Duke marched over and took her shoulders gently in his hands. “Cait. Let me be perfectly clear about this. My brother is capable of absolutely anything. If you know of or saw something that leads you to believe he might have a grudge against that girl? Or some kind of beef? Call the police and tell them. Immediately. And like I said, for the love of God, don’t ever let him into your house. Promise me.”

She looked up at him. Damn, what a story. But sometimes even the implausible was true.

That was the basis of all fiction, right?

When he turned away again, she reached out and caught him.

The hug was meant to be quick, nothing but a brief, spontaneous contact. But the instant his arms went around her, she didn’t want to let go so fast. Dear Lord, he was still big, and hard, but the fact that he’d done nothing but talk to her for the last ten minutes was the best part of him.

She wasn’t just jumping back into anything, though. Too much, this had all been too much—and she was totally confused.

After a moment, she pushed herself away. “I won’t.”

“I’m sorry?” Duke said.

“Let him in. I’m not going to do that.”

Duke brushed her cheek.

This time, when he went to leave, she let him go.

The soft sound of the door shutting was the loneliest thing she’d ever heard, and as she went over and sat where he had, her orderly little house and her orderly little life pressed in on her.

She had never expected something like this to be where she ended up at the end of her year of transformation—thinner, with better hair … but still very much alone.

Then again, destiny didn’t come with an à la carte menu of options. You couldn’t pick and choose where you went—not in any meaningful sense, at least.

Listening to the mournful tick-tock of the clock on her mantel, she collapsed back into the chair and closed her eyes.

No crying, though.

This was just a broken heart. It was not something like what Sissy Barten’s family was going through—and in a time like this, she’d do well to remember that things could be much, much worse.

At least she hadn’t ended up like that poor girl at the theater…

Chapter Fifty-five

Jim was standing in the darkness, watching from the corner of the living room as Duke unloaded big-time to the woman he’d been sleeping with. And as Jim listened, the sense that he’d been cuckolded for the second time penetrated his brain and made it hum.

Oh … fuck…

He’d gotten the wrong goddamn soul again, hadn’t he.