The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(20)
Author: J.C. Reed

I had no idea, but I knew this: money couldn’t buy my approval or an alibi. It sure as hell didn’t buy my forgiveness—if that was what he wanted.

No, he had to earn it all back. There was no doubt about that. And with all that had happened, he had a big explanation to give.

I checked my watch. Twelve frigging hours. I couldn’t wait that long. I felt as though I no longer had a choice whether I wanted to go or not.

I had to see Jett now, if only to talk with him and make him clear that I had no intention of accepting his money. I had to find out what was going on. Jett was the only person who not only held all the answers; he was also the only one who could put things straight. The last thing I wanted was to owe him in any way.

Ten thousand dollars.

I shook my head. I’d be damned if I’d keep it.

The drive to Jett’s luxurious Manhattan apartment was longer than ever before. If I hurried, I might catch him before work.

Greeting the concierge in the foyer, I kept my head low as I stepped into the shiny modern elevator to ride up to Jett’s penthouse. I winced when I caught my reflection in the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror. My face resembled a map of pain—bewilderment, shock, anger, and fear—all emotions not even make-up could conceal. It was hard to believe the changes that happened in the past three days. Since when had life become so complicated, and what had I done wrong to deserve it?

My hands shaking slightly, I reapplied my lipstick, tapping some of it on my pale cheeks because I wouldn’t give Jett the satisfaction of seeing how much pain his absence and secrets had caused me. If I wanted to make it clear that I was strong enough to stand on my own two feet and didn’t need his money, I had to be convincing. Even if that meant looking like nothing—no answer, no reply, no reaction, not even a single glance from him—could faze me.

Stopping in front of his penthouse, I searched for the keys Jett had given me, and found them hidden inside a secret pocket in my handbag. The smooth metal felt too intimate, too personal, reminding me of the way his hand had touched my body countless times. Another tingling flush of apprehension crept up my back at the thought of seeing him, and my heart fluttered in my chest. There was no reason to be as nervous as on the day I started working for him. I had seen his beautiful face so many times, surely I was immune against his charm by now.

Don’t kid yourself, Stewart.

Walking in, I braced myself, my heart thumping in my throat so hard I had to swallow several times in fear of choking on my own breath. But as I scanned the large empty hall, the world around me became still. All the words inside my mind—everything I had planned to tell him—died. I drew in a sharp breath and clasped my hand in front of my mouth. Shock crawled up my neck as I fought to make sense of the scene before my eyes, my mind entangled in a desperate attempt to process the picture.

What the fuck!

Jett’s usually immaculate apartment with its two stories, huge gray railings, shiny marble floors and expensive furniture—the image of perfection and organization—was unrecognizable. Bright lights streamed through the large floor-to- ceiling windows, lighting up the high ceiling. I had always loved the way the large windows emphasized the grandness of Jett’s apartment, but now I hated the way they seemed to magnify the unexpected mess. Rows and rows of Jett’s expensive clothes were strewn across the rug and hard floors. Drawers were opened, some of them even pulled out, discarded on the floor and the contents scattered—as if a hurricane had played havoc with them, sucking everything into its vortex and spitting it out in complete chaos.

If I wasn’t holding the keys in my hand and recognized half the things scattered across the floor, broken and discarded, I would have doubted that I had the right apartment. I would have thought the place had been ransacked, but from the look of it, nothing was missing.

Slowly, I slammed the door with my leg as my eyes remained glued to the disaster before me. “Jett?” I called out, cringing at how thin and weak my voice sounded. My heart pounded in my chest as I stepped gingerly over folders, toiletries, bed sheets, and yet more papers, bypassing the large sectional corner couch that was pulled toward the middle of the floor, its many pillows cut open and the stuffing pulled out. My heels barely made a sound as I made my way through the rooms, but Jett was nowhere to be found.

I frowned. I had no idea what had happened or where Jett was. But judging from the condition his apartment was in, it looked like someone had had an angry fit. With Jett’s striving for perfection, it was hard to believe he’d smash in the place just because things weren’t going well between us.

My heart lurched as I stepped on glass. Smashed on the floor in front of the mantelpiece, almost hidden beneath an old newspaper, was a broken framed picture of Jett and me. It was a gift I had given him when I moved in. Now a huge glass fragment ran right between us, cutting us in two.

I picked it up, my fingers brushing gently over Jett’s face. I had told myself to stay strong, but seeing him, even if only in a picture, my heart sputtered.

As short as our separation was, it felt like an eternity. It felt as if many terrible years had passed. Hour after hour, I had kept sinking into some deep dark hole, thinking I would die from sheer heartbreak. Sylvie had been worried that I might try to kill myself, but how could I explain to her that there was no need for it. The heartbreak was slowly killing me from the inside, and Jett’s absence was almost as painful as was the knowledge that he was in trouble and there was nothing I could do.

Sure, I was angry with him, but I still cared for him.

My fingers clutched at the frame so tightly, I feared I might cut myself on the glass as hundreds of thoughts raced through my mind. Putting the frame back on the mantelpiece, I considered what could have happened when my gaze fell on the business reports on the floor, some of the pages torn and crumpled. I briefly scanned them and recognized some client details and properties.

I drew in a shaky breath as realization slowly dawned on me.

The detective had stated Jett was taken in for questioning. What if the police broke in to search through his belongings in an attempt to find more incriminating evidence?

It all made sense.

If they found traces of Gina’s DNA on Jett’s tires, the next step would be to come looking for undeniable, concrete evidence that linked Jett not only to the crime scene but also to the victims. They had the federal right to search his place though sure had left a mess behind. I turned around, taking in the room through different eyes now, wondering if they found something and, if so, what?