Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(82)

“That’s doubtful. Once she files a report it goes in a computer, and a grown woman who apparently eloped isn’t likely to get attention over the long list of missing children in the world.”

“But if she was to push, she’d be in danger, right?”

“Doubtful, but possible.”

“We have to find her, and I’ll make up some happy story to keep her from digging around.”

“We’re trying to find her. But we have to tread cautiously, or we could bring attention to her ourselves.”

My gaze catches on a sign hanging above a store, and my thoughts shift abruptly. “La Perla,” I say, tugging Kayden forward. “That’s the lingerie I was wearing when you found me. I want to see if it strikes a memory in me.”

“You won’t get any complaints from me,” he says. “As long as you promise to buy something.”

I don’t laugh, focused on one thing: that store, and remembering who I am and how I got here. If anything helps me protect Sara and everyone else around me, it’s that. “I’ll stay out here and make some phone calls,” Kayden says at the door.

I nod and enter the store, noticing mannequins here and there, and long leather benches separating rows. It’s not even slightly familiar. I browse the store and choose several bras, panties, and a few sexy outfits I think Kayden will like, before pulling that credit card he’d given me from my pocket. I stare at the name. Rae Eleana Ward. This is me now. Ella doesn’t exist. I shake off the whirlwind of emotion threatening me and hand the card to the clerk, making this the first time I have freely spent Kayden’s money. I console my guilt over doing so with the idea of him enjoying the purchases I’m making.

After completing my transaction, I step outside the store to find Kayden leaning on a pole, iPhone to his ear, in what appears to be a deep conversation. My gaze shifts from him and lands on a store directly across from us with a ballerina logo on the window, and my stomach somersaults, my throat thickening.

Dance. I am drawn to dance.

I close the distance between me and Kayden, tapping his arm and pointing to the store. He nods and leans down, kissing my temple, and that easy show of affection I know he has shown so few people these past five years steals my breath and curves my lips. I cross the narrow street and enter the store.

“Ciao!” the clerk greets me, and I murmur the same reply, but I am already distracted by a row of shoes in the back of the store.

I weave through the racks of clothes and reach the display of ballet slippers. I reach for the classic pink I’ve always loved and freeze. Always loved. Images flicker in my mind and I shut my eyes. I am on a stage, rows of empty seats before me as I perform, while a line of judges sits at a table front and center. It’s an audition for a school, I think, and my mom is there. I can’t see her, but I feel her support and nerves. She is excited for me and proud of my accomplishments. It’s a good memory. A happy time, but as I choose my size of ballet slippers to purchase, the warmth of moments before is gone and a cold, dark sensation rolls through me, a warning of what is to come, and even the hair on my arms stands on end.

My eyes start to blur, spots forming in my vision, and I grab a garment off a rack and rush to the dressing-room area. At the back I open a door and shut it behind me, my hand shaking so hard I can’t get it to lock. I give up and walk to the farthest wall, leaning against it and clutching the slippers to me. Images start to flicker in my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m back in the kitchen with my mom, and I’ve just finished a cookie when my father walks in.

“There are my two girls.”

I glance up as he enters, and he is big and broad, his hair buzzed, his green Army T-shirt a second skin. It’s weird when he’s home and empty when he’s gone, which was six long months this time. He’s intimidating, a hero who expects me to be more than I often think I can be. And I love him. He sits between me and my mom. “Hi, Dad. I was just sampling your cookies. Making sure they were up to standard.”

“I’ll have to test them myself,” he says, snapping one up and tasting it, giving a thumbs-up before kissing my mom, who glows when he’s around. He shifts his attention back to me. “You skipped out on me today at the gun range.”

“Dance rehearsal,” I say.

He grimaces, proving he’s still not a fan of my dancing, and yet, he’d married a dance teacher. Sometimes I think he wants me to be the son he never had. “Have you been going to the gun range while I was gone?” he asks.

“Twice a week,” my mother assures him.

He arches a brow. “That means once a week, right?”

“Some weeks,” I admit.

A glass shatters somewhere in the house, and my father is on his feet in an instant. “Get in the pantry,” he orders softly.

“Dad—”

“Do it,” he hisses, pulling a gun from under his pant leg that I didn’t even know he carried, and judging from the stunned look on my mother’s face, she didn’t either.

She grabs my arm and drags me with her to the pantry and inside, shutting the door. We huddle together. “Mom—” I start, but she covers my mouth. Once she knows I’m quiet, she digs her phone from her apron and dials 911 but doesn’t speak. She sticks the phone back in her pocket, no doubt hoping someone comes.