Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(32)

The woman who had once belonged to Bill.

The woman Dallas had no right to have.

Dallas pressed his fingertips to his temples, fighting a building headache. The certainty that it was Jane who had tipped off Colin. The thought of Bill knowing the details of the kidnapping. Of learning that Jane had been a prisoner, too. The memories of what the Woman did to him—and the horror of knowing that Bill might learn that as well.

And on top of all that, the thought of Bill touching Jane. Of knowing her body as intimately as Dallas did.

And even more intimately, too. How many times had Bill been inside her? Filled her up and heard her moan. How many times had he—

Fuck.

“Bill was just leaving,” he said, forcing the words out through a clenched jaw and even more tightly clenched hands.

Jane glanced between Dallas and Bill, finally settling on the latter. “I’ll walk you out. Come on.”

Bill looked back at Dallas. “We’ll talk more later.”

“I have no doubt.”

Bill frowned, but turned away. Jane looked back at Dallas, though, and he saw the pain in her eyes.

“Why are you here?” Bill asked, drawing her attention to him and away from Dallas.

“Oh, they’re fumigating the townhouse. Apparently I have ants. And I’d heard that Dallas was having a party last night, and I wanted to see the debauchery for myself …”

Her voice faded as they stepped through the doors and out into the hallway. He heard their footsteps echo across the entryway, and then the sound of the front door opening and closing.

And only when he was surrounded by silence, did Dallas let himself drop down onto the sofa, lean forward, and bury his face in his hands.





Deliver Us From Evil

“Why didn’t you tell me Dallas had been kidnapped?”

We’re outside the house, standing beside the ornate ceramic pots filled with colorful flowers. His car is parked less than ten yards away on the circular drive, and all I want is for him to get in it and go far, far away.

But I know Bill. He’s dug in now. He wants answers.

Hell, he wants answers to questions he doesn’t even realize he should be asking.

“Jane,” he presses.

“I did tell you,” I say. I walk a few feet further, leaving the front porch and taking a seat on the marble bench that is one of the focal pieces of a large flowerbed that lines the curving driveway and leads all the way down to Meadow Lane. “I told you the same day you told me about Ortega.”

“You know what I mean,” he says as he takes a seat beside me. “When we were married. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

I stand again, unreasonably irritated with him for making me give up my comfortable perch. “It wasn’t my story to tell, Bill.” Which is a true answer, but not the full answer. I had my own story I could have shared with my husband. But I never once told him about my kidnapping, either.

He sighs, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “I wish you would have.” He looks at me.

I lift a shoulder. What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

“It’s just that I always liked your brother, but he always kept his distance, you know. Not rude, not usually anyway, but …”

“But what?”

“Like he was holding on to some big secret.”

“He was,” I say, thinking that Bill doesn’t know the half of it. The kidnapping, sure. But the other secret was me. How could Dallas and Bill ever have been close when I was married to one man and in love with the other?

I shiver and hug myself, and Bill stands up and puts his light jacket over my shoulders.

“It’s chilly out,” he says. “You should have grabbed a wrap.”

I just nod. It’s not the morning chill that has made me tremble, but the simple fact that this is all on me. I never should have married Bill. Hell, I never should have fallen in love with my brother.

Even though Dallas and I weren’t together then—even though we both believed we would never, ever be together—the bottom line is the same: I’d kept huge secrets in my marriage.

I’m keeping them still.

“Anyway, I’m glad I know now. I understand him better. And I understand you better, too.”

At that, my eyes snap to him.

“Your fascination with kidnappings. The books, the articles.” He nods, as if to himself. “It makes sense. Dallas is messed up, but you are, too, Janie. And writing is your way of working through what happened to your family.”

“It is,” I say, because that’s one hundred percent true, even if it’s not the full truth.

“Does it help?” His voice is gentle, reminding me of why we’d started dating. Why I’d thought that maybe a marriage could work.

“Yeah,” I say. “It does.”

“Dallas needs to work through it, too. Finding his kidnapper will help.”

I don’t answer. Mostly, because I don’t disagree. But for the first time, it truly hits me that Bill is absolutely right. Finding who took us really will help Dallas put it behind him once and for all. But it needs to be Dallas who finds them. It needs to be Deliverance.

Bill sighs. “Look, I get that this is hard, but talk to him, okay? Because this thing is bigger than me, and even if I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t. The investigation into the Sykes kidnapping is officially moving forward. You should try and help him realize that’s not a bad thing.”