This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2)(41)
A tear rolls down my cheek and I sniffle. “No. I escaped, but then Brandon showed up and found me. Then, um…”
“And then…what, Miss Winston?”
“He—” I pause because whatever I say will implicate Brandon. The thought of him getting in trouble makes my chest ache. He may no longer be the boy I once knew, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to be put away as a result of Gabe’s actions.
“I’m listening.”
“He died. There was a struggle…and he fell into the cellar at the cabin. The cellar where he was first holding me captive.”
The line goes silent for a moment. “Where can we find his body, Miss Winston?”
I rattle off directions to the cabin, as best as I can, since I don’t know the address. When I finish, she speaks again. “Can you come down to the station so we can get your statement? Or can we come to you? Where in San Francisco are you, Miss Winston?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not coming in. Well, not yet at least.” Picking up the phone receiver, I walk back over to the window to watch for Brandon.
“Okay.” Her heavy sigh comes through the line. “Well, can you at least tell me more about the White Collar Trade group?”
I swallow down my emotion and nod even though she can’t see me. “They were all rich men in suits. A fancy real estate company in San Diego. I don’t know any of their names except for one. Edgar Finn. He told me he would carve me up after he had his way with me and then dump me in the ocean. I’m afraid he’s hurt or done…worse to other women like me, and I don’t think he planned on stopping any time soon.”
She’s taking notes. I can hear the scribbling of her pen on paper.
“Miss Winston, do you know where your father is? Are you staying with him?”
A sob catches in my throat at the mention of my dad. “No, I don’t know where he is,” I choke out. “I’m…” The last remaining shred of my loyalty to Brandon holds me back. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope to God I’m doing the right thing. “We came to San Francisco to look for him. Brandon said Dad left a note stating he’d come here. But we haven’t done anything to look for him yet. He wanted to come to this fancy hotel, and—” I realize the words are rushing out of my mouth and stop to take a deep, calming breath. “He’s acting really weird. I’m scared, Ms. Stark.”
“Rita,” she says softly, “call me Rita.”
“I didn’t kill War, you know. Brandon told me you guys think I did, but I didn’t,” I tell her firmly as hot tears roll down my cheeks. “I loved him. So much. Gabe came back for me and shot him, Rita. There was so much blood…he didn’t deserve it. He was sick and that kind of death was the worst possible way for him to go.”
“Honey,” Rita says, her voice growing firm, despite the pet name, “Mr. McPherson’s not dead. He’s alive. I spoke to him today at the hospital.”
My heart stops. My world spins and I grab on to the frame around the window to keep from collapsing. “W—What?” I whisper, not trusting my voice. Alive. Alive. Alive. My War is alive. “I don’t understand. Brandon told me he died.”
“Really? He was touch and go there for the first day, from what I understand. He was in critical condition. Suffered a bullet wound to the chest, but no, Baylee. They expect him to make a full recovery. He’s very worried about you, in fact.”
My choked gasp is the last thing that comes over the line as quiet sobs wrack my entire body. With my back to the wall, I lower myself to the floor, no longer able to support the weight of my own body.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” I don’t know if I am saying it to Detective Stark or God or whoever, but in the midst of hell, this news is heaven.
“I’m so sorry you didn’t know, honey. We’ve been trying to reach you.” She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “I personally questioned Mr. Thompson about the attempted murder of Mr. McPherson, though, so he was aware that Warren didn’t die. I’m concerned that he may know more about the disappearance of your father than he’s letting on. Tell me where you are so I can come get you, Baylee. I have reason to believe you’re in danger.”
My hands begin to tremble and my heart thunders in my chest as if it may burst out at any moment. “He killed Gabe,” I blurt out. “He pushed him into the cellar.”
“Get out, now,” she orders. “Find a public place and call me. I’ll call the San Francisco PD and have them pick you up until I can get there.”
My mind races with thoughts of War. I need to get to him. To touch him and kiss him. To see if her claims are true.
My breathing is completely out of control. I’m heaving breaths as if I just finished running a marathon. “He’s at Fisherman’s Wharf at one of the restaurants, picking up dinner. I can leave now before he gets back but I have to go now.”
“Call me as soon as you—”
I hang up the phone and rush over to the shopping bags. I’d purchased a backpack to carry my clothes. Quickly, I unzip it and rip the stuffing from it. I shove my purse and a few of the new clothes into it. Finding his duffel bag, I search for the pictures of my family, which he’d put in there. I snag those too and then zip my backpack up.