Three (Count to Ten Book 3) Page 12

  Paige’s theory made a lot of sense. “Isabella looks a lot older than seventeen, and she’s certainly not squeamish, plus she’s very intelligent. She could probably pull off working as a nurse.”

  “We should hit up the hospitals, show her picture around, see if anyone recognizes her.” Paige stood and headed for the door.

  “Paige.”

  She paused. “Yeah?”

  “I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me all of that, but next time, come to me right away, so I can be there for you. And Paige, please promise me you’ll be careful.”

  * * * * *

  5:33 P.M.

  Isabella watched from her car as Arthur Bentley ducked out of the pharmacy door, pulling his scarf and jacket collar tighter around his neck to try and ward off the chilly winter wind. He hurried toward the car parked beside hers, flung open the back door, tossed the bag from the pharmacy containing his wife’s medications inside, and then jumped into the driver’s seat.

  As Arthur's car pulled out of the parking lot, Isabella followed. She didn’t need to bother to keep close. She already knew where he lived, so she kept her distance, not that she thought Arthur would notice anything other than himself anyway, but it was better to play it safe and not get too close.

  A motto that Arthur Bentley himself seemed to live by.

  He wasn’t close to anyone. He wasn’t close to his parents or his brother or even his wife. Especially his wife.

  Maddie Bentley was drop-dead gorgeous—an ex-model. She was sexy and playful and vivacious, everything that Arthur had been looking for in a wife. At least, she had been.

  Tragically, just weeks after their wedding, Maddie Bentley had been permanently brain damaged in a car accident. Now the formerly effervescent model couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, couldn’t feed herself, or take care of herself. Forbidden—under threat of being disinherited—from divorcing his disabled wife, Arthur had sought an escape route from the nightmare he now found himself trapped in. Hiring a full-time nurse, from Arthur's point of view no doubt one of the times he was most happy to be filthy rich, he had dedicated his time to his many affairs.

  First off, he had worked through all of Maddie’s model friends. Not one to want more than casual sex, his relationships never lasted more than a couple of weeks, and then he was on to the next woman. Other than sex, all he had to offer was expensive gifts, which he showered on his woman of the moment. Until he got bored with them.

  Isabella couldn’t fathom why these women would demean themselves by allowing Arthur to make them just another notch on his belt. Sure, Arthur was probably what most women would call drop-dead gorgeous. He had big green eyes, dimples, and chestnut brown hair which he wore kind of long so that it hung in his eyes and gave him a sort of little boy look. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and well-developed muscles from hours spent working out. None of that appealed to Isabella. She didn’t understand why women could be sucked in by a pretty but vacuous package.

  Still, she had to do what she had to do. So she had followed him to his favorite bar, some fancy place where he now went to pick up his women, and gotten his number. He hadn't tried to pick her up, of course. She wasn’t pretty like her sister, Sofia. She was tall, and most guys didn’t like a woman taller than them. She was only seventeen, but she looked years older than her age. She wasn’t overweight, but she wasn’t thin either. Her hair was too red; lacking the golden tints that made her sister’s hair so beautiful. Her eyes were too serious, and she never smiled. All in all, there was nothing attractive about her that would appeal to someone like Arthur Bentley.

  She had—accurately—zeroed in on the woman in the bar she thought would be most likely to draw in Arthur, and she sat close by. When Arthur had left the woman his number, written on a napkin, she had surreptitiously swiped it so the woman was unable to call and set up a date.

  Instead, Isabella intended to call in her place.

  Right now, in fact, she thought, as she pulled to a stop in front of Arthur's house, watching him drag his feet as he headed toward the front door of his own personal prison. She dialed the number, then folded the napkin and placed it in her bag. She watched as Arthur’s face lit up as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

  “Hello?” his eager voice filled her car a moment later.

  “Arthur?” she replied, perfectly mimicking the blonde from the bar.

  “Yes,” his eagerness morphed into fervent desperation.

  “It’s Vanessa. From the bar,” she added.

  “Hi, Vanessa from the bar,” he drawled in a voice Isabella was sure he thought made women swoon. Which it probably did. Luckily, she wasn’t most women.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to meet up later tonight,” she asked, keeping her tone low and seductive.

  “Oh, yeah,” a greedy quality inched into his voice and Isabella suppressed a shiver. There was no way she was letting this man touch her. Arthur rattled off a time and address, which Isabella knew was an apartment he kept to entertain his women. “Can't wait, babe,” he all but sang at her, then hung up.

  Arthur danced down the path and up to his front door. The man was obviously a sex addict, Isabella decided. She didn’t see the point of sex if it wasn’t with someone you genuinely loved and cared about. And Arthur certainly didn’t care about her or Vanessa or any of the other women he slept with.

  Oh, well, she shrugged. She had given up a long time ago trying to understand how most of the world saw things. It was pointless. She was different. She just didn’t get it.

  There was one thing she did get, though.

  And that was consequences.

  And Arthur was about to suffer his.

  As she pulled away from the curb, Isabella knew that one day she too would have to suffer the consequences of her actions.

  * * * * *

  6:28 P.M.

  Xavier should be home by now, Annabelle decided.

  She was worried.

  Which annoyed her.

  Mainly because Xavier wasn’t even at work right now; he was visiting with his ex-partner, Kate, and her three-month-old baby boy. He had asked her to go with him, of course. Begged her was probably a more accurate description. But she had turned him down. She couldn’t face leaving the house right now.

  So here she was in the bedroom, curled up on the bed with the TV on but having no idea what was playing, with every light in the house blazing, worrying about him.

  What was worrying her was the overwhelming fear that Ricky Preston had gotten to Xavier.

  Ricky wanted to toy with her. He wanted to make her suffer. And there was no greater way to make her suffer than to take away the only good thing she had in her life: Xavier.

  Annabelle had no doubt that given enough time, Ricky would come for her.

  It was a given.

  He had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t finished with her.

  And the longer he waited to finish her off, the worse it was.

  Which she suspected was the point.

  With each day, with each hour that passed, she was beginning to feel more and more like she would never be able to climb out of the black hole Ricky had flung her into. She just wasn’t sure that she had it in her to get better. And if this was going to be her life, for the rest of her life, then she just plain wasn’t sure she could do it.

  She was starting to think about alternatives.

  One of the things that worried her the most about her present emotional state was Xavier. He had already been through this before with Julia. He had already had to suffer watching the woman he loved be eaten alive by trauma. Julia had imploded with it. And Annabelle was sure that she was on the same track.

  She knew her emotional demise would crush Xavier.

  She just couldn’t bear to put him through that again.

  Therefore, she was thinking about simply disappearing. Not that she knew where she would go. She didn’t have any family. And she didn’t have any friends. Nor was she capable of working right now
. It wasn’t the best look for a kindergarten teacher to jump at every little noise, or to shriek as flashbacks plagued her, or to come to work in a fog because she didn’t sleep. All of that made her totally unsuitable to be around young children right now. Since she couldn’t work, she couldn’t support herself financially.

  Maybe she could just disappear into the woods some place. Some place quiet—though that wasn’t a realistic proposition either. She hated the woods. She hated the bugs, and the mud, and basically everything to do with the outdoors. Still, the idea of living in a little log cabin in the middle of nowhere held a certain appeal. Although Annabelle didn’t think she could live without running water and electricity and a toilet. Nor could she catch or grow her own food. So, that plan was essentially useless.

  There was an overall problem with her disappearing anyway, even if she could figure out a way to make it work. And that was Xavier.

  Annabelle knew there was no chance that he would simply let her disappear. He would do whatever it took to find her. He would quit his job, leave behind his family, and he would search the entire world until he found her.

  Which meant that disappearing probably wasn’t going to work. In fact, it was only going to do the exact opposite of what she would have been trying to achieve. Instead of sparing Xavier the stress and worry of watching her fall completely apart, she would only be causing him stress and worry of a different sort.

  There was another way she could spare Xavier pain and that was simply to end her life. Annabelle knew, of course, that killing herself would indeed cause Xavier pain, but at least it would be over and done with. He wouldn’t have to watch her die slowly, a little piece at a time; she would just simply be gone.

  Suicide could be the answer to all her problems.

  That’s why it kept coming back into her mind each time she banished it.

  If she were dead, then she wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. And Xavier wouldn’t have to stand by and witness her demise.

  With a shaking hand, she reached into the pocket of her fluffy pink robe and pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills. For some reason, she carried them with her most of the time. Maybe because suicide was always at the back of her mind.

  She studied the small bottle.

  Could she do this?

  Could she swallow an entire bottle of pills knowing it would kill her?

  What if it didn’t?

  What if she survived?

  Xavier would be so disappointed in her.

  That hurt.

  She didn’t want him to be disappointed in her. And yet, by living the way she was right now, she was making him disappointed anyway.

  Slowly, she unscrewed the lid.

  Giving the bottle a shake, she watched the pills bounce inside—almost mesmerized.

  Taking a long, slow, deep breath, she tipped a few out into her hand.

  This was it.

  It was time to decide.

  Was she going to do this?

  “Annabelle?”

  With a strangled squawk, she spun around, managing to slip the pills back into the bottle before Xavier saw what she’d been about to do. She forced a smile to her lips. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” His eyes were searching her face, clearly aware that something was up.

  She tried to surreptitiously sneak the bottle of sleeping pills back into her pocket before Xavier saw it. “Did you have a nice time at Kate’s?” She hoped her attempt at making her voice sound bright and bubbly was working.

  “What was in your hand?” Xavier asked instead, his gaze zeroing in on her pocket.

  “Uh, nothing.” Annabelle made a move to breeze past him, but he grabbed her arm, holding it in a vice like grip.

  “What’s going on?”

  Tears were brimming in her eyes, and she was already ashamed of what she had nearly done. How could she have even contemplated killing herself? If she did it, if she committed suicide, she couldn’t take it back. Regret wouldn’t be an option. Giving a sharp shake of her head, she tried to tug her arm free.

  Apparently, Xavier wasn’t buying that. He held her with one hand, and with his other, he reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle. His face grew pale and his eyes were wide. “What were you going to do with these?” he demanded.

  “I…I…I…” she stammered, unable to come up with a quick lie.

  “How many did you take?” he sounded panicked.

  “I…I…” She couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

  “Belle? How many did you take? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  “None.” She managed to force the word out only because Xavier was looking so scared.

  He let out a relieved sigh. “Belle?” He held her chin and made her look at him. Xavier’s eyes were turbulent, but his voice was impossibly gentle. “Were you thinking about killing yourself?”

  The tears that had been welling up in her eyes overflowed, streaming down her cheeks, and she let herself fall against Xavier’s sturdy chest. She didn’t want to admit that she had been. She didn’t want to let him down. She wanted to pretend that she had never even contemplated suicide. And yet, at the same time, the need to tell him everything was almost overwhelming. She was tired, upset, and more than anything else, she just needed to be in Xavier’s arms right now.

  He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against him. “Belle?” he prompted. “Honey? Have you been thinking about suicide? You can tell me if you have; we can work through it together.”

  Everything came tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t really want to,” she sobbed. “But I'm so tired, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to remember what happened. I don’t want to think about what Ricky might do to me in the future. I don’t want to die; I just don’t want to live like this. I just want to be normal. What if I'm not? What if I won't ever be normal? Xavier…” The last was a desperate whimper.

  Instead of replying, he picked her up, carried her back to the bed and laid down with her snuggled at his side. He held her until her tears were spent, stroking her hair and murmuring to her that he loved her and he was never going to leave her. When she finished crying, she felt drained—completely exhausted. She could barely lift her head from Xavier’s shoulder. Her eyes wouldn’t open, no matter how much she tried.

  “Relax,” Xavier whispered in her ear. “Just rest. We’ll talk in the morning. We’ll get you more help. We’ll do whatever we must, to get you through this. But right now, just sleep. I love you, Belle.”

  Annabelle wanted to return the sentiment, but she was quickly fading toward sleep. Instead she just pressed closer against Xavier’s warm, hard body, and prayed that he was right. That there was a way to get her through this.

  * * * * *

  10:16 P.M.

  Behind him, Annabelle sighed in the bed and rolled over.

  Xavier watched her intently. She was terrifying him. He hadn't realized just how much she was struggling. Again, he’d been oblivious. This couldn’t be Julia all over again.

  He had known that Annabelle was having a hard time. Especially now that Ricky Preston had reappeared. However, he hadn't known that she was suicidal. When he’d walked into their bedroom to see her holding a bottle of sleeping pills in her hand his heart had almost stopped. He hadn't seen whether she’d swallowed any, just seen that the bottle was open and she already had some in her hand. When he’d asked how many she’d taken and she didn’t answer him, he had been about ready to call an ambulance and have her taken to the hospital to get her stomach pumped.

  Thankfully, he had arrived home before she’d swallowed any of the pills. But what if he’d been just a little later? What if Kate had been a little slower cooking dinner and they’d eaten later? What if he’d given the baby one last cuddle before he left to go home? What if he’d gotten stuck at an extra red light on the drive home? What if traffic had been a little worse? If he had been just minutes later, then Annabell
e could have decided to go ahead and take the pills and already taken enough to kill her before he got home.

  It could have been just a matter of minutes between life and death.

  This nightmare just kept getting worse and worse.

  He rubbed his tired eyes. One thing at a time. As soon as Annabelle had fallen asleep in his arms, he’d carefully eased out from underneath her and collected all the medications in the house, locking them away in his gun safe. If Annabelle was being tempted to take her own life, then at least he could make it more difficult for her. He’d also called her therapist and insisted that she see Annabelle in the morning. Whatever it took, he was going to get her back on track. If he had to put her in a hospital for a while, he’d do it. If he had to take more time off work so he could be here with her twenty-four/seven, then he would do it.

  It had been a mistake to leave her alone tonight.

  He realized that now.

  It was just that he had needed some normal time. He’s wanted Annabelle to come with him to Kate’s; he’d practically begged her. But, as usual, she had refused. Xavier was sure that was one of the contributing factors to her struggling so much. She shut herself away from everyone and everything else so that all she did all day was think about Ricky Preston and what he’d done to her. She needed something else to focus on—something or someone. She needed to go back to work, or some variation of work since he knew she was concerned that her emotional instability would be a danger to the children she would be working with. Or she needed a good friend. Someone that she trusted, someone she felt comfortable with, someone who could help ease her back into the real world.

  Xavier was glad Annabelle had opened up to him. Admitting that she was thinking about taking her own life had to be a step in the right direction. And yet he kept thinking about Julia. Julia hadn't trusted him enough to open up to him. She hadn't taken any steps in getting herself the help that she clearly needed. And it had destroyed not only herself, but nearly destroyed him, too. But Annabelle wasn’t shutting him out, and she was trying her very best to get herself well.