Twirled Bond (Holly Woods Files, #5) (16 page)

But it never happened. I’m pretty sure that year was the year Liam Knowles, our quarterback, was injured when a drunk driver rear-ended his car and his backup fucked the game before it even started.

It honestly feels a little strange, reading these letters. It’s like I’m delving into a stranger’s psyche. I don’t think I’ll find anything in these letters that will even lend me an idea as to why she disappeared, but I can’t stop reading. The desire to read more from Lucas and piece this secret part of my friend together is overwhelming. Hypnotic, almost. I have to know more.

Before I know it, two hours have passed and I’m still on the floor, except I’m now lying on my stomach with my legs in the air and I’m reading the last letter he sent her. His family was planning to go to Galveston Island to visit his grandparents that summer, and he asked them if they could stop in Holly Woods on the way there. Apparently, his parents had agreed so he and Daniela could finally meet, and he told her the day he’d be there.

My heart clenches when I finish reading that letter.

So close. They came so close to meeting.

The pink-and-white envelope glares at me, daring me to pick it up and see her response. Daring me to open it and read its secrets.

“Hey.” Carlton appears at my doorway with two light knocks. He pokes his head around, first looking to my desk. His gaze flits around the room before it finally settles on me. “Uh, why are you on the floor?”

“Reading.” I wave Lucas’s last letter at him.

“All of those?”

“Well, no. Most of them.”

“And my next question,” he says, sidling through the gap so he’s fully inside and looking down at me. “What are you reading?”

I swing my legs around as I sit up. “They’re letters I took from Daniela Russo’s bedroom. She had a pen pal—a boy named Lucas in Nebraska. I was hoping there would be something that would help us figure out why she disappeared, but”—I trail off and shrug—“there isn’t. I don’t even have his full name to look him up and see if he has her letters.”

“You have his address though, right?”

I nod.

“Do you know how old he was?”

“I’d have to look for it, but his birthday is in one of the early letters.”

Carlton purses his lips. “If you can give me that and his address, I might be able to find something.”

“Really?” The word comes out a little too excitedly. “You think?”

“I can try. It shouldn’t be too hard. Even though the Internet wasn’t around when he was born, all of this stuff is logged somewhere in the data abyss.”

“Thanks for reminding me that I’m older than the Internet, kid.”

“Not the Internet. That was around before you. But the World Wide Web is way younger than you.”

I blink at him. “Run, Carlton. Run. Now. Fast.”

He laughs, backing away with his hands up. “I have some accounts to hack for Dean. Just bring me this stuff when you’re ready, Boss Lady.”

Honestly, if he weren’t my employee and a lifesaver, I’d want to kick him.

“Yeah, all right. Now, get out.” I swing my leg out and kick the door. It hits him on his way out, but he just laughs again as he leaves.

I bundle up the letters, pull the first few out, and set them aside. I’ll look through them once I’ve had something to eat.

And opened this pink letter.

I take a deep breath as I pull a letter opener from my top drawer and slice through the top of the envelope. My stomach feels sick, like nausea and nerves all bundled into one giant butterfly. Except that butterfly is hyped up on sugar and trying to escape through my asshole.

I put the opener down and pinch the top of the letter with my nails. This feels thinner than Lucas’s letters, which sometimes went over five pages. With good reason—this one from Daniela is one sheet of paper.

Either Lucas was the chatty one in their relationship or Daniela wrote a letter she never intended to send.

I open it, my heart in throat as I read.

Dear Lucas,

This won’t be like the others. I’m sorry, but I need to tell someone. I wish it didn’t have to be you. I’m afraid you’ll hate me. Even if you do, will you keep reading, please? I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...

I’m so scared, L. I’m not perfect like you think. I’m so ashamed. I’m so dirty. All the time. I can’t get clean. Hates me. Won’t stop touching me. Won’t stop, L. I’m scared. I’m so scared. I wish you could help me. I guess you can. Help me. Please. I’m dead if anyone finds out. I know it. Nobody will believe me except you. I need you to save me.

Love.

Xoxo

I read it five times before the words stop merging together into blurs in my mind and I can finally understand what she was saying.

I’m so dirty.

Won’t stop touching me.

Nobody will believe me.

Only the sheer force of my own will stops the nauseating butterfly from escaping in the form of vomit.

I pull up outside the police station. My hands are shaking, and the media is still camped up outside, but I clutch my purse to my stomach as I climb out of my car. It’s taken me thirty minutes to get myself calm enough to be able to leave my office and bring the letters down here.

Granted, the first thing I did before coming here was find and write down Lucas’s birthday and address, but still. I know that these letters, especially the one Daniela never got to send, are needed here. They can do things with them that I can’t.

I truly believe Daniela meant to send Lucas that harrowing final letter. I don’t think she would have written it otherwise. It must have been so hard for her to put pen to paper and admit what was happening to her.

“Hey, Noelle,” Charlotte says from behind the reception desk. “Drake’s in a meeting with everyone. Do you want me to ask him to call you?”

“No, thanks. I need to talk to him now.” I lean forward. “It’s about the case.”

“He said he didn’t want to be disturbed...” She bites the inside of her lip. “If it’s really important...”

I nod.

“Okay. Fine. Sit down a minute and let me go up there.” She smiles and gets up.

I take a seat in the waiting chairs, still hugging my purse. I feel protective over these letters, over the friend who was being hurt while I had no idea.

God. I wish I’d known. I wish somebody had known.

The knowledge could have—and would have—saved her life.

“This better be good, Noelle.” Drake’s shadow falls over me when he approaches. “You have two minutes.”

“Can we go into your office?” I look up at him.

Annoyance is in his eyes. “I have to get back to my meeting.”

“Damn it, Drake!” My voice cracks, but I stand up, grabbing the straps of my purse so it doesn’t fall down, and stare into his eyes. My own sting. “I’m not playin’ around. This is
important.
”

He looks at me for a long moment. “Charlotte, go back to the meeting and tell Trent to wrap it up. They’ve got enough to work with for today.” He gently takes my arm and guides me through the station to his office.

I swallow the tickly lump in my throat as he shuts the door behind us and sits on the edge of his desk.

“Okay,” he says, his voice much softer than before. “Talk to me.”

I put my purse on the chair and pull out the box. “I read all these letters.”

“All of them?”

I nod.

“When did you wake up and go to work this morning?”

“Not important,” I mumble. Too early is the answer. “The point is I read them all, and I found one at the bottom not from her pen pal. From Daniela to him. She never sent it.” I unlock the box, though I’m not sure why I locked it before I came, and hand him the pink-and-white envelope.

He takes it, one eyebrow quirked. “You want me to read a letter from a fifteen-year-old girl to her probable pen pal boyfriend?”

“Please don’t make me read it again.” The request came out weakly, and I wrap my arms around my stomach to hug myself like it’ll make it better.

I can’t believe I’m so affected by this information.

My heartless-bitch persona is really taking a hit this week.

Drake obviously sees the emotion I’m feeling as he pulls the letter out without another word. His lips thin as he reads, and there’s a hardness in his eyes when he looks up after what seems like several long, torturous minutes.

“Someone was abusing her?”

“That’s what it sounds like,” I say quietly. “But she doesn’t give any clues. I think it was probably deliberate, although it doesn’t help us.”

“And she never got to send the letter...” he summarizes. “That’s why it was hidden. So nobody could find it.”

“Yeah.” I shiver.

“Wouldn’t this be something she’d write in a journal or a diary somewhere?”

“If so, it would have been found before, right? I don’t think it’s something she would have left in plain sight. If she wanted someone to find out, why hide this letter? Why not leave it in a drawer?”

Drake slowly nods and slips the letter back into the envelope before setting it on his desk. “I think you’re right. But, if she was going to tell Lucas, wouldn’t she have said who was doing it?”

“Maybe it was hard enough to admit it was happening and naming the person was too much.”

“That would make sense. So, you think she wrote this right before she died?”

“I think she wrote it that day.” I pause, hugging myself tighter. “Otherwise, she would have sent it if she could. I think something happened before she could put it in the mail.”

“Or address it.” He points to the envelope. “Well, it’s not much, but it’s given us something.”

“Motive,” I whisper the moment it flips through my head. I clear my throat. “What if the person who was abusing her interrupted her writing the letter and she threatened to tell someone?”

He rubs his hand over his stubbled jaw. “That’s quite the jump but makes a real lot of sense. Unfortunately, without any other record of it happening to her, I’m not sure how we’re ever gonna find out who it was. Although I think, if we can find her abuser, we’ll find her killer.”

But finding them is going to be the hard part. Of course.

“Carlton is going to do his whizz-kid thing and try to find who Lucas is. Apparently, knowing his birthday and address means he reckons he’s got a chance of identifying our mystery letter writer.”

“Noelle.” Drake holds his hand up to stop me then holds it out for me to take.

I do, lightly putting my hand against his, but the way he grips it and pulls me against him is anything but light. He tightly wraps his arms around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder, my face turned in toward his neck. “I got your note this morning. You didn’t need to do that.”

I shrug a shoulder, looking down. “I wanted to. Rosie was already in and baking.”

“Hey.” He leans back slightly and pushes me back so he’s looking at me. Then he cups my face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that yesterday. It was cruel.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I spoke to Trent this morning.”

Damn you, Alison.

“You look like you want to murder your sister-in-law.” His lips twitch.

“Lil’ bit,” I agree. “Are you annoyed I spoke to her?”

“Am I annoyed you spoke to one of your best friends about me being a fucking ass to you when you’re worried about me? Oh yeah. I’m fuming. Can’t you see?” He raises his eyebrows, amusement sparking in his blue eyes. He shakes his head and lowers his hands to my waist, where he holds me tight against him. “Honestly, yeah, sweetheart. I am worried about my dad. I’m trying to work out what I want to do about the whole situation. It’s real stressful, but I shouldn’t take that out on you.”

“It’s okay. Honestly. There’s a lot going on right now.”

“I know. I just don’t want you feeling guilty because of something that was my fault.”

“I don’t feel guilty.” I pause when he raises his eyebrows. “Okay. I felt guilty enough to buy you lunch. But that was more to cheer you up than alleviate any misplaced guilt.”

“Suuuuuure it was.”

“Maybe a little of both.”

He smiles then dips his head and kisses me. My toes curl inside my shoes at the tenderness of the touch.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “I promise.”

“You could buy me cupcakes.”

“Did you have breakfast yet?”

“Does coffee count?”

He leans back, fighting a smile. He loses. He’s so bad at that. “No. Are you in your office all day?”

“Yep. I have to send stuff to the accountant before he becomes my worst nightmare.” I wrinkle my face. “Can’t I pay you to take a day off and do this for me? You’re weird and like numbers.”

Drake laughs. “No, you can’t. But, if it’ll make it better, I’ll call Rosie when you leave and send you cupcakes. And pie.”

“Aw.” I cup his chin, grinning. “Look at us, compromising and shit.”

His laughter echoes around the room, but whatever he was about to say is cut off by the voice of the last person I feel like seeing.

Jessica.

“It’s nice to know you can find the time to be alone in such a high-profile case.”

I sigh and step back. Then I swing my gaze to her. I’m staring at her when I say to Drake, “Please let me shoot her. I won’t even run. I’ll give myself up.”