Blood Revolution (God Wars, #3) (5 page)

My thoughts turned to Bill and Opal as I sat there, drinking my latte and recalling breakfasts and coffee with both of them. For me, it had only been a month and a half since I'd seen them. To them, I'd been gone two years and four months. I could only imagine how upset they might be if I suddenly appeared again, with no prior word and no good excuse for my prolonged absence. Aside from the book and betrayal, that is, which neither of them had anything to do with.

Well, the coffee shop sold little racks of cards. I knew Bill's office address. Writing a note was the polite thing to do, and maybe he wouldn't be too mad at me. I walked to the counter, bought a handful of blank cards with envelopes and went back to my seat to sort out messages for Bill and Opal.

* * *

After delivering the cards, I misted through the alley behind Dom Bell's. I detected no scents there from any of the murders and I was grateful for that. The club wouldn't open until six, and it was four in the afternoon. I misted home and wondered what I might put together for an early dinner.

* * *

A spoonful of homemade minestrone was almost to my mouth when Colbi Wayde's image appeared on the news. There she was, dressed in a pale-blue suit, microphone in hand, a malicious gleam in her eye and Hank Bell cornered in the doorway of Dom Bell's.

"I hear you have a silent business partner," Colbi's voice indicated triumph as she spit the words in Hank's direction. My spoon clattered into my bowl, splashing minestrone on my T-shirt. I barely noticed as I stared at Hank and Colbi in shock. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined things might come to this.

"Did you have something to do with Breanne Hayworth's disappearance, too?" Colbi asked with false sweetness.

"Fuck," I muttered before folding space.

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Bill stared at the envelopes left on his desk. One was addressed to him, the other to Opal. No last names.

"Sheila," Bill snapped, bringing his assistant into his office at a run. "Where the hell did these envelopes come from?" He still hadn't touched them—there was no return address and for all he knew, they might be dangerous.

"Director, I'm the only one who's been inside your office, and those envelopes weren't there when I arrived this morning."

"But where did they," Bill squinted at the writing. "Sheila, hold my calls for the next half hour, please."

"Would you like me to leave, Director?"

"Yes. Thank you, Sheila." Bill waited until his assistant closed his office door before lifting the envelope addressed to him.

Bill
, the note began
. I'm so sorry I haven't contacted you sooner. I just couldn't. I'm still really upset and depressed, and I hope everybody who's read that stupid book has a short memory. I worry every time I walk into a store or restaurant, because I'm terrified somebody will recognize me and start asking questions. I hope you understand how painful that would be. Love, Breanne
.

Bill read the note six times before lifting his cell and dialing Opal's number. "Bill?" Opal answered right away.

"Opal, you have a note in my office from Breanne."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

* * *

Breanne's Journal

From my position on the inside of Dom Bell's door, I listened while Hank answered hostile questions from a bitchy reporter on the opposite side. Gulping air into my lungs, I worked to forced down the panic attack that threatened to reduce me to a shivering mass.

I was about to reveal myself to everyone on live television, and it was to save Hank from uncomfortable questions and a potential investigation. Yes, I was transferring his suffering onto my shoulders. It wasn't a fair trade, but I had no desire to see Hank bullied.

"You can do this," I mumbled, struggling to convince myself. "You can do this, you can do this, you can do this." I gripped the doorknob in my hand and pulled. Hank almost fell over the threshold; he'd been leaning against the door so hard.

"Hi, honey," I said brightly, once I got Hank fully upright and steady again. "Who are you?" I glared at Colbi Wayde accusingly.

"What, uh, what?" Colbi, at a momentary loss for words, jerked her head from me to the camera, and then back to me again. The very person she'd just accused Hank of doing away with stood before her, while her cameraman recorded the whole thing. I'd just taken the wind out of Colbi's sails and she floundered for a moment.

"I'm uh, Colbi Wayde, reporter for News Seventeen," Colbi attempted to regain her equilibrium. "You're Breanne Hayworth?
The
Breanne Hayworth, from
Torture in Texas
?" Colbi was breathless as her mind gripped just who (and what) she had in front of her—the only live interview anyone had gained from the one remaining victim of Joyce Christian's unholy inclinations.

"Yes," I grumped. "And no, I'm not giving an interview. That book has obviously ruined my life and any anonymity I might have, hasn't it?" My voice was cold and trembling. No, I couldn't keep the quaver out of my voice—it was a struggle to remain standing as it was. My skin shivered over every part of my body and my legs shook under me.

"I hear you weren't aware of the book. Do you have ill feelings toward Rome Enterprises? How do you feel about having those nude photographs on display? How much did you suffer? Have you been in therapy all this time? What did your doctors say? What's the diagnosis?"

"I said no interview, and how I feel about Rome Enterprises and my health is my business and not yours." My legs refused to hold me up any longer and I almost fell. Hank, who'd stared at me before blinking several times in confusion, caught me as I went down. His hand went to my forehead, too, just before I fainted.

* * *

"Everybody in the country saw Bree faint in your arms after that woman badgered her," Jayson huffed. "Every news outlet is out for blood and Colbi is hiding behind her producer at the studio. I hear the media wants to talk to Breanne—and to you or Colbi or anybody else involved. I told Stephanie to hold all my calls. How's Bree doing?"

"Still asleep, but that won't last much longer. She was shaking so bad, I don't know how she managed to stand up as long as she did." Hank lifted the blinds on the window inside his bedroom to check the street below. He'd bought a new condo six months earlier, and he was glad about that—Breanne would wake up in comfortable (if unfamiliar) surroundings.

He'd left the club in Trey's hands—he didn't want Bree to wake there or in his office, which lay over the club and inside her old apartment.

"PTSD," Jayson murmured.

"Yeah. Probably GAD too," Hank agreed. "I don't think she'd have shown up if I hadn't needed bailing out."

"I heard the coroner is releasing John's body," Jayson said.

"Yeah. His brother called just before I left for work. Funeral will be Friday at eleven."

"You think Bree will consent to talk to me?" Jayson asked.

"No idea. Let's take this slow, okay? I don't know what she'll say to me, even, when she wakes, or if she'll just disappear again." Hank's cell beeped. "Look, I have another call. I'll let you know how Bree is after she wakes."

"All right." Jayson terminated the call from his end.

"Hello?" Hank answered the other line.

"Hank Bell? I just saw Breanne on television. Is she still with you?"

"Director Jennings?" Hank said.

"Yes, it's Bill Jennings. Is Breanne there with you? Is she all right?"

"She's still out, but she's sleeping—her vitals finally came back to normal. That reporter bitch wouldn't have left her alone if she hadn't fainted."

"Have you known where she was all this time?" Bill demanded.

"No, Director. I'm just as shocked by this as you are. I believe Breanne knew I was in trouble, so she showed up to bail me out. I have no idea where she's been, and I don't want to grill her the minute she wakes up. She needs somebody to look after her."

"I can help with that."

"If you can, I'd appreciate it. She may not be happy to see me, and she sure as hell may not be happy to hear that I'm still friends with Jayson. He really didn't know about the book, and he's horrified by the information and the photographs. I realize his father had a vendetta against Joyce Christian, but Breanne has been victimized twice."

"I understand that," Bill sighed. "I've been terrified for more than two years, Bell. Terrified that she was dead—possibly by her own hand. My heart aches every time I think about it."

"Mine, too, brother. Mine, too."

* * *

Breanne's Journal

"Baby, are you gonna wake up for me?" A gentle hand brushed my forehead. I moaned, still mostly asleep. I had no idea what black velvet I'd fallen into, but it had given me rest and a dreamless sleep.

"Baby, wake up, now. I need to feed you and make sure you're okay." Fingers touched my wrist and I realized it was Hank, taking my pulse. It jumped and sped up.

"Bree, don't do that. Calm down and open your eyes for me, all right?" I moaned again before turning on my side and curling into a ball.

"Baby, I won't let anybody hurt you. I promise," Hank murmured before brushing my cheek with his lips. "Come on, wake up, now." He pulled me against his chest. My hand was cradled in one of his as he kissed the inside of my wrist. My pulse jumped again and my eyes flew open.

Grateful that the blinds were drawn and the bedside lamp muted, I blinked into Hank's dark, worried eyes. "There's my girl," he sighed before tucking my head beneath his chin. "Hank's here, baby," he crooned.

"I'm okay," I whispered. "Mostly. Did the bitch go home?"

"Yeah. With her tail between her legs. She's getting skewered by the other news outlets for bullying you."

"She's having an affair with her married producer," I mumbled against Hank's chest. "I don't have a problem with multiple mates, but his wife doesn't know. That's what I have a problem with."

"Yeah." Hank kissed the top of my head. "I missed you. So much."

"How's Jayson? Did he know about the book? How's his mother? I hope his dad and Ross Gideon rot in hell."

Hank chuckled into my hair. "Baby, Jayson really didn't know. He got blindsided by this, just like I did. Jayson's mother left his dad—they're separated but not divorced. Not yet, anyway. Kathleen won't speak to James Sr., I know that much. I want to talk to you someday about all this, too. Baby, if I'd known, I would have kept you as far away from the club as I could. Still, you need to deal with this—maybe a little immersion wouldn't be a bad thing."

"Hank," I moaned, huddling against him.

"No, shhhh, you'll be with me. You'll be safe with me. Nobody's gonna hurt my girl. Come on, now. Let's get you fed. I've listened to your stomach growl for the past hour."

I recalled that my bowl of minestrone was still on the island at the house in San Rafael. I'd never gotten to take a first bite of it. "Hank," I pulled away from him—stared at his beautiful face for a moment before reaching up to tentatively ruffle his black hair. He smiled at me. I let my fingers slide down his face. I'd never gotten to touch him like that before. He took my fingers in his and kissed them.

"Come on, shorty. We're going to the kitchen," he said and slid off the bed.

* * *

"How was I to know she'd show up?" Colbi wiped her eyes with a tissue. She'd spent the last two hours crying on Mitchell's shoulder.

"If you'd been a bit more tactful, we might have had the interview of the decade," Mitchell muttered.

"What?" Colbi turned hurt-filled blue eyes in Mitchell's direction.

"I'm saying it's okay to ambush a grown man. When you jumped all over the most widely-recognized victim in the country, you lost any sympathy you might ever get," Mitchell pointed out. "I've taken three calls from my boss, and both our jobs may be on the line over this."

"Why did she have to show up now?" Colbi wailed.

* * *

"Jayson, where is she? I want to send flowers—or something."

"Mom, calm down. She's with Hank right now, and I imagine he has his hands full. We need to approach carefully, I think. I sure don't want her to disappear again."

Kathleen Rome had dialed Jayson's private number the moment she saw Breanne on a national news program. "I want to talk to her, Jayson. Surely, she won't say no. I want her to know I've pulled all my support from Mercy Crossings after that stupid letter Barry Stokes wrote to her was published."

"Mom, we can't deny that the company made money off those books. While we may have donated to other charities since then, Dad hasn't let go of a single cent of that money."

"He knows he did wrong. Look at all the letters published by other newspapers."

"They're just angry because they didn't get there first. You won't fool Bree like that—she's too smart. It's been over two years since anybody's seen her, and the minute she shows up, she gets blindsided again."

"That poor girl. Jayson, please tell me you've never hurt anybody like that."

"There are big differences between what I am and what Joyce Christian obviously was. First, consent is the biggest factor, and I sure as hell know how far to take things. You don't do shit like that. That's not just abuse, that's torture. At least Dad got that part right. Don't ever put me in the same category as Joyce fucking Christian."