"Talk? Is that what they call it?"
"What the hell, Jane? I'm pretty damn certain that the man fucking kidnapped us." He's in my face now, and I'm glad. I want him fighting back. I want a battle. "You damn well better believe I'm interrogating the fucker."
"You promised me no more secrets. Damn you, Dallas, how the hell could you keep this from me?"
He seems to deflate with my words. "Oh, baby. Baby, I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't want you to think--I mean, if it turned out our suspicions were wrong. I just--oh, fuck. I was going to tell you. I swear I was going to tell you as soon as we were absolutely certain."
"You were certain enough to take him in."
"Today," he says. "It all came together today, Jane, and I'll show you every bit of evidence we have. And you're right, I didn't tell you before, but I would have told you soon." He meets my eyes. "I truly am sorry. Hell, I'm sorry for both of us. He's my friend, too."
I nod, feeling numb. But the truth is, I haven't even started to process all my feelings--rage, confusion, anger, hurt--about the possibility that Colin could have done that. To me. To Dallas.
My hurt is still focused on the deception. On Dallas. "I trusted you. You're my heart. My lover. My brother. Jesus, Dallas, you're everything to me and you just--you just--"
I turn away as a sob rips through me. "Everything is public now because of you. And we promised each other we'd be okay. And even in all of that--that mess--you didn't say anything?" I look back at him. "I can't believe you did this to me."
"I'm sorry--I am. I was trying to protect you, not hurt you."
"No? Well, guess what? You did. All those times we talked about secrets. About finding out who did this to us. Hell, I point blank asked you if Deliverance had any leads, and you didn't have the balls to tell me the truth."
"I screwed up, I know that. But it's because I wanted to keep you safe."
I wince. Him. Bill. Everyone is trying to coddle me. "You can't keep me safe, Dallas. Not by lying to me. How can you not see that?"
"Jane, please."
But I just shake my head. I don't want to hear any of this. What was it I'd told myself in LA? That I knew that Dallas and I should be together, I just didn't know how?
Well, maybe there is no how. And maybe a lie this big completely erases should.
"Jane--" His voice is soothingly gentle, but I'm not ready to be soothed.
"No--no." My breath is coming fast and shallow, and I force it to slow. "I need you to go. Will you please just go?"
I sound so calm and commanding, that I'm almost baffled when he says, "No."
"No," I repeat. "No? Okay. Right. Fine." The calm in my voice is cracking around the edges. "Fine. If you won't go, then I will." I grab my purse and head for the door, fueled by a mix of anger and the need for action. Any action. He reaches for my elbow, but I yank my arm away so that his fingers only graze over me, the touch so damn familiar. And right then, so unwelcome.
I skip the elevator and hurry toward the stairs, both relieved and disappointed when he doesn't follow. I want to go--or I want him to go--but I also want a fight. I want to release all the shit that's building up in me. I want to explode, and I really don't know how.
It's not until I reach the street that I realize I don't know where I'm going. Obviously not to the townhouse since it's no longer mine. Honestly, though, it doesn't matter. Right now I'm so fired up all I want to do is walk, and so that's what I do.
Maybe when I'm tired I'll catch a cab to Brody's. Or maybe I'll go splurge on a hotel. Hell, maybe I'll go sleep on a park bench. I don't know. All I know is that I can't think. I can't focus.
I have to move.
I'm not walking with any particular destination, so I'm meandering through a pattern of long and short blocks. Now I'm on a dark residential street, the canopy of trees making odd shadows on the asphalt.
I hear footsteps behind me and move to the side, expecting a resident or dog walker to pass me by. But the footsteps slow, and even through my haze of anger and hurt, my skin begins to tingle with awareness and my heartbeat begins to quicken.
Mentally, I curse myself, because I am never this unaware when I'm outside. I always watch my surroundings. I always pay attention. And yet here I am, wandering blind in an emotional haze.
I'd left with only my small cross body purse and my keys, and now I slide my hand into my pocket and curl my fingers around the keys, letting the metal slip between my fingers so that I can not only punch, but do some damage in the process.
I continue walking forward, listening, and when I hear the footsteps again, I turn.
Mistake.