Caught Up In You 5: No More Denial (Edgeplay) (3 page)

How about what you want?
Snarkarella’s question lacks her usual vitriol.
What do you want for us, independent of Connor Edge, the Rosemont or anything else? There’s a whole big world out there. Don’t you want to see it?

Of course I do.

Even if he let you see it, what would the view be like, behind walls and teams of security guards? Connor will never ease up on the safety measures. Everything will be on his schedule, his timetable, done his way.

There’s no arguing with the truths she speaks. Connor does sequester me. Sure it’s for my protection, but if not for him, I wouldn’t need protection, would I?

His breathing has evened out, he’s asleep. Again my heart clenches as though someone is squeezing it in a fist.
I can’t just abandon him.

Who says it has to be forever? Go get a life and if you decide to let Connor Edge be a part of it, then more power to you. Just make sure the choice is yours and that you’re not backed into it or bullied into it.

Worries abound. Will he wait for me? He said he loves me, and I believe him, but love is not always an endless well. His might dry up if I’m not here to reciprocate.

But is that fear enough to justify my staying here? I know I’ll never want anyone else the way I want him. And I have no doubt that a fresh start, away from the Rosemont and all the skeletons buried here, will be good for us.

Connor’s hold on me loosens. This is my moment. Quietly as I can, I slip from the bed, away from his warmth and into the bathroom. His breathing is deep and even when I come back out dressed only in a bathrobe.

If he catches me I’ll say I’m hungry, that I wanted something from the kitchen.

The house is silent and I descend the stairs. I know the security procedures by now. The nights when I stay at the main house, there’s no one guarding my cottage. I still need to avoid the security teams sweeping the grounds, but I know something they don’t.

I move to Connor’s study and my gaze falls on the wall safe where two important documents sit. One is our marriage license. I swallow hard when I think that by leaving, I’m rendering it useless. We’ll have to apply for another one.

If he still wants to marry me.

The other is even more troubling. It’s the safe, sane and consensual clause that I signed for Dom Connor. Even if this Connor doesn’t chase after me, I know
he
will. A thrill shoots through me when I think about him catching me.

The misery shrouding me squashes any positive feelings. If not for my grandfather there wouldn’t be a Dom Connor, a controlling man with deep-seated issues that stem from three years of he alone knows what. Maybe if there are no more Sinclairs here at the Rosemont, Connor will finally heal his fractured psyche.

The Connor who just made love to me so exquisitely still thinks he wants me. But he doesn’t have the whole picture. He doesn’t know what happened to him after my grandfather’s betrayal.

It’s Dom Connor who has to make that choice. And I have to look out for myself, because I can no longer trust anyone else to have my best interests at heart.

The tunnel is as creepy as I remember, worse without Connor’s reassuring presence. Slowly, I make my way through the winding corridor until I reach the root cellar beneath my cottage. Relief fills me but it’s short lived. This is the first place he’ll look when he discovers I’m gone.

My bedroom looks as though a bomb went off inside. Connor packed hastily before the trip to Dubai. Though it’s only been a week, everything looks different. The space that used to feel snug and cozy now seems chokingly claustrophobic.

No time to mull things over. It’s pitch black, and turning on lights would alert any patrolling security to my presence. Fumbling in the darkness, I don a tank top and underwear, then yank on the first pair of jeans I find. My black duffel bag is under the bed. A suitcase will be too cumbersome and I need to ditch my truck at the train station. I stuff various articles of clothing into the bag along with a picture of me and Pops at the county fair. It’s the only photo I have of the two of us together. I was about six in the picture, around the same age as Connor when Pops took him…

Can’t think about it. Though it pains me, I left both my cell phone and Simon, the tablet Connor bought for me, back at the main house. Electronic devices have GPS tracking, and I have to leave everything Connor could use to find me. No trail of breadcrumbs for him or anyone else to follow.

With one final look around, I turn away from the only home I know and face the future head on.

Chapter Three

I
stop at the drive up ATM at the bank on my way out of town. A few hundred dollars and the contents of my duffel bag and purse are all I have to start my new life. But where to go?

The train station seems the logical choice. I have no doubt Connor could pull some strings with the state troopers and find my truck. But buying a train ticket in cash is harder to trace. Thinking like this could drive a person insane. Especially since part of me
wants
him to catch me, to haul me back to his bed and keep me there for the rest of my life.

The roads are deserted so early in the morning, and I make great time heading to the Poughkeepsie train station. Leaving the keys in the truck is another message for Connor. Another way of saying I’m not coming back.

I scan the choices, trying to decide where to go. Part of me thinks I should head north, to Albany or Syracuse. I have a few friends living around there who might help me.

But he’d figure that out eventually. I approach the counter, cash in hand. “Grand Central Station.”

The train is already in, waiting for the early bird commuters who flock to the city like the swallows to Capistrano. Stowing my bag overhead, I take my seat. My mind whirls as I consider what comes next.

I know no one in Manhattan, or any of the other boroughs. Well, that’s not exactly true. Rochelle is due back from Dubai at some point this week. I can’t recall exactly when. My teeth sink into my lower lip. Can I trust her to help me hide from Connor?

The train fills and pulls out of the station. Panic claws at me and my heart beats so fast I fear I’ll pass out. What the hell am I thinking? I’m walking away from an established life with a man who loves me, who supports me.

Who smothers you.
Snarkarella adds her perspective.

My hands are shaking. For lack of anything else to do, I paw through my belongings, searching for the picture of Pops. I find something paper-like and, thinking it’s the photograph, pull it free.

It’s a business card for Dr. Sanjay Trammel, the physician Connor brought in to start me on birth control. I must have tossed it in the bag by mistake.

A fortunate accident. I innately trust medical professionals and hope to join their ranks someday. The good doctor had no love of Connor, thought he was abusing me. While that certainly isn’t the case, it assures me she’ll help me and not tell Connor my whereabouts. Her office is on Lexington, only a few blocks from the train station.

Having a destination eases my mind somewhat and I stare out the window at the Hudson River. The early train is an express, making only a few stops at the larger stations along the way. The conductor punches my ticket, but otherwise I sit, undisturbed.

 Once the train pulls in to Grand Central Station I follow the signs to Lexington Avenue. Other than the brief visit with Connor, I’ve only been to the city twice before. Once to the Thanksgiving Day Parade with a few girlfriends in high school and once on a class field trip to see a musical. On every occasion the hustle and frenetic energy of the city surrounds me. This time there is also a feeling of security, of anonymity. The dense population is even better to get lost in than the tree covered hills of upstate. I merge onto Lexington and join the crowd. New York is a walking city.

The doctor’s office is situated on the third floor, suite 300. A receptionist unlocks the door as I climb off the elevator. She offers me a neutrally detached smile. “May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Dr. Trammel.”

“She’s got rounds at the hospital and won’t be in until ten. Do you have an appointment?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you a patient?”

I nod. “She’s seen me before. I’m here on a personal matter.”

She maneuvers around the desk and pulls up her computer screen. “Have a seat in the waiting room. I’ll see if I can fit you in.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The waiting room chairs are faded but comfortable. I set my bag to the side and reach for a magazine I have no intention of reading. Just trying to look normal, not a desperate woman with nowhere else to go.

I’m sure Connor is awake by now. He never sleeps more than four hours at a time. I try not to dwell on how frantic he must be, to wonder if he’s found my truck yet. Try and fail. I can see the wild-eyed desperation so vividly, can feel the frustration radiating from him. I should drop him a line somehow, let him know I’m all right. I had to leave secretly but now that I’m gone I should set his mind at ease.

“Is there a pay phone nearby?” I ask the receptionist.

She blinks, as if she has no idea what a pay phone even is. She’s young, hell, maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she thinks we’re all born with smartphones in our hands.

After a moment her mouth closes and she says, “At the diner on the corner across the street.”

I thank her and head back out of the building. Sure enough, a payphone hangs on the wall of the diner, easy to see through the plate glass window. I jaywalk like a native, making a beeline for the phone. My hands shake as I pick up the receiver, inserting a few coins and dialing his cell.

He picks up halfway through the first ring. “Baily?”

I close my eyes, the tension in his voice flaying me open. “I’m all right, Connor.”

“Thank God.” He sighs in pure relief. “Who took you?”

“Took me?” He thought I’d been kidnapped? My guilt redoubles.

“There was no note but I knew you wouldn’t just vanish in the middle of the night.”

I’m a horrible person. Of course he would think I was snatched from the Rosemont by some thief in the night. It had already happened to him. Sucking in a breath, I push the words out. “Connor, I did. I had to go and I knew you wouldn’t let me leave.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry to hurt you, but it’s better this way.”

Still he says nothing. I hear him breathing steadily, wonder what is going on in that landmine riddled head of his.

“I’m going now,” I say at length.

“Are you punishing me?” The question is delivered evenly by a man with tight control over his emotions.

“Of course not. I’m doing what’s best for you. For both of us. You need to heal.”

“Heal? Have you lost your mind? There’s a stalker out there, damn it! How well do you think I’ll heal if he kills you?” Barely leashed fury carries across our grainy connection.

I haven’t forgotten about the car bomb, or the surprise package someone left for me. “I’ll be fine.”

“Tell me where you are.” The command is sharp. I can’t tell which Connor is at the helm, but it doesn’t really matter now.

“I love you.” The words are almost a sob.

“Don’t you dare hang up that fucking phone—” his shout is cut off when I do exactly that.

I’m still wearing his ring. I should have left it with him, but forgot to take it off. Now I can’t. It feels like the last tie I have to him and I’m loath to cut it.

Instead I sit at the counter and order a cup of tea, my eyes trained on the Felix the cat clock on the wall. Nothing to do but wait.

****

Dr. Trammel ushers me into her office. “Well, Miss Sinclair, what can I do for you?”

Now that I’m face to face with her I have no idea. “Do you know anything about Complex-Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Not much more than you would find in a basic internet search, I’m afraid. I do have a colleague who specializes in mental health disorders though. Would you like me to set up a meeting?”

I nod and she picks up the phone. “Hello, Gerald? It’s Sanjay Trammel. I was wondering if you have any time to meet with a friend of mine. She has some questions about C-PTSD.”

A smile breaks out when she calls me a friend. That’s the one thing I need more than anything else in the world right now, people I trust, and though our acquaintance is short, I do trust her.

In moments it’s all arranged. Dr. Trammel writes down the address on a prescription pad. “You’re in luck, he’s combing through records today and jumped at the distraction.”

“Thank you, Dr. Trammel.”

“Please, call me Sanjay.” She extends the paper but doesn’t let go when I reach for it. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Baily?”

How to answer that honestly? “I’m not sure. My grandfather just passed away.”

Her brown eyes are full of sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I nod, accepting her words. “My world is in total upheaval right now. I’m trying to figure out what my next move should be.”

Her gaze flicks down to the paper. “And I’m assuming this consultation has something to do with a certain billionaire.”

“I really can’t comment on that.” It’s one thing to discuss Connor’s symptoms abstractly, but I’m unwilling to betray his trust or talk about him behind his back.

She releases the paper and guides me out of her office. “For what it’s worth, I think doing a little research is a wise course. Feel free to call me if you have any more questions.”

I thank her again and head back downstairs, where I flag down a cab. Once I give the address for Gerald Balfour’s office, I stare out the window, my mind a total blank.

Gerald Balfour meets me right out of the cab. He’s an overweight man in his mid-fifties with a bald pate and a big grin. I like him instantly.