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Page 31

“Would a run-of-the-mill burglar do all that?”
He shook his head, then turned to trek down the hall, toward her bedroom. “They usually prefer something simpler. Open windows are an engraved invitation. But that’s not to say they won’t do whatever necessary to get past your fancy equipment if they think you’ve got something of great value.”
“B-but I don’t. I never bothered to buy a flat-panel TV. My laptop is at Bonheur. I don’t keep cash in the house. I don’t have much jewelry.”
“And you’ve been wearing your wedding rock, so it wasn’t lying around the house.”
So Tyler had noticed her ring. And his grousing voice didn’t sound thrilled in the least. Then again, she wasn’t surprised.
As Tyler opened the master bedroom, he paused. “Light switch?”
“On the wall to your right, closer to the bathroom.”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “Too far in the dark. Just in case . . .”
Edging away from her bedroom, he backtracked to the guest bathroom in the hallway and switched on the little room’s bright lights. The beam of illumination drifted across the hardwood floor of the hallway and cast gray shadows just inside the doorway of her room.
“Wait here.” Tyler’s voice made it clear that his demand wasn’t up for negotiation.
Terror pulsed in her stomach. She had the worst feeling that whatever she found was going to crush her, scare her in a way that the notes affixed with knives never had. Heart racing, she pressed her lips together so she didn’t pant and alert Tyler to the fact she was right behind him.
“You’re not following directions.”
Alyssa ignored him until he thrust out an arm. “Fucking wait outside the doorway. And get out of my light.”
Reluctantly, she stepped aside, peering around the door. A moment later, Tyler flipped the light on.
He revealed complete disaster, and she screamed.
Luc’s clothes had been piled in the middle of the bedroom, torn to shreds, then doused in red paint. The linens had been yanked from the mattress and strewn across the floor, again ripped in a fit of fury and drenched in crimson. It was all over her carpet, her bedroom walls. She could feel the rage of whoever had done this. The act had been deeply personal, his silent act of war.
“Who would do this?” Her voice shook, and she clutched her stomach, wondering if she was going to lose her dinner.
“Peter would be my first choice.”
“He’s in County right now.”
A grim frown crossed Tyler’s face. “Primpton?”
“He just wants to shut me down. For that, he needs to publicly discredit me, not scare me. Invading my personal space doesn’t accomplish a damn thing.”
“Maybe he’s just hoping to run you out of town?”
“I’m sure he’d love that, but he should know better after eighteen months of bitching.” She shook her head. Primpton doing this didn’t feel right.
“True . . . but he’s the only suspect we’ve got, unless you can think of another slighted customer who would be this pissed at you.”
“No.”
Alyssa kept taking in the devastation in the room with her mouth agape. Her perfume bottles were everywhere, most broken, and the room smelled like a horrific mix of flowers and chemicals that nearly made her sick. He’d piled a bunch of her lingerie in the middle of the naked bed, and as she approached it, the sight got even more revolting.
“Oh, my God. Th-that’s semen.”
Instantly, Tyler was at her side, staring at the thick white ejaculate some sick freak had sprayed all over her lingerie.
Alyssa put a hand over her mouth and turned away. Now she really was going to throw up.
But her eyes landed on something silver on the carpet, barely sticking out from under the comforter. Fear and denial turbocharging her heart, she ran to it and reached out to grab it.
“No!” Tyler growled, then pulled her back before she could clutch the object. “You can’t touch anything. Let me.”
Gingerly with his thumb and forefinger, he lifted the downy comforter enough for Alyssa’s worst fears to be confirmed: Someone had destroyed Luc’s wedding gift to her. The photo of their wedding kiss had been ripped into little pieces. The terrible intruder had splashed red paint on the picture frame. It dripped down the engraving. She sobbed and reached out for it, wanting the frame restored so badly she ached.
Tyler wrapped his arms around her middle, forcing her arms to her sides. “You can’t.”
“B-but Luc gave this to me.” Sick, shuddering, shaking sobs poured forth and she doubled over, unable to look at the devastation anymore.
Tyler pulled her back against his chest, his palm over her abdomen, his lips at her ear. “It’s okay. We’ll fix everything. Honey, don’t make yourself sick over this. It’s not good for you.”
Or the baby. She knew that, but the shock and fear crashing through her system, combined with exhaustion and the noxious scents, had her on overload.
“Shh,” he soothed.
She just shook her head. “I can’t.”
“You have to get it together. Remy and the boys will be here soon. Let’s go.”
Alyssa gave him a miserable nod, and Tyler dragged her to her feet. Her knees nearly didn’t support her, but she forced herself to stay upright.
Tyler dropped the comforter, slightly away from the ruined picture frame, revealing the last and worst of the horrors. The picture of her in her wedding dress had been ripped from the frame, and he’d left her a message that made her scream herself into a black abyss.
ALYSSA was missing. Pacing his Los Angeles hotel room before dawn, Luc tried her house and cell numbers again. No answer at either and no voice mail at the former. Sadie had been unable to locate her at Bonheur or the club. Remy could only tell him that Alyssa had made a 911 call and reported that someone had broken into her house. And that by the time the sheriff and his deputy arrived, her car was there . . . but she was nowhere in sight.
Had someone abducted her? What if someone other than Peter had left those threatening notes and taken her?
The term “cold sweat” had a whole new meaning for him as he shoved the last of his belongings in his suitcase.
An hour ago, he’d called Jack Cole, who had immediately started the hunt for Alyssa. Jack had called a few minutes ago to say that, so far, he’d found nothing. And Luc felt helpless in Los Angeles. If Alyssa was missing . . . The taping of the show was important, but not more than finding her and the baby.
The only other person his wife knew that he hadn’t spoken with yet was Tyler. Alyssa would go to him; the bouncer made her feel safe. But what else did he make her feel? Would she really fuck the baby’s biological father mere hours after Luc turned his back? He didn’t have an answer, but Luc knew Tyler would be only too happy to have Alyssa in his bed again. Still, the jealous clenching of his gut was better than thinking a madman had gotten his hands on her.
But both options sucked.
Swearing, Luc grabbed his phone again and called Jack. “Anything new?”
“Sorry, man.” Jack’s voice. “I checked the hospitals. Nothing.”
Closing his eyes, Luc tamped down panic, fearing that, one way or another, he’d lost Alyssa. “Keep looking. Please. I’m on my way to the airport. I’ll call Sadie again, see if she can track Tyler down. I’ll catch the first flight back I can.”
After more murmured sympathy from Jack, he hung up and made the call to Sadie he dreaded. She answered right away.
“I checked with Brandy,” the dancer said. “She hasn’t heard from Alyssa.”
Luc pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting off the headache he knew stemmed from lack of sleep. When he hadn’t been able to reach his wife in the wee hours of the morning, he’d been unable to go to sleep. No way he’d be able to rest until he knew what the hell was going on.
“What about Tyler?”
“I called. No answer. I’d drive by his place . . . but I don’t know where he lives. He’s never been interested in socializing with anyone but Alyssa.”
Socializing? Luc barely held in a grunt. If Tyler had Alyssa, Luc bet the man was doing something far more personal to his wife.
Thanking the dancer, Luc hung up and called Jack again as he grabbed a taxi to the airport. “Can you find an address for a guy named Tyler Murphy? He’s new to Lafayette.”
“Alyssa’s bouncer? Yeah. Give me a few and I’ll call you back.”
Gratified that Jack was on his side, Luc tried Alyssa again. No response. He left a message on his producer’s cell phone, indicating that his wife was missing and he was on his way back to Louisiana.
Traffic was light before six a.m. As soon as Luc hit the airport and cleared security, his phone was ringing. His heart stopped. Hope was a nasty spike of adrenaline. Until he looked at his display. Jack.
“Talk to me.”
“There’s no record of a Tyler Murphy living in Lafayette. At least no one with a driver’s license living in the area between the ages of twenty-five and forty. Checked the surrounding areas, too.”
Luc’s blood ran cold. “What does that mean?”
“Either Mr. Murphy hasn’t updated his license since moving to the area, which he’s supposed to do within thirty days, and as a former cop he should know it.”
“Yeah, he’s been there about four months. What’s the ‘or’?” But Luc feared he knew the answer.
“Or the man isn’t who he claims to be.”
Fuck! Maybe her buddy Tyler had been threatening her all along. Getting her pregnant was probably just an added kick on his sick freak agenda.
As Luc boarded the plane, he tried Alyssa one more time. No answer. Luc didn’t want to think this but . . . what was he going to do without her?
That question haunted him for the next five hours, along with chilling regret. In that moment, he’d take back the anger, his snide comments, cross words, anything that had made her cry. He replayed their final night at Sexy Sirens, right before Peter’s attack, in his head and wondered how the fuck he could have been such a prick while he’d cooked for Bonheur’s opening. She’d been nothing but honest about the kind of woman she was, and he’d treated her with contempt. All because he’d been too afraid to admit how much he loved her. Because he’d feared he was forming an attachment to someone who would make him choose between his heart and his dreams—and he’d punished her.
As his plane touched down in Lafayette, Luc had to restrain himself from charging out of his seat as they taxied to the gate. Quickly, he checked his cell phone for messages. Nothing.
But one thought hit him like a ton of bricks: Not once during the long plane trip had he thought of the baby. His every thought, fear, and prayer had been for Alyssa.
JACK met Luc at the baggage claim, Hunter in tow. A cold sweat flattened him. Had they come to tell him the worst?
“What’s going on?” Luc demanded.
“Nothing new has happened.” Jack stuck out his hand, and Luc shook it, trembling with overpowering relief. Alyssa might not be safe yet, but at least she hadn’t been found dead.
“We’re still following clues,” Hunter offered. “The sheriff here is an idiot.”
Kimber’s brother looked as though he might have thawed toward Luc. Maybe. In his assessment of Remy, Luc agreed.
“We came to pick you up.” Jack looked at the baggage carousel. “Got bags?”
“Carried on,” he told Jack. “You didn’t have to come here. I have a car.”
Jack raised a dark brow. “Sleep any in the last twenty-four hours? Able to get your mind off of Alyssa at all?”
Luc sent the man a bullish glare. Hell, no, and both he and Hunter knew it. “Then take me to the house. I want to see it.”
The two men glanced at each other. Luc saw instantly they were against that plan.
“Unless you have a strong stomach and can absolutely say you won’t fly into a rage, I don’t recommend that,” Jack finally said.
The first . . . usually. The latter, no. He was already pissed.
“Lay it on me straight. Did there look to be signs of a struggle? Remy wouldn’t say a damn thing.”
“No. At least I don’t think so. But the psycho’s parting shot didn’t leave me with a warm fuzzy.”
Luc’s heart stopped. “Parting shot? He left something behind?”
Jack grimaced. “Alyssa’s wedding photo covered in red paint with the words DEAD WHORE.”
Chapter Fifteen
HOPING to find Alyssa, Tyler, or someone who knew something about either, Luc persuaded Jack to run him to Sexy Sirens. It was a long shot, but he couldn’t leave any stone unturned.
As soon as they pulled up in front of the aged brick building with its flashy sign, Luc noticed a group forming outside and groaned.
“Primpton? Fuck.” Jack sounded as pleased as Luc felt.