“She’s not doing this to herself. End of fucking discussion.” The words came out in a growl as I marched off.
“Then what about someone else?”
I spun back, jaw clenched. “Meaning?”
He rubbed his neck. “They ran a cardiac tox screen when her heart stopped, but I suggest we test for poison.”
The word hit like a defibrillator to the chest. Because, goddammit, he was right. The scattered symptoms, the clean tests, the progressive deterioration … it could all fit.
Someone might be poisoning her.
How had I not considered this? How could I have been so reckless?
Because you can’t imagine anyone ever trying to hurt her.
But someone had hurt her and was actively threatening her with letters. And sadly, there could be other suspects. The creepy voyeur neighbor. Her ex-boyfriend. Scarlett, as charming as she might’ve seemed, well, you just never knew with people. Who knew who else might be on the list, too, or what access they might have to Tess?
Even if she continued to stay with me—and that was a big if—she’d leave the sanctuary of my place daily to plan thatgodforsaken wedding, running errands, putting herself in the crosshairs of anyone who wanted to slip a little toxin into, well, her skin, her food, her clothing. You name it.
I pulled out my phone, already dialing. “Order a comprehensive toxicology panel. NOW.”
The sound of my footsteps echoed through the hall as one thought hammered through my mind: I had to get to Tessa and warn her. Because if someone was doing this to her, they might succeed before I could figure out who or why. I’d spent years fighting my feelings for her, had finally tasted what we could have, then walked away like I always do. But I couldn’t lose her. Not like this.
44
TESSA
“What do you mean, you can’t talk to me?” I paced the length of my office. Well, the office Blake had created for me.
After his plea last night to stay and think things through, I’d agreed to one more day, though I was no closer to a decision. The penthouse had been empty when I woke this morning, Blake already gone, which suited me fine. I’d gotten straight to work, and now here I was, wedding planner portfolio clutched to my chest like armor, making my thirty-seventh call to yet another florist who was trying to end our conversation before I could even mention what services I needed.
“I’m sorry, we’re all booked up.” The woman’s voice crackled through the phone, too rehearsed to be genuine.
My spine stiffened. “I haven’t asked you a question yet.” All I’d done was introduce myself with my name and my company.
“Right, well, I have a customer in the store, so I’m afraid I need to hang up.”
Click.
The silence rang in my ear like an angry hornet. I stared at my phone, my reflection in the black screen showing the exact moment realization dawned on my face. They wouldn’t dare go this far, would they? By now, everyone knew the wedding datehad been moved up. The blogs had made sure of that. Social media was buzzing with speculation about why the “wedding of the year” was suddenly just six and a half weeks away.
Maybe the florists were just stressed about the timeline?
No. Any florist in Chicago would kill for this opportunity. The commission alone would be thousands, not to mention the media coverage that could make their career. There could only be one reason why every florist in town had proactively shut me down.
Time to prove my theory. I dialed number thirty-eight, this time swallowing my pride and withholding my name.
“Hi.” I kept my voice honey sweet. “You guys do weddings, right?”
“We sure do!” The enthusiasm was jarring after so many cold shoulders.
The conversation flowed easily, with a possible opening that date until the moment of truth arrived.
“My name is Tessa Kincaid,” I said, bracing for impact.
The silence on the other end was thunderous. Then came the throat-clearing, the backpedaling, the sudden discovery of a “booking conflict.”
Unbelievable.
