Chapter Thirty-One
The sun was up by the time Jade awoke the next morning. She had trouble falling asleep and then her dreams were hampered by troubling nightmares. She dreamed of a faceless man chopping off Kyle’s finger, but when she ran to his side, it was Logan lying dead instead of Kyle and she held the bloody knife in her hand.
Rising, she swung her legs off the side of the bed. A dream analyst wouldn’t have a hard time figuring out the reason she pictured Logan dead was because she killed any hope of a relationship with him.
After a quick shower, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and headed downstairs to eat. Once she finished, she grabbed a straw hat, jumped in the car and headed for the local farmer’s market for fresh vegetables. She needed something to take her mind off of the package and Logan and all her troubles.
Shopping for groceries didn’t help. All she could think about was Logan and the look of betrayal on his face—the look she put there. How would she ever convince him that her intentions were honest? She never set out to mislead him.
When she couldn’t concentrate on her task anymore, she returned home. She pulled into the driveway and her brows dipped. Where did that box come from?
She parked in the garage and ducked under the door before it closed. Navigating the stairs to the porch, she ambled closer to the brown package and froze. Her name was inked in bold black print, but no address.
Her head whipped up to scan the area. She didn’t see any suspicious characters, no movement of any kind except for the slight sway of trees in the warm breeze. She unlocked the front door and using her foot, scooted the box inside. With a frantic push, she slammed and locked the heavy oak door. With one hand wrapped around her waist and the other covering her mouth, she paced back and forth. No return address, she noted on one of her passes by the box. Chewing her thumbnail, she debated what to do: call Logan or open the box.
An image of Logan’s glowering face, etched with disappointment flashed in her mind. He hated her. She couldn’t ask him for help.
Could Nora have sent it before she died? Maybe it took a few days to arrive. That had to be it.
Breathing deeply, she gathered her courage. A quick trip to the kitchen for a pair of scissors and she plopped down on the floor.
“Here goes nothing.” The blade pierced the tape and she sliced through the tacky material. Using the tips of the scissors, she flipped the sides of the box out of the way and moved the tissue paper aside. She inhaled deeply before peering inside. Two white boxes, both wrapped with a red ribbon—just like the one containing Kyle’s ring finger.
She lifted the boxes out by sliding the scissors under the string and placed them side by side. Time passed slowly as she stared at the inauspicious boxes, gathering up the courage to open them.
“Just do it, Jade.” Without giving herself time to think, she snipped through both red ribbons and flicked the lids off.
The scissors clamored to the floor and Jade scooted back, a hysterical shriek bubbling up her throat.
No one came running this time when she screamed.
#
The first thing that flashed through Jade’s mind was Logan. He'd take care of it…he would know what to do. Scrambling to her feet, she gave the boxes a wide berth and dashed for her cell. She started to dial and realized she didn’t know his number at work. She didn’t even know the name of his company. She sank to the floor in defeat.
Moments passed, the images inside the boxes swirling in her head. She couldn’t sit here and do nothing. Logan said he handled situations like this, he was a private investigator. Climbing to her feet, she raced upstairs for the phone book. Pages ripped as she thumbed through, looking for the number. Finding the section, she ran a finger down the listings. Nothing jumped out so she tried again, going slower this time. Bingo. COBRA Securities. She remembered seeing a piece of mail in Logan's house with that name.
She had to hang up twice and redial when her shaky fingers refused to cooperate and she punched the wrong number. Finally she got it right.
“COBRA Securities, how may I direct your call?”
“Logan Bradley. Please,” she added as an afterthought.
“One moment while I transfer you to his secretary.”
“Thank you.” Jade paced while hold music played, acid burning a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in her gut.
“Mr. Bradley’s office, this is Karen, how may I help you?”
“I need to speak to Log…Mr. Bradley immediately.”
“He's in a meeting. May I take a message?”
“No, it is imperative I talk to him…it’s a matter of life or death.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but—”
Jade interrupted. “Please, can you just stick your head in and tell him it's Jade on the phone?”
“I can’t do that, but I can have him call you back.”
A terrified whimper escaped before Jade could stop it. “Please. I know it's unfair to ask you to do this, but I wouldn’t bother him if it wasn’t an emergency.”
The secretary paused. “Are you the Jade Isabella kept mentioning didn’t attend her play?”
Ouch. That hurt. She swallowed. “Yes.”
Another pause. Then Karen briskly said, “Hold a moment.”
Jade concentrated on controlling her breathing while Enya sang in the background.
“Jade?”
Expecting to hear his secretary, Logan’s deep voice startled her speechless. He interrupted his meeting for her, after the way she treated him. She let out a sob.
“Jade? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
A dam broke and she couldn’t stop babbling. “I’m so sorry for everything Logan. I should have told you who I was from the beginning. I never wanted to deceive you and I meant it when I said I fell in love with you. I don’t blame you for hating m—”
“Jade!”
Startled, she stopped.
“Did you guilt my secretary into pulling me from an important meeting by telling her it was an emergency, a matter of life and death, for this?”
“No,” she whispered. “I just wanted you to know.”
“Look, I’ve got to go…”
“Wait, Logan. A package. I got another package. He knows, Logan.”
“What?”
“He knows where I am.”
“Slow down and tell me exactly what happened.”
She relayed details on her trip to the market and finding the package on her porch when she returned.
“Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Lock the doors. I’m on my way.” His tone was commanding, authoritative.
“Thank you,” she mouthed to an empty phone. He'd already disconnected.