9. Jamison

Her throat hurt.

She tried to swallow but choked on the feeling of a thousand razor blades slicing into her skin as they went down.

Thinking a cold was coming on, Jamison kept her eyes closed and snuggled into her pillow. Her muscles were sore, with spots along her abdomen, legs, and arms aching. She blindly reached for a blanket, the chill in the air making her shiver. At least she was home and could bask in the gloriousness that was Simone's coddling.

Oh, and Annabeth's homemade chicken noodle soup. If she played her cards right, maybe she could convince Simone to pull out the old cast iron skillet and make some cornbread to go with it.

A flash of Simone waving the skillet on the patio strobed through her memory, and Jamison flinched. The image merged with another. A handsome man. Michael. He was laughing with lips covered in blood. Toes. Light. Claws. A woman without a throat.

Mama's here.

Jamison shot upright, swinging to fight off the unknown. As her vision cleared, the pinks and whites of her room took shape, erasing the terrifying scenes.

Panting, she sat for a moment to allow her brain to soak in the familiar surroundings. There was the sleek vanity imported from Italy by her father, and the dresser to match in the corner. The drapes fluttering in the wind coming through the open balcony door were made by her and Simone during one long, hot summer.

Each piece, each memory the space held, was hers. The bed she sat on and the nightstands holding the matching Tiffany lamps Ty had found at an estate sale. The fireplace taking up half a wall. The chandelier overhead. The piles and piles of books in her reading nook.

Hers. Hers. Hers.

But the man sitting in the cushy corner chair wasn't hers.

Not anymore.

Liam remained where he was, waiting patiently for her to regain control. An untrimmed beard covered the lower half of his face, and the dark brown hair on his head looked longer. A mess of waves framing his sharpened cheekbones. He'd lost weight. Not much for the casual observer to notice, but the slightest change in him was easy for her to spot.

Like the haunted look in his eyes.

She'd seen it before. After tough investigations, that same look came over him. A quiet pain saturating his bottomless brown eyes, signaling he was close to a breaking point. He'd always been so careful, never allowing it to sit long enough to do any real damage.

But judging by the bitterness radiating off him, relying on that deep-rooted indifference was no longer in his power. Detached resentment hung heavy in the air between them, consuming all they once were and all they would never be again.

She didn't speak. Strangled and silenced by her disbelief over his transformation. How had they become... this? Two strangers staring at one another without an ounce of emotion.

When he thought it safe to approach, Liam came over to stand next to the bed with his hands in his pockets. Her lips trembled under the weight of his gaze, and she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head.

"You look so ugly."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he reached out to push a knotted batch of hair away from her face. "You don't look so hot right now either."

Sun trickled through one of the windows behind him, casting the room in the glow of sunrise. Her trembling bottom lip took on a life of its own, and she sucked it between her teeth.

This was it.

The day was here.

Their wedding day.

Her dress still hung in the bedroom closet. A simple mid-length gown consisting of dense satin with a shiny tulle overlay. Simone had fussed over the plunging neckline and shortness of it, wanting her to get something more subdued for their beach wedding. But Jamison had refused, specifically selecting the dress for Liam's enjoyment. He loved her body, and she'd wanted to give him a treat. A little eye candy just for him.

But he would never see her in it.

The shaking began in her hands, working its way through her nervous system until overtaking it completely. Liam didn't hesitate, knowing exactly how to handle the situation. From the start, his intuition regarding her needs and emotions bordered on the uncanny.

"I've got you." Lifting her in his arms, he settled them on the bed with his back against the headboard. She lay across his chest—in her usual place—and sobbed. Through the crying, she chanted the words she kept repeating to keep her focused. Make notes. Take inventory. All of it matters.

His words.

"Simone? Annabeth?" She could hardly say their names, shoving her face in his neck. "Are they alright?"

"Annabeth is okay, and downstairs talking to the authorities." He rested his cheek on the top of her head. "Simone is a little out of it, and most definitely pissed off."

"Is she hurt?"

Liam never lied to her. "She has significant facial bruising and a sprained wrist."

"She tried to hit them with a cast iron skillet."

Cupping the side of her head, he squeezed her to him as a chuckle slipped out. "Because, of course, she did."

The terror eased, dying with every erratic beat of his heart against her cheek. He was doing what he always did, putting on a show to help her remain calm. Knowing another person as intimately as they did wasn't something that would disappear overnight, and she knew damn well that he was probably a jumbled mess of rage on the inside.

"Why aren't you asking me questions?"

"It can wait."

Jamison's head popped up. "No, it can't. There's only a small window where the details will remain fresh in my mind." Her eyes narrowed, realization dawning. "Hold on. How the hell are you here? I couldn't have been knocked out for more than a few hours."

He didn't say anything, tilting his head back to stare at her in stoic silence. His unwillingness to answer hit the ready-set-go button on her temper, and she scrambled to straddle him, wanting leverage.

"Answer me, William."

"Did you really think I could stay away and act as if this weekend meant nothing?" he whispered, pain etched in every word. "Like it wasn't once going to be the most important day of my life?"

"It was you in the forest." She punched his chest. "You were the one shooting!"

"Yes."

"How did you get there so fast?"

"Rowan called me."

"How did Rowan know where to find you?"

Cold aloofness replaced the pain, and he shrugged. "Your dad is letting me stay in the townhouse."

Planting her hands on his chest, she leaned in close to glare at him. "Excuse me?"

"I asked."

"And he said yes." Jamison huffed in exasperation. "Unbelievable."

God save her from meddling Fairweather males. If she wasn't listening to one of Samuel's lectures, it was Selah giving her an earful. Now, her father could be added to the list. He'd been good at staying neutral, but she guessed those days were over.

Liam lifted her off him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Actually, he told me to take one of the cottages, while Simone thought I should stay in one of the downstairs bedrooms. I was the only sane one who thought you wouldn't want to see me at all, so I asked for the townhouse."

The door burst open, and Evie waddle-ran in. "Move it." She shooed Liam aside so she could sit. "Are you okay? Don't lie to me."

Samuel was right behind his wife, with Theo and Harper rushing past him to get into the room.

"I'm okay," Jamison assured them. "Maybe a little headache, but that's all."

Theo approached Liam, elbowing him in the leg. "Yous gonna get'um?"

Liam picked Theo up and placed her on his hip. The move was so natural that Jamison found herself hugging Evie a little tighter. Seeing him doing things like that was what hurt the most. He'd been against having kids but was so obviously the ideal man to start a family with.

"Yes, ma'am."

Theo's silvery blond head nodded with approval. "Kill ‘em good."

Unfazed by the littlest Fairweather's bloodthirsty demand, Liam bopped her nose. "I will, but how about we go check on GiGi in the meantime? I need to talk to her, and I have a feeling she needs some of your hugs." He held his free hand out to Harper. "Come on, Harper. You can help."

Harper studied him. "Are you really going to kill them?"

"Not today."

Slipping off the bed, Harper turned her sharp gaze on Jamison. The child's reasoning skills were unparalleled, much like her father's, and she could be scary sometimes. "Did you get a good look at them?"

Jamison nodded, putting on a brave face for the girls. "I did."

"Don't wait too long to give your statement," Harper instructed, taking Liam's hand. "You might forget an important detail."

Harper idolized Liam, often playing detective and solving the gruesome murders of her toys. Evie encouraged her, thinking it was a good use of imagination, but Samuel was totally disturbed by his daughter's morbid interests.

Leading the girls out, Liam shut the door so no one else would hear when the dam broke again in Evie's presence. She didn't need to be strong with her sister, and Jamison doubled over, holding her stomach as she cried.

Evie held her as Samuel crouched on the floor in front of them. "Dad should be here soon. He got in the air shortly after Rowan called Liam, and you've been out for three hours."

"In and out breaths, Jamison," Evie ordered. "Let it go, but don't hyperventilate."

"There are cops everywhere downstairs," Samuel continued, knowing she would want to hear everything even in this state. "Annabeth has provided them with a few details, but Simone can't give a statement because it's hard for her to talk. She needs to go to the hospital but won't until she knows you're okay."

"I'll go-o down." Dry heaves struck, and Jamison thought she really might pass out. "It was so awful. Simone was shaking on the ground like she was having a seizure."

"We'll let the doctors know so they can determine what you guys were given." Evie rubbed her back. "You're in the best shape out of the three of you."

"He told them to give me a half dose."

The tears slowed, her brain reminding her that hysteria would only wipe the information she'd gathered and replace it with something fantastical. Like balls of light with toes and clawed fingers. "But it made me hallucinate."

"Did he say why only a half dose for you?" Samuel asked.

"Because he needed me to walk or," she swallowed the vomit threatening to spew all over her brother, "for something else."

It was for the "something else." She wasn't stupid enough to think Michael had kept her coherent just to walk to the car.

"Bruce. Ugly Denise." Her face scrunched as she pulled the details together. "Denise is the one who hurt Simone. She's dead, isn't she? Something ripped out her throat."

Jamison tried to recall Ugly Denise dead on the ground, but all her brain would show her was the white light. Frantically, she searched Samuel's face. "Right? She's dead?"

"There is a dead woman in the forest," Samuel replied. "Someone mentioned a bear attack, but when has a bear ever been around here?"

"She had the Zanmi mark on her wrist."

Samuel went still, his gaze shifting to Evie. "No one has said that yet."

"I'm positive I saw it."

Samuel rested a hand on Evie's leg, almost as if he needed physical contact with his wife. "Klausen got here the same time we did. Maybe he might have an actual clue as to what happened."