Chapter 8 I'll Find You

"You are-" Caylee began, but Matthew's phone chimed.

He checked it, listened briefly, and then ended the call. With a courteous nod back to her, he said, "Excuse me, Miss Jenkins. I need to get to a meeting at the office."

Caylee paused, realizing it wasn't the right moment to press for answers. "Sure. Thank you, Mr. Walsh. I won't hold you up."

She climbed out of the car and went back to her place. The whole day had taken it out of her. She collapsed onto the bed and passed out almost immediately.

Then the dream hit-brakes screaming, metal folding, an inferno blooming around her. Heat and smoke and a metallic tang of blood filled the air.

Someone was calling her name in a frantic loop.

She felt pinned inside a tight space, wanting to answer and get out, but her limbs wouldn't obey, and no sound would come.

She hammered on the window with everything she had.

Then the glass fractured. Heat and smoke surged inside, hissing like a nest of snakes, searing her lungs and burning her eyes. Right when she thought she'd be swallowed, a hand clamped on hers and hauled her free.

"Hold on! I've got you," a hoarse male voice said.

His face was a ruin of blood and ash, but his eyes were alive with a fierce, terrible tenderness.

She reached for the memory of him like a lifeline.

She knew him. She could feel the recognition like an ache.

Brett? No. It wasn't Brett.

The name hovered and slipped away.

Surrounded by blood, he held her against his chest and whispered, ragged, "Wait for me. I'll find you. Just... wait."

Caylee woke with a gasp, the image of fire and that voice seared into her skin. Sweat drenched her back. Her hand flew to her chest as if to steady the pounding heart. For a long second she lay there, trying to separate dream from memory.

It had felt too vivid-a replay of the crash three years earlier, but the rescuer in the dream wasn't who she'd thought.

If not Brett, then who? The question throbbed like a dull bruise inside her.

Her alarm screamed its usual shrillness. She silenced it, sitting on the edge of the bed, utterly spent. Today she had an appointment with Gerald Walsh. She splashed cold water on her face and pushed herself up. Her head throbbed, and she felt a fever creeping in, so she popped two pills, praying they'd keep her steady for the appointment.

When she opened the front door, she froze. Brett was standing there, his hand raised like he was about to knock.

"What do you want?" Her voice was clipped and frosty, shutting him out before he could step inside. "Make it quick. I don't have time."

Brett's jaw locked tight. "Do you really have to treat me this way? We were husband and wife once. Or did you forget how you used to run after me like..." His voice cut into a cruel sneer. "Like a dog begging for leftovers?"

Caylee's expression turned cold. "Just answer me honestly, Brett. That accident years ago, were you really the one who pulled me out?"

The question hit him hard, knocking the air out of him.

Yes, he had been the one to rush her to the hospital afterward. But before that, another car had swerved out of nowhere, blocking the vehicle that was meant to kill her. The doctors had said at the time that if the impact had been any stronger, Caylee would likely not have survived.

If he was honest with himself, he hadn't been her savior.

But he had let her believe it. He knew her loyalty, her quiet patience, and her willingness to stay with him all these years; so much of it came from thinking she owed him her life. If she realized the truth, he'd lose the one thing tying her to him. The thought terrified him. He couldn't face it. He refused to admit there had been someone else.

Rage contorted his expression. "What are you hinting at? Just because our marriage ended, you want to erase what I did for you? Fine. Secure the Walsh project, and we're even. Consider your life the price of the deal."

Caylee looked at him, her head pounding.

"Brett, if it's the project you're after, just admit it. All this beating around the bush only makes you look pitiful. And one more thing..." Her gaze cut him like shards of glass, laced with scorn. "I know now it wasn't you who saved me that night."

"You... what? You actually remembered?"

The blood drained from his face, and that slip of panic was all the proof she needed. A small laugh escaped her, soft but filled with relief. For the first time in years, the heavy burden she carried seemed to vanish.

When she looked at him again, her eyes carried no warmth, but only disdain. "I'm grateful I left you. You'll have the Walsh deal. My price is one billion. After that, stay out of my life for good."

She finally knew. The truth was clear now.

Brett was still reeling from the blow of her memory returning. Then came her price, and he froze. "A... a billion? Have you lost your mind?"

Caylee sneered. "Don't act clueless. The Walsh contract will bring you far more than that in the long run. If you think you can haggle with me, drop it. You won't get the project otherwise."

He felt trapped, fury rising in his chest.

He had no intention of handing the project over to Caylee, nor was he willing to part with a billion.

Desperation drove him forward, and he grabbed her arm. "A debt like this doesn't just disappear. Caylee, the divorce papers aren't even finalized yet. I regret it. I want you back..."

Her hand flew before he could finish. The slap landed hard.

She hadn't held back. Brett stumbled, his cheek burning red, but before Caylee could throw the cutting words she had ready, a sharp pain tore through her head and her vision went black.

She felt her body falling, but strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.

Through the haze, flashes of memory tore through her mind... blood, flames, and a pair of pained eyes staring into hers, overflowing with sorrow and devotion.

It was those same eyes.

"You promised you'd find me," she whispered faintly.