Chapter 135 Jake's Whereabouts
Alexander froze mid-motion as he was setting down the lunch box.
Arabella didn't notice his reaction, still clinging to Daisy for comfort.
Daisy's heart broke seeing her friend like this, tears welling up. "You've been through hell. Once you're better, I'm popping champagne and we're hitting the club—eight male strippers, my treat!"
Arabella pouted playfully. "Eight won't be nearly enough."
Daisy was about to enthusiastically agree when an icy chill ran down her spine. She turned to find Alexander's politely smiling face behind her and immediately chickened out.
"Sweetie, as long as you're okay, that's what matters," she said, nervously patting Arabella's head. "Male strippers are totally overrated anyway."
Arabella shot her a mock glare. "Just admit you're cheap."
Daisy didn't dare argue, forcing a sheepish grin under Alexander's silent pressure. "Hey, I'm broke, what can I say?"
After hanging around a bit longer, Daisy waited for Alexander to step out before leaning close to Arabella's ear. "Okay, spill. Where are you two at right now?"
Arabella's pulse jumped. "What do you mean where are we at?"
"Oh my God!" Daisy threw her hands up in exasperation. "Didn't you tell me last time that you had feelings for him? It's been over a month—seriously, no progress?"
Arabella shook her head miserably. "I told you, we're not like that..."
"Arabella, I'm begging you to use your brain," Daisy said, staring at her like she was hopeless. "You've been in this hospital room for what, half the day? He dropped everything at work to camp out here with you. And from the looks of it, he's planning to stay the whole time you're here. He's handling all your drama personally." She crossed her arms. "Now look me in the eye and tell me there's nothing happening between you two."
Arabella opened her mouth but no words came out.
It was true. Seven or eight hours since the accident, and except for one quick trip home, Alexander had been glued to her bedside, managing every single detail.
But... he was always this sweet to everyone. He probably just saw her as a good friend...
Arabella shot Daisy a guilty look.
Daisy caught it immediately and crossed her arms with finality. "Don't even look at me like that. If it were me? I'd hire you a nurse and maybe swing by with takeout. I sure as hell wouldn't ditch work."
The truth hit Arabella like a slap, and her guilt doubled. Honestly, if their positions were reversed, she'd handle it exactly like Daisy.
People don't die from minor injuries, but you absolutely can't afford to lose your job.
Seeing Arabella's mental spiral, Daisy casually twisted the knife deeper. "You know what? He's acting exactly like you did two years ago—ready to throw away his career for some guy. Same exact love-drunk energy."
Arabella's thoughts turned into complete chaos.
The way Daisy put it somehow filled her with confidence, like maybe Alex actually did have feelings for her.
Maybe... she should just ask?
Seeing that contemplative look creep across Arabella's face, Daisy smiled with satisfaction. She made up some excuse about crew business and bounced.
When Alexander returned, he immediately sensed something was off.
Earlier, Arabella had been wincing in pain, unable to get comfortable whether sitting or lying down. Watching her suffer had torn at his heart, so he'd gone to ask the doctor about painkillers—something that wouldn't hurt her but might give her some relief.
The doctor explained that she needed her wounds to heal quickly, and pain would keep her from making movements that could reopen them. Painkillers might make her careless with sudden movements, which would mean days more of agony if she tore anything.
Alexander had returned feeling helpless that he couldn't take away even half her pain. But now he found her sitting there looking completely spaced out, mumbling to herself and stealing glances at him before turning away with this heavy expression.
He'd been sitting here ten minutes, and she'd looked at him at least three times.
She probably thought she was being subtle, but to someone who made his living reading people in boardrooms, she was an open book.
She had something on her mind. Something about him. Something she couldn't figure out how to say.
Was she blaming him for the accident? Ready to cut ties?
Or was she back on her divorce-and-move-out kick, wanting them to go their separate ways?
He mentally reviewed the past few days but couldn't think of anything he'd done to upset her.
Suddenly Arabella turned to face him with the look of someone who'd made a decision. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Alex, I need to ask you something."
Alexander met her eyes with an encouraging expression, though his voice carried a hint of caution. "What's up?"
'Do you like me?'
Arabella had worked up serious courage to ask that question.
But when the words hit her lips, doubt crept in. Alexander's gaze was too honest, too clear.
Asking felt like it would insult him.
He'd made it crystal clear before their marriage that he was only into men.
If she asked this, wouldn't he be disgusted?
Philip had told her and Daisy about female friends confessing to him before. His description still made her cringe: "Like someone force-feeding you chocolate-covered shit. I thought we were friends and she wanted to jump my bones!"
Arabella shuddered and swallowed the question, pivoting instead. "Does staying here to take care of me mess up your work schedule?"
Alexander had been braced for something serious. At her actual question, his fingers paused briefly on his knees before he smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. Sales work is pretty flexible with time and location. I've been here all day but I can still take calls when I need to."
Relief and disappointment warred in Arabella's chest.
Alexander could tell she'd chickened out of her real question, but his assumptions were nowhere near her actual thoughts.
After a moment's consideration, he decided to be proactive. "Becky's home safe. I made sure she ate dinner and reminded her to finish homework before bed. I'll check on her again after you're asleep, so don't worry about that."
If she was still planning to move out with Becky, he needed to prove himself indispensable.
He paused, then added, "Your dad was able to put weight on his leg today. I specifically talked to Dr. Kessler—he says we need to stay vigilant for the next year with regular check-ups. Just have Frank coordinate with him when the time comes."
Bringing up her father was strategic. She couldn't just dump him after everything he'd done, right? If she moved out and cut contact, finding Frank later would be a nightmare. Surely she'd think twice.
Alexander mentally high-fived himself for the clever move.
But Arabella wasn't thinking strategically at all. Unable to ask her real question while harboring these feelings for him already had her emotions in knots. Hearing how perfectly he'd arranged everything made her want to cry and feel grateful at the same time.
To escape the emotional spiral, she changed subjects. "With such a massive accident, a lot of people must've gotten hurt. Why did that truck suddenly lose control? Do the cops have any answers yet?"
At her question, Alexander's posture straightened and his expression grew serious, pain flashing in his eyes. The media had already jumped all over the story. He could protect Arabella from some things, but he couldn't bury the whole incident.
She'd find out through other channels anyway, so there was no point hiding it. "Four people died—one on impact, three more at the hospital despite everything the doctors tried. Everyone else had minor injuries."
Including her, twelve people with minor injuries total.
This proved the truck hadn't just "lost control." Someone had sent it to kill. Otherwise, how could one truck cause this much damage?
Arabella picked up on the sinister undertone and asked nervously, "What about the driver?"
"The driver was the one who died on impact," Alexander said grimly.
Roy had already discovered the truck driver was essentially a ghost—someone whose identity had been erased and officially listed as deceased. No family, no friends, no connections, and conveniently dead at the scene.
The truck itself traced back to some sketchy vehicle salvage yard whose owner claimed ignorance about how it got stolen.
Dead ends everywhere.
"Driver died on impact..." Arabella processed this. "So this accident..."
Alexander knew where she was going. "Right. No one's legally responsible for what happened."
Which meant everyone injured or killed was stuck dealing with the consequences alone.
All these innocent people.
Arabella felt sick. She had savings and wasn't seriously hurt, so covering her medical bills wasn't a problem. But what about everyone else? Especially those three families who'd lost someone forever. Who was going to pay for their grief?
Alexander paused before adding, "Though there's word that some anonymous businessman stepped up with donations for everyone affected."
That eased some of Arabella's distress. "Thank God for that."
Seeing her face finally relax, Alexander immediately pulled out his phone and texted Roy instructions to donate $300,000 to each injured person and $1 million to each victim's family—all in his name.
Roy stared at his phone in confusion. What random cause was Mr. FitzRoy championing now?
Arabella had no clue about any of this. Exhaustion was hitting her hard, and after talking for a bit, she drifted off to sleep.
Alexander stood and clapped once. A middle-aged woman in scrubs appeared and said respectfully, "Mr. FitzRoy."
"Watch her carefully," Alexander instructed. "No strangers get in. Text me the second she wakes up."
"Yes, sir."
Alexander headed out. He'd already stationed security at the hospital, so her safety was covered.
What he needed now was to hunt down whoever orchestrated that truck attack. His international team had arrived and was waiting for him.
Meanwhile, Anthony had left the hospital almost certain of who was behind this the moment he'd seen the surveillance footage.
The video made it obvious—that truck was gunning specifically for Arabella. To avoid looking too targeted, the driver had also plowed through several bystanders, maximizing casualties.
Ruthless and thorough.
Had to be Jake.
Remembering Leo's recent intel about Jake wanting to hurt Arabella sent rage coursing through him. That psycho had actually gone through with it!
When he got his hands on Jake, he'd make the bastard suffer in ways that would make medieval torture look merciful.
How dare he touch his woman—ex-wife or not!
In his fury, Anthony conveniently forgot how he'd deliberately given Jake opportunities to harm her because of his wounded pride over her contempt.
Anthony floored the accelerator, tearing through empty nighttime roads with murder on his mind. He'd already planned Jake's death a thousand different ways, but the slippery bastard was nowhere to be found.
That rat was hiding too well.
His people were watching every one of Jake's known hideouts across the country, but they'd come up empty everywhere.
Where the hell could he be?
His phone rang—Leo calling. "Mr. Watson, we found him! Jake never actually entered Majestic City. His phone signal popped up five minutes ago in a small village about six kilometers outside the city!"
Bloodlust flashed in Anthony's eyes. "Send me the location."
After sending coordinates, Leo hesitated. "Should I send backup? Just in case?"
Jake was legitimately dangerous—a killer who'd survived by violence his whole life.
Leo worried about Mr. Watson handling him solo.
Anthony's laugh was cold as winter. "I work better alone."
Too many people would ruin his fun.
He pulled up Leo's location and whipped the car around, heading in a completely different direction.
An hour later, he'd reached the tiny village marked on his GPS.
Past nine PM, and rural folks went to bed early. The whole place was dead quiet except for night birds and the occasional dog bark echoing eerily through the darkness.
Anthony crawled through the village at 20 mph, scanning every shadow.
Jake was definitely holed up somewhere secure. This would take patience.
At the same time, in a high-end downtown apartment, seven or eight people stood at attention in the luxurious living room, all focused on surveillance footage displayed on a large screen.
A detailed map lay spread beside the monitor.
Alexander sat at the center of the group, pointing at a small figure in the video. "This our guy?"
Ivan Hale, the team's tech specialist, nodded with certainty. "Confirmed. Subject made contact with the truck driver at 6:10 PM, departed at 6:16, and never reentered Majestic City. The collision occurred after their meeting. From every angle, he's our primary suspect."
"Here's his route after leaving the scene." Ivan indicated the map. "We hacked municipal surveillance and ran facial recognition to track his complete path. Current location should be this village called Eastsun."
Alexander stood, grabbing his jacket. "Ten people. We leave now."
He strode toward the exit.
The team exchanged uncertain glances before all eyes turned to Roy with the same unspoken question: Mr. FitzRoy was going personally?