Invasion of our privacy doesn’tbeginto describe what’s wrong with this situation, and as Zeke combs through the rest of the house, he finds four voice recording devices and another camera that was hidden in my room.
“The night the door was open,” I cry. “When they tried tokillNugget. They came here to bug our home, Ry!”
He pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around my waist, and rests his chin on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.
Zeke clears his throat, quietly dragging our attention back to him. “That’s—” He scratches at the nape of his neck, much like Ryder does when nervous or anxious. “Well, Lola, that’s not possible. This software is far older than anything you’d get on the market now.”
“So, what does that mean?” Ryder asks, swiping hot tears from my cheek.
“It means that while Lemmon has likely been surveilling you foryears, even while you were married, there is some good news.”
Has my gut really been wrong this whole time? Hearing Zeke confirm it was Lemmon leaves me questioning every interaction I’ve had with her since returning.
“Please enlighten us as to how my ex-wife bugging my fucking house could possibly come with any good news.”
Zeke chuckles humorlessly. “She doesn’t have a live view. These devices stayed on because she hard-wired them directly into the electric, but she’d have to be physically present to extractanything from them.” He shrugs. “My best guess is that she came here for exactly that reason and left the hot dog in Nugget’s bowl as a distraction. When she didn’t find anything useful, her responses continued to escalate.”
Zeke's conclusion and overall believability of the series of events leave me wondering what exactly his job was as a Marine. He never gave us much insight, and I wasn’t really around to be privy to those details anyway.
“Is there any way to prove all of that?” Ryder asks.
“I’m going to take these home and see what I can get off them. I don’t feel comfortable listening to the audio recordings unless absolutely necessary, and I don’t believe the camera hidden in Lola’s old room would be of any help, so I’m not going to invade your privacy any further. I’m thinking the camera in the wall sconce should have everything I need to pin her with at least one crime, if notseveral. The angle it was positioned at includes the living room and a partial view of the kitchen and entryway.”
“Thank you, Zeke. I’m starting to think I’ve barely scratched the surface of what you did in the military, but I appreciate you using some of that expertise to help us out,” Ryder tells him, reflecting my thoughts.
“It’s not a problem, Ry. I sincerely hope that you never have to find out the answer to that question,” he says, standing and squeezing Ryder’s shoulder before traipsing out of the house without another word.
“Ry,” I whisper.
“Yeah, darlin’?” he asks, dazed.
“I think your brother might’ve been some elite spy,” I answer, unsure whether I’m joking or not.
“I think so too,” he wheezes out on a laugh, the sound breaking the tension between us.
The rest of the night, it’s like we’re two ghosts, unable to speak or feel, merely passing through the house in silence as we get ready for bed. Ryder tucks Nugget into his room in thecloset, and I pray we don’t wake up with our house on fire or whatever Lemmon has planned for us next.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
MR. LICKERTON
FRIDAY, JUNE 27
My pocket vibrates with a call.Excusing myself from Dr. Becerra, I leave her to check on Daisy, who’s due in September, before answering.
“Hello, this is Ryder Lockhart.”
I’m met with an unfamiliar male voice, it’s smooth and low, with a hint of an accent I can’t pinpoint. “Hey, man. A friend of mine sent a picture of one of the fliers you put up in town. It looks like you found my little guy, Mr. Lickerton.”
I almost choke on my spit, pounding on my chest to speed up my recovery.
“You good?” he asks.
“Ye–Yeah, I’m good. Must’ve breathed in some dust,” I explain. Now that the coughing fit has worn off, his words fall into place, and I’m hit with a wave of sadness. Nugget’s dad wants him back and, presumably, he’s been looking for him all this time. I’m conflicted by the loss, happy he’ll be reunited with his original family and that Lola and I had the opportunity to give him a good life while he was away from them, but unbelievably sorrowful he isn’t ours to keep. “So the little guy is yours?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’ve been looking all over for him, and when my friend sent the flier, I thought ‘no way it could be him.’ I’d lost all hope, but sure enough, the photo was an exact match.”
“Hey, I’m really glad—” I’m getting choked up, hot tears springing to my eyes that have no business being there. “Glad we could reunite you. Would you mind sending me a picture of you and”—my teeth grind as I scrape the atrocious name past my lips—“Mr. Lickerton? I believe you, but you know how it is. I have to check for his safety and can’t just trust anybody.” I chuckle to diffuse any potential tension, but he takes it in stride.
