After kissing me for another few seconds, he stamps his lips firmly to mine, then pulls away. “Just so you know why I couldn’t stop feasting on you.” While I stand there, speechless, he rearranges the stacks of files on Brian’s desk to his satisfaction, looks around, then takes my hand, meeting my eyes. “I really am going to think of you and me and his motherfucking desk every time he opens his mouth from here on out. Thank you for that. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
NINE
ECHO
It hadn’t been longafter we snuck back out of Detective Kilroy’s office that Beckham and Royal emerged from their individual questioning sessions, and they called Wilder and me for our interviews.
A blur—that’s what it’d been—and Detective Norwood asked a lot of the same questions Simms had. Logic tells me they do that to make sure my story holds up and I’m not changing details to hide something. Honestly, I simply wanted to be done with it.
Chewing on my lip, I train my focus on the buildings and cars we’re passing on the way back to my house and try to let the bubbling panic inside me calm. Unfortunately, it’s proving to be more and more difficult with every passing second. We’re back to the waiting game again—waiting to see if more sick photos are delivered. Waiting to see if someone attacks the people I care about. Waiting for the day when the person watching me sleep isn’t Beckham and this psycho finally follows through with their threats.
Wilder reaches across the console, taking my clammy hand in his. His brows dart together. “Echo, I can tell you’re upset, so you may as well tell us. This is as good a time as any. No one’s here but us.”
There’s some shuffling around in the back seat, and Beckham must have shifted forward in his seat behind me, because his warm hand grasps my shoulder, his thumb moving back and forth over my skin. “What’s up, gorgeous? You got something on your mind?”
Before I can say anything, Royal grits out, “Do we not all have shit on our minds after all that mind-numbing questioning?” From the tone of his voice, I can tell the trip into policelandia was no less than agonizing for him. Honestly, he’s handling it really fucking well, all things considered. He could totally be wigging out considering his probation status.
I turn sideways in my seat and meet his gaze, offering him a reassuring but tremulous smile. “We do. I’m sorry that was rough for you.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you,” he grunts out before turning his head to stare out the window to his left. That’s my cue to leave him alone for the time being, I think.
My eyes shift across the console to Wilder. He seems okay now, but boy was he not in a good place earlier. That crapfest in the lobby had been terrible. I witnessed firsthand how much of a cockydickhis brother-in-law can be and how much it affects Wilder. A tiny smirk works its way onto my lips—fucking me on that asshole’s desk had done him a world of good. And it’d given me a reprieve from the turmoil in my head, if only for a few minutes.
Finally, I allow my gaze to wander to the back seat again so I can assess Beckham’s mental state. Peering at him, I’m immediately struck by the way his bright-blue eyes bore into mine as if he’s staring into the depths of my soul. We look at each other until I finally break the spell he has me under. When I really think about the vibe he’s throwing off, he seems… perhaps a little amped up, if I had to choose a way to describe the expression gracing his handsome face. Then again, I bet so muchof this is right up his alley with his studies, so maybe it’s not that strange that he’d be interested in the process we’re going through in the aftermath of Freya and Zane’s deaths. He told me about the sorts of things they discuss in his criminology classes. Yet, I’m finding myself worried about whether he’s really okay, because I can’t imagine what it’s been like for him with what we found in his bed.
Semi-assured that no one is going to fling themselves into the deep end without a pool noodle or the ability to swim, I exhale heavily. “You want to know what’s on my mind? I’ll tell you. Unless I’m utterly distracted by something else, ever since we turned on Beckham’s light and found them, my brain won’t fucking stop. I can’t get it out of my head.”
Wilder squeezes my hand. “Time. I think it’s going to take time.” His dark eyes leave the road for a split second to find mine before he signals to make the turn to my house.
I wet my parched lips. “My first question is this—” I swallow hard, pausing to gather my thoughts. “I’m assuming if they didn’t mention Freya having the key to my room to me, they didn’t mention it to any of you either.”
There’s a round of head shakes and murmurs of “Nope” and “Not me, either.”
A sigh heaves from me. “I don’t see a connection yet, but there must be a reason Freya had a copy of my key. Not only did she have it, she stole it from Cassie, then had it specifically made for… what purpose?”
“Do you think it was her leaving the photos?” Wilder side-eyes me as he drums his thumbs on the steering wheel.
I shrug. “If so, what the actual fuck? And how did she get her hands on them?”
“Good question.” Royal rubs a few fingers over his lips. “I assume the burner phone Cassie told us about—which alsodidn’t come up in the second round of questioning—is where the text messages to me were coming from.”
Staring at him, I scrape my teeth over my lip. “I hadn’t thought of that. But you’re probably right. Who knows if they’ll fill us in on that either.”
Beckham glances around the truck. “Did any of us learn anything new? Because I can’t imagine they got much of anything different from us at all. I mean, they asked me a few new questions, but nothing noteworthy.” He lowers his voice to sound like Detective Norwood. “‘Son, I hear that was your room where you all found the bodies.’ To which I responded, ‘Was that a question?’” He huffs out a laugh. “He told me he didn’t like my insolent attitude, but I played nice from there.”
I sigh, squirming a bit, finally admitting to myself that I need to tell them everything, but not wanting to do it all at the same time. I clear my throat, going for the easy stuff first. “The detective brought up the fact that they’d been out to TZE a few days ago because of the stalker issue, and he pointedly asked if I had any idea who that was or if the person who’d been targeting me could be involved.” That line of questioning had set my heart to clanging in my chest, as I’m worried about them finding something that points to Beckham, instead of the other asshole.
I shoot a furtive glance at the guys, my lips clamping together. I really don’t want to tell them about Zane’s off behavior before he died. It’ll just piss them off. I moan, the sound reverberating in the back of my throat.
Wilder sucks some air between his teeth. “Legacy.” His voice comes out gritty, and when I turn my head toward him, his jaw works to the side. “Baby, I think you’re keeping something from us.”
My eyes flick to his dark probing ones, and my face crumples. I cover it with my hand, leaning the side of my head against the seat. “They asked me about Freya and Zane. More specificsabout what went on immediately before they were killed.” I reach a shaking hand up to tuck some hair behind my ear. “I wasn’t sure how much to say, but… I didn’t hold back.”
“What the fuck? What didn’t you tell me when I showed up?”
Slowly, I face Royal and his building impatience. “You were upset enough already, coming upon us after Savannah and Ireland had dumped my drink.”
Beckham peeks around the side of the seat at me before glancing back at Royal, who is now sitting forward, staring intensely at me. He puts a hand on Royal’s shoulder, as if he thinks Royal’s going to crawl over the center console to get to me. “Let’s let her explain, man.”
