Downstairs, the front door opens, and whoever is down there clearly knows the code because the beeping that signals the alarm is about to sound never even starts. Feet pound up the stairway and jog down the hallway. I turn toward the open door as Echo bursts into the room.
“Mama!” Chase grins sleepily, waving at her as she approaches.
Something is wrong. Her hair, which had been perfectly in place when she left, is tousled, like she’s had her hands in it, and her eyes, they’re as wild as the night we chased her through the woods. She’s distraught. Pale as a fucking ghost. Wringing her hands for a second, she crosses to Chase, stepping between Wilder and me. Echo leans over the small boy in the bed, softly kissing his cheek. “You’re up past your bedtime. Daddy can finish reading this one book, okay? Then it’s time to go to sleep.”
My brow furrows. Every cell in my body sparks to life with confusion and nervousness.What the fuck has happened?
Chase yawns, his eyelids drooping with fatigue. “I yike it when dey wead to me.”
“Good, baby. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” Echo lets out a heavy breath before turning to face me. “Beckham, I need to talk to you.” Her green eyes find mine, and I see something there I don’t like. I see fear.
Royal frowns. “You okay? You need me, too?”
She jerks and gasps out a really emphatic, “No!” There’s a pause while she takes a few measured breaths. “I mean, please. Chase needs his daddy.”
Wilder’s jaw twitches as he shoots me a very definiteWhat the hell is going on here?over Echo’s head.
Whatever this is, I think she’s fucking protecting Royal from it.
“For sure, we’ll come with you.” We leave Royal to finish reading to Chase, and Echo leads us the short distance down the hall to her room and lets us in. Once we’re inside, she closes the door, like she’s creating a fucking barrier between us and Royal.
Her hands are shaking as she stands there silently. Wilder and I exchange yet another look, our concern rising. I close the distance between us and put an arm around her, guiding her tothe bed. “You’ve got my heart doing the Lambada in my chest. Wanna fill us in?”
Wilder and I sit on either side of her. He puts an arm around her back and presses a kiss to her temple. “We’ve got you. You’re okay,” he murmurs in a soothing voice.
“Talk to us, Calamity Jane. What the hell is going on? Breathe before you give us both a heart attack.”
Echo nods, inhaling shakily. “The memorial service.Fuck.I need my laptop. Maybe I can show you. I don’t know. I’ll have to fucking google to see what I can come up with.” She gets up, moving woodenly to her desk, then crawls onto the bed from the other side and sets the laptop on the mattress in front of her, angling it so we can see if we turn around, which we do. The way she’s alternately fidgeting and shaking tells me whatever she thinks she’s figured out is big.
A line forms down the center of my forehead as my brows furrow, and Wilder’s dark eyes meet mine. Her actions have put both of us completely on edge, and I know with one glance he’s thinking the same thing I am—fuck, are we about to get to the bottom of this? Because what a goddamn relief that would be.
She fires up the laptop, motioning with her hand for it to hurry up. Once it starts, she pulls up a web browser and her fingers fly over the keyboard, searching for what, I’m not sure. She keeps having to delete and retype, and we aren’t getting much of anywhere.
“Gorgeous, you want to tell us what’s got you in a panic?” I gently take her chin in my hand and steer her face to mine.
Her eyes crash shut, her jaw clenched tight. Finally, her chest heaves as she takes a breath. “I had this awful feeling wash over me while I was listening to Cassie during the memorial, and whether I caught a glimpse of something that my brain hadn’t yet processed or if it was something she said, I don’t have a clue. But when they finished talking and we were able to get upand move around again, I went over to look at the photos that everyone had been standing in front of. There were so many images of Freya and her family and friends, it had me freaking the fuck out.” Her hand shakes as she brings it to her cheek, pausing to force herself to take a few breaths. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that it was odd that Freya had only ever emailed me from a personal Gmail account—never from her student email through KU.”
Wilder frowns, touching her shoulder when she doesn’t continue. “What do you mean? I’m not following.”
She groans, squeezing her eyes closed. “It’s coming out all jumbled, I’m sorry. I think Freya was hiding her last name from me. Golden. So, there I am, looking at these photos, and freaking Savannah mentions that the guy in the picture is her twin, and he goes to KU. And I swear, it was like lightning hit me. Golden is the last name of the other driver in Royal’s accident. Smith Golden. And sure enough, his name was listed under surviving family members.”
Holy fuck. I exhale hard. “Whoa. That’s really strange she wouldn’t say something. She obviously knew who you were. Didn’t you tell us she was the one to contact you?”
“Yes. And remember, Cassie said she practically demanded to be my big sister.”
“That’s really fucking telling, actually.” Wilder grimaces, gripping the back of his neck and tugging. A moment later, he lets out a huffed exhale and shakes his head. “I don’t fucking like it. But— She’s dead. What the fuck is going on here?”
Echo’s hands flap in front of her face. “There’s more.” She turns back to the computer and is finally able to pull up a several-years-old news article about the accident. “Read and tell me if something else doesn’t catch your attention. Because this is her. The girl that was in Smith’s car,” she blurts out. “His girlfriend is Alicia. And her face was all over the photo display,too. Tons of photos with Freya. She’s the one who died in the accident, the passenger in the other car.”
“What the fuck?” Wilder breathes out as he and I take a closer look at the article she’s pulled up.
My hands begin to sweat as I do a quick perusal of the limited information in the article.The driver, Royal Kaplan, age 17, and Davis Madden, 18, his passenger, were both admitted to the hospital, as was the other driver, Smith Golden, 18. Alicia Redgrave, 16, passed away at the scene. Redgrave. Oh. Fuck. My throat goes dry. That seemingly innocuous piece of information slams around inside my skull. It can’t be her. But it is. I know it. I scrub my hands over my face, not wanting any of it to be true.
Before I can voice my discovery, Echo gasps, “Wait. Oh, fuck. Smith. Look, this says his leg was shattered in the accident. What if he’s the guy on campus I’ve seen walking with the cane?”
Wilder puts his hand on the back of Echo’s neck, lightly rubbing, his attempt at helping her deal with the tension. “Where did you see him?”
She holds her hands up to her face, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, I think I’ve actually seen him twice. I saw him on campus before my first English class of the semester. I remember feeling bad that I’d almost knocked him down, cane and all—but if I had to make a mental jump, I’d say he ran into me on purpose.” She swallows hard. “I would bet money he’s where that fucking Post-it came from.” Echo is flying right off the handle, her entire body quaking, but her eyes find both mine and Wilder’s, and I see the plea in them for us to believe her.
