by Callie Rose
“Yeah, but would anyone actually believe her?” I ask, shock resonating in my voice.
“People are idiots,” River grunts. “We need to know what the cops know.” He shares a look with Lincoln. “My dad’s out of town until tomorrow. I got the keys. If we go tonight, no one should be there.”
“Good. Let’s meet at eight then.”
My brows pull together as I try to make sense of what he just said. “Your dad? Go where?”
Dax looks excited about it, whatever it is. “You’ll see,” he promises me with a wide grin.
Ugh. These fucking boys.
The rest of the day drags by like molasses. I’m torn between anxiety and excitement as I wait to find out where the hell the guys plan on going.
At seven-thirty, I tell mom I’m heading out to a party and follow Lincoln to his car. He drives us into downtown Fox Hill. It’s not a massive city, so the downtown area isn’t huge, but there are several tall office buildings, and the architecture of all of them is stunning.
And it turns out an office is exactly where we’re headed. River’s dad, whom I met briefly at the cocktail party the Blacks threw, is a big-shot attorney in Fox Hill, representing several of the wealthiest families in town. And although Iris’s family doesn’t quite fit into that category, they’re still clients of Mr. Bettencourt’s.
Chase explains all of that to me in a low voice as River leads us inside the building using the spare keys he took from his dad’s study. Once we’re inside the office, he punches in the code to deactivate the alarm.
“I don’t get it. What difference does it make that River’s dad represents them? Why are we here?”
River turns to look at me as I finish speaking, his gaze landing on my face and lingering on my lips.
“Iris’s parents aren’t happy with the way the police have handled the investigation,” he says. “From what my dad has let slip, it seems like there were a few things at the scene that pointed toward it being deliberate rather than an accident, but the cops aren’t pursuing that angle as much as the Lepianes want.”
A fresh surge of guilt washes over me at the fact that we haven’t come forward with the evidence we have—although it’s not like we have much beyond our word and the shitty pictures on Lincoln’s phone.
Still. It would be something.
“So we’re here to try to find out what the police know,” I say, pushing my guilt away and focusing on River. Maybe there’s a way we can help bring Iris’s killer down without having to make ourselves sitting ducks by doing so. Maybe we can still make a difference.
“Exactly.”
He smiles at me, his gray-blue eyes softening, and I have a sudden vivid memory of what it felt like to kiss him. A lot of that awful night feels like a blur, a horrible dream—but that kiss is still imprinted on my lips, and I can remember every second of it perfectly.
“Okay.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”
He moves unerringly through his dad’s office toward a file room in the back, and I get the distinct feeling this isn’t the first time he’s snuck in here. What he’s doing is a huge risk—if Iris’s family find out that their lawyer’s son accessed information about their case, they could probably sue him for malpractice. But I didn’t ask River to take this risk, and since he brought us here of his own volition, I’m not going to waste this opportunity.
I need to know. I need to know what the police suspect, where their investigation is pointing them.
We find several massive folders containing notes and information about the case, and the five of us divide them up among ourselves, flicking through pages and pages of documents. There are pictures of Iris’s body in the morgue, which I flip past in a hurry. My heart speeds up and bile coats my throat as I try to wipe the images I saw from my mind.
I page through several statements from her parents, her academic records, school schedule, and phone records until—
There. There’s something.
“Hey, River,” I call softly. He’s on the other side of the room, digging into another file drawer, but he doesn’t look up when I say his name.
“River!” I repeat a little louder, anxious to show him what I found and ask if it means what I think it means—his dad is a lawyer, so I’m hoping he’ll understand the dense language better than me. But he still doesn’t respond.
“Ri—”
I’m about to call his name again when I notice something strange. Lincoln, who’s stationed against a file drawer several feet away from the gray-eyed boy, makes a small gesture with his hand. It’s low, near his hip, almost imperceptible. I only notice it because of the angle I’m standing at.
River’s gaze catches on the movement, and then he turns to me smoothly. “What?”
I blink, my eyebrows furrowing. “Did you not hear me?”
“What?” He shoots me a bewildered, almost amused look, as if my question is absurd. But I see something shift behind his eyes, a flare of fear sparking in their gray-sky depths.
“You didn’t, did you?” I ask slowly.
“Of course I did.” His words are sharp, and it looks like he wants to turn away from me, but he doesn’t. He’s staring intently at my face, his gaze flicking down to my mouth… and after a moment, I realize why.
He’s waiting to see if I’ll speak again.
Waiting to read my lips.
“You can’t hear me.” My words are soft, hardly more than a whisper, but I guess it doesn’t really matter.
River’s body goes rigid, and his nostrils flare. He looks like he’s torn between humiliation and anger, between running for his life and biting my head off.
“I can,” he says stiffly. “Sometimes. Just—not very well.”
Holy shit.
For a few heartbeats, we all just stand in silence. The other three guys are watching our exchange, and I can tell Lincoln in particular is on edge, ready to jump to River’s aid if need be.
But what do they think I’m going to do? Mock him? Tear him down?
I wouldn’t do that. There’s nothing wrong with him.
So many things make more sense now though. Like how he’s always been the quietest of the group, often standing a little apart, observing so carefully. How he keeps his back to the wall at parties, so people can’t surprise him from behind—so he never gets caught out like he just did. And the other three kings have rallied around him, helping him keep his secret by always having his back, catching his attention or covering for him if he misses something.
And Iris—the things she screamed at him at that party after he rejected her must’ve been about this. She must’ve known, or at least suspected.
Shit. No wonder he was so fucking pissed and freaked out that night. She almost blurted his secret to the whole school.
I realize I’m still staring at River, locked in a silent standoff with him, so I close my file folder and walk toward him. His body jerks, almost like he wants to flee, but he stays perfectly still as I come to a stop in front of him.
“I won’t tell anyone, River,” I say softly, making sure not to change my pattern of speech—not to start enunciating exaggeratedly as if he’s a slow child or something. He must be an incredibly accomplished lip-reader to have kept his near-deafness hidden for so long. He doesn’t need my pity, and he doesn’t need to be coddled. “I promise. I’ll never tell a soul.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me at first. His face is a mask of shame and self-loathing, and I hate that he feels either of those things right now. So even though it makes no sense and only makes the crazy fucking mess between all of us even messier, I step forward again, closing the last bit of distance between us, and press a chaste kiss to his lips, like I’m sealing a vow.
His hands keep gripping the folder he was looking through, and he doesn’t relax, exactly, but his lips press back against mine.
When I pull away, I make sure he can see my face before I say, “I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything about you, as far as I’m concerned. An
d anybody who does care can go fuck themselves.”
The corner of his lip twitches like he wants to smile, and even though it doesn’t happen, it makes a warm feeling spread in my chest.
“I wish you’d told me though,” I add. “In fact”—I raise my voice, shifting my gaze meaningfully to Lincoln—“there are a lot of things I wish you guys had told me. Can we just accept that I’m a fucking part of this now, whether I want to be or not? Whether you want me to be or not? And if we’re all in this together, we can’t be keeping so many damn secrets from each other. I need you to tell me the truth about things.”
Lincoln’s amber eyes seem to burn with an inner light, but he dips his head in a nod. “All right.”
“Agreed.” River nods too, gazing at me like he can’t quite believe I’m real—or that I don’t have some kind of ulterior motive.
Well, I can’t convince him of that except through my actions. And all I want is to get through this shit alive and avoid any more massive bombshells. He’ll just have to learn to trust me.
“Low, I promise never to lie to you,” Chase says, his voice overly formal and teasing.
“Same,” Dax throws in.
Actually, I’m not sure the twins ever have, although they’ve participated in the lies the other two told me. So they’re guilty by association.
“Good.” I arch an eyebrow at the copper-haired boys before flipping open the folder in my hand and turning back to River. “Anyway, what I was going to tell you before is that I think I found something. This looks like a breakdown of what was found at the scene. Can you translate it? It’s all jargon to me.”
His demeanor instantly changes, and he squints thoughtfully as he takes the sheaf of papers from me, scanning them quickly.
“Yeah, that’s what it is. It looks like there weren’t any traffic or security cameras near the site of the hit-and-run—it’s too far out of town, too remote. So they don’t have footage of the actual event, or enough footage of the surrounding areas to narrow down what vehicles were nearby at the time.”
“Shit,” I murmur when he pauses and glances up. “That’s probably not a coincidence. Whoever the guy in the mask was, he must’ve known no cameras would pick him up. Same with the attack at the warehouse. I doubt there are many security cameras on that street either.”
He nods, glancing back down at the document. “That’s part of why the Lepianes want to investigate further. That and the tire marks. They don’t swerve at all, just stop right near where Iris’s body was found. The cops aren’t counting it as valid evidence, but it does suggest the driver didn’t even try to avoid hitting Iris—maybe even that he was trying to hit her.”
“Which is exactly true,” I murmur, a sick feeling churning in my gut.
“Yeah.” Lincoln’s voice is hard, and I know all of us are reliving that night in our minds. Then he shakes his head. “We should see what else we can find and get out of here.”
The five of us dig through the rest of the files, combing through the autopsy report and several more interviews, but we don’t come up with much else. The cops really don’t have much to go on—even if it had been a drunk driver who’d hit Iris, the odds of them catching the person would be low. But River’s dad is doing more investigating, and it’s drawing attention to some odd things about the “accident”. It’s probably only a matter of time before the police start to take it more seriously.
Assuming they aren’t in the pocket of whoever did this.
By the time we slip all the files back into the drawers where we found them, my heart is beating hard in my chest. I’m jittery and paranoid, as if I expect the killer to jump out of a dark shadow any minute and attack us all.
The threat feels like it could come from anywhere, and it’s hard to cope with that.
Dax, Chase, and River all leave in the same car, and it strikes me for the first time that I’ve never seen River drive—another thing that makes perfect sense now that I know about his impaired hearing. He probably can drive, but it’s dangerous to do if he can’t hear horns or sirens or things like that.
It’s almost eleven, and the streets are dark as we drive back to Lincoln’s house. The two of us are both silent, lost in our own thoughts.
I can’t believe how normal this has all started to feel. The secrets, the intrigue, the violent threats lurking on the horizon. Or not normal, exactly—but like a part of my life that will always be there, one I can’t even remember a time without. I lived in Arizona for seventeen years, and I’ve been in Fox Hill for just under three months. But this place has already changed me so completely that the life I had in Bayard seems almost unrecognizable.
When I text Hunter or talk to her on the phone, I slip back into that persona like an old shoe, but the truth is, it doesn’t fit anymore. It’s not who I am anymore.
I miss that Harlow. I miss her so fucking much sometimes. She’d been through a lot of shit, but she was still more innocent—more optimistic—than the person I am now.
When Lincoln pulls into the garage and turns off the car, I glance over at him. “Thank you for bringing me.”
I mean it. Just like I meant what I said in the file room at the law office. I didn’t want to be a part of this, but since there’s no denying I am, I’d rather not be flying blind. The guys’ decision to include me on their little outing tonight says a lot about the trust they’re offering up. And I appreciate it.
“Yeah. Well.” He nods, keeping his gaze on the steering wheel. He’s oddly stiff, and I don’t know quite what he’s thinking, but I let it go. It’s been a weird fucking week.
We head into the house together, and at the top of the stairs, we go our separate ways. After flipping on my bedside lamp, I change into a tank top and shorts and duck into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Just as I’m turning off the tap, I hear a soft knock on the bedroom door. I glance up at my reflection, my brows pulling together. Maybe Mom’s still up and heard me come home, although I’d expect her to be asleep by now.
I pad over and open it, blinking in surprise when I peer into the hallway. Lincoln stands on the other side, and the stiff, uncomfortable look he wore earlier is still with him. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders bunched.
“Linc?” I frown at him. “What’s up?”
He swallows, and I watch the muscles of his throat contract. “You said you want the truth between us,” he whispers. “No more lies.”
“Yeah.” My stomach twists into a knot as I say the word.
Oh fuck. What now?
He nods, his jaw clenching. Then his amber gaze settles on mine.
“I never fucking told you. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself. But the truth is, Low, I never hated you. I wanted you from the very first second I saw you.”
24
Holy shit.
My heart lurches in my chest, and the knot in my stomach explodes into a whirl of flapping butterflies. The look on his face is almost tortured, like it costs him to say those words out loud.
Or maybe the cost was in keeping them locked away for so long.
An energy hangs in the air between us, and I couldn’t look away from his harshly handsome face if I tried. For a moment, it’s like we’re both suspended in some stasis, frozen in time.
Then he draws his hands out of his pockets, cups the sides of my face, and kisses me.
The fire that burned beneath our kisses the day he fucked me in the hallway is still there, but the hate, the anger, is gone. It’s been replaced by something sweeter, though no less intense, and the first stroke of his tongue against mine sends electric energy surging through my body.
Moving together, we back into the room, and I’m vaguely aware of Lincoln shutting the door behind him before we stumble toward the bed, lips locked the entire time. I can’t bear to break our kiss, can’t stand to lose that connection between us.
When the backs of my legs hit the bed, he lowers me gently onto it, following me down until he’s hovering ove
r me. My knees are at the edge of the mattress, my feet dangling just above the floor, and the heat of Lincoln’s body settles over me like a blanket.
He kisses me like a man eating his last meal—never satisfied, always hungry for more. I can relate to the feeling. My body remembers what this feels like, and it comes alive under his touch, burning for him, aching for him.
When he finally pulls away, his hands settle on the hem of my tank top, but instead of shredding it, he pulls it up over my head. I arch my back to help him, and the second it’s off my body, his gaze traces the curves of my breasts, soaking up the sight of me like he’s been dying for this.
A momentary flare of panic rises up in my stomach, and I have an urge to press a hand over the thin pink scar on my upper chest, but I don’t want to draw attention to it. I feel his gaze drift over it, although I don’t think he knows what it’s from.
“God, you’re fucking beautiful, Low.” He dips his head to lick my nipple, swiping the flat of his tongue over it, and a jolt of pleasure makes me gasp, pulling me out of my worries.
I feel vulnerable and exposed, lying topless on the bed in front of him, but for once, feeling that way around Lincoln doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. My fingers thread through his soft, nearly-black hair as he goes back for more, licking and sucking at my skin until slick wetness dampens my panties.
“Linc,” I groan softly.
I don’t even know what I want from him, but at the sound of his name, he draws my breast into his mouth in a deep pull. I have to bite my lip hard to choke back a noise, and when he releases me and steps back, my hands reach for him desperately.
He grins, obviously liking what he’s done to me. “Not yet, Low. I didn’t get to savor it last time. This time, I want to see you come undone.”
Fuck. The dark promise in his voice sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine, and even as he steps away from me, I can feel his gaze burning into my body.
He rises from the bed and slides his fingers under the soft elastic waistband of my shorts, tugging them and my underwear down together. He drags them slowly down my legs, trailing his lips along the same path and making goose bumps break out over my skin. When I’m completely naked, he hooks his hands under my knees and tugs me back toward the edge of the bed.