Caven was in a mood as we drove to my house to meet the police. He held my hand and tried his best to cover it with a smile, but the pissed-off energy rolling off him was damn near suffocating.
He’d told me that Trent had showed up.
He’d told me that Trent had acted like a dick.
He’d told me that he’d told Trent to leave until he could stop being a dick.
None of these things surprised me, though I was rather excited about the latter because Trent was in fact a dick, so I didn’t think I’d have to put up with him again any time soon.
This was a huge relief.
So, while we rode to my house with pissed off rolling off Caven, my smile was genuine and my breaths were easy, though this did make me feel a tad guilty.
But only a tad.
As we pulled into my driveway, that relief disappeared and a giant ball of anxiety took its place. There was crime scene tape covering my front door and three police cars in my driveway. I’m sure old man Jerry next door was loving this. He’d probably already shoved a letter in my mailbox comparing crime before I’d moved in to crime after, including stats about his plummeting property value because of me. The man didn’t know how to recycle, but he could produce a strongly worded letter at the drop of a hat.
“You okay?” Caven asked as he put the car in park.
“Yeah. Though I’m probably going to have to move.”
“He’s dead, babe. He’s not going to come back to cause you any trouble.”
“Yeah, but Jerry’s not. And he might look old but trust me, his shit-list is a dangerous place to be. There’s a reason I got this house for a steal.”
He chuckled. “So, you’re okay?”
I gave his hand a squeeze. “Are you? After what happened with Trent?”
He kissed the back of my knuckle. “Yeah, babe. I’m good. I promise. Let’s get this over with so we can get Rosie and head into the city for brunch.”
“Can we maybe hit Central Park too? My dad used to take us there sometimes on the weekends. His old bakery is still off Times Square. I hear the guy who bought it is an asshole, but they still sell bear claws. I’d love to get Rosie one and then show her where Hadley and I used to play out back.”
Catching me at the back of the neck, he met me halfway over the center console and kissed me. Chaste and sweet, but it was Caven, so it was also filled with absolute love. “Then it sounds like, after brunch, we’ll be getting bear claws and hitting Central Park.”
I smiled huge and stared into his blue eyes. It didn’t matter that my life was pretty much in total disarray and we were sitting in front of my house with police tape across the front door. I thought maybe Hadley had always been right. I was the lucky one.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Willow.”
“You have to call me Hadley, remember?”
He pursed his lips. “I’ll call you babe, baby, sweetheart, beautiful, and maybe even gorgeous. But I’m not calling you Hadley. Okay?”
I didn’t argue because I liked all of those. “Fair enough.”
He kissed me again, and then we both climbed out of the car. He immediately took my hand again as we strolled up the front sidewalk, where three young officers were standing around talking.
“Mrs. Banks,” the youngest of the three greeted when we got close.
I was either getting old or the PD was fishing from the junior police academy swimming pool.
“That’s me. This is my, um…” I flashed a smile at Caven. “My boyfriend, Caven Hunt.”
Stoic Caven’s lip twitched just like old times and it caused butterflies in my stomach. It wasn’t very long ago that he had been standing in that very same spot, angry and worried that I was there to take his daughter. I’d never in a million years dreamed we’d be standing there holding hands, committed and in love, on the cusp of starting a life together.
God, life was crazy sometimes.
“Nice to meet you,” he replied, taking the officer’s proffered hand for a quick shake. “Is Detective Gains around? He’s been my contact for the last few days.”
My eyebrows popped. “Your contact? Why don’t I have a contact?”
He squinted one eye. “Did I say contact?”
“That’s what I heard?”
He bit his lip as he winked.
So damn sexy.
“Uh…you just missed him,” the young officer said, flicking his gaze between us. “We’ve finished up inside. Got several prints we matched to Aaron White. Big-time druggy. Small-time criminal. No one you have to worry about anymore. We just need you to take a look around and see what’s missing so we can put it on the report and then we’ll be out of your hair. Hopefully for good.” He shot me a grin and then lifted his chin to the other cop standing by the door. “Let ’em in.”
Caven’s grip on my hand tightened as we walked up the steps to the door. It was sweet that he was concerned. Unnecessary, but sweet.
“I’m okay. Really. It’s just stuff, remember?”
He nodded. “Maybe. But in case that changes, I’m gonna stay close.”
Gah! Sweet Caven was the best.
I leaned into his side as we walked inside. A smile broke across my face when we found my living room covered in fingerprint dust but otherwise untouched. Hadley’s paintings still hung on the walls, and after a few days of staying in Caven’s neutral-snoozfest house, the bright pops of colors seemed more intoxicating than ever.
“My house is so much prettier than yours,” I told him.
“I’m not sure pretty is the word. Loud may be more accurate.”
“It’s okay to be jealous. It’s a natural human emotion. I still love you.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
We went to the garage first. It was where I’d been storing all of Hadley’s boxes that she’d mailed to me in Puerto Rico. I hadn’t gone through them yet, but when I opened the door, it was clear someone had. They’d all been opened, dumped out, and strewn from one side to the other. It didn’t appear to be much more than a bunch of clothes and shoes, though I did catch sight of a few of her art supplies scattered around.
I was happy.
I was in love.
I had a big day planned with brunch, bear claws, and Rosalee.
The garage could wait.
“Yep, everything seems to be okay out there,” I said, shutting the door.
Caven eyed me warily, but I strategically ignored it. We had time to deal with that later.
Our next stop was my studio, and oh holy fuck. Paint was everywhere. Pictures that had once been stacked against the wall were broken and torn to shreds to the point where I couldn’t see the floor. I had insurance. I wouldn’t file it though. They were all just a bunch of junk. In a way, it was liberating to see them lying there. At least now I could stop trying to be someone I wasn’t.
No. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me.
“Damn,” I mumbled, pointing to the blank space on the wall where the picture of Rosalee had once hung. It had no doubt met its untimely demise and was hidden somewhere in the rubble.
“Don’t worry,” Caven said. “That one was just a bad reproduction. I bought the original.” He winked.
A loud bubble of laughter sprang from my throat. “Sure you did.”
We made our way up the stairs. It was strange the way everything was in its place, not even a crooked painting in the hallway. However, my bedroom was a disaster area. It was a lot like the garage with the exception that my clothes and shoes and jewelry were strewn everywhere. How they expected me to know if anything was missing was beyond me.
Though one thing caught my attention. The photo albums that had once been stacked on my dresser were now stacked on the floor.
Not thrown or ripped.
Stacked.
My stomach dropped as I waded into the wreckage. I’d told Caven that it was all just stuff, but those pictures were irreplaceable. I’d digitized everything over the years, but there was
nothing like holding the very same image my mother or father had once held. Their invisible thumbprints still graced the corners, and I often held them without even looking at the photo just to feel close to them again.
“Babe?” Caven called as I sat down and cracked open the album on top.
A picture of my father sitting on the couch, reading Hadley and me a book, greeted me on the first page.
“It’s okay,” I said, blowing out a ragged breath and tracing my fingers over my sister’s smile.
That picture had been taken three days before my parents were killed. I’d found it on a roll of film still in my mother’s camera shortly after I’d been released from the hospital. I’d cried for hours when we’d gotten the pictures back from the photo lab because the majority of them were of Hadley and me playing outside. I’d had my sister. I hadn’t needed pictures of her. What I’d needed was for that roll of film to be filled with new images of my mother and my father. Seconds frozen in time of them laughing and smiling so I could lie to myself and pretend like they were still alive. A familiar coping mechanism for me.
I turned the page. More of Hadley. More of my father. More of me. One page at a time, I flipped to the end, making sure nothing had been damaged.
However, it was the very last page of that album that ruined us all.
“Son of a bitch,” I breathed, tracing my finger over the blank spot where the final image of my parents alive had once been.
It was the picture snapped in the mall, literally one second before my father died. My grandfather had gone through hell and back to get that little disposable camera from the police for me and my sister. While that picture had provided me quite a bit of comfort on dark nights, knowing my dad had been happy until the very end, it had destroyed Hadley’s life.
“What’s wrong?” Caven asked, squatting beside me.
“He stole my picture.”
“What?”
I pointed at the empty space. “My picture. The one of my parents the day at the mall.”
His brows furrowed. “Are you sure it was there? You didn’t take it out or anything?”
“No. It’s always been right there. I took some of the other ones out to show Rosalee, but I never moved that one.”
“Why would anyone want to steal that picture?”
“I don’t know.” I dug my phone out of my back pocket and opened my photos.
It had been a long time, and I didn’t keep many photos of my parents on my phone, but over the last few months, I’d saved dozens of Hadley’s texts from over the years. Unfortunately, she’d sent that one photo more than anything else. Always circling the blurry woman in the background in various zooms and crops.
I found the image I was looking for and passed my phone to Caven.
There were some things that I would remember for the rest of my life.
How my mother always smelled like Gardenias and honey.
The sound of a gun echoing in a food court.
The feeling of being splintered in half the day I’d found out Hadley was gone.
The beauty of Rosalee bouncing in a sea of bubbles.
And no matter what happened to me from that day on, I would never forget the pure devastation on Caven’s face when he saw that picture for the very first time.
“What the fuck,” he breathed, bolting to his full height. He furiously pinched his fingers to zoom in on the screen. “What the fucking fuck?” On weak knees, he stumbled back, tripping over a river of clothes, barely managing to stay on his feet long enough to land on the edge of my bed.
“What is it?” I said, scrambling on all fours after him.
He never tore his eyes off the picture as he asked, “Is that the woman Hadley used to obsess about?”
“Yeah. Why?”
His hands shook as he finally lifted his shattered gaze to mine. “Because it’s not a woman. It’s Trent.”
CAVEN
“Do not open that gate for anyone, do you understand me? I don’t care who is on the other side. You don’t open it. I’m on my way there now. Pack Rosalee a bag, and if Trent or Jenn show up, I want you to call nine-one-one first and then me second. But whatever you do—”
“Don’t let them in,” Alejandra finished over the phone. “I understand, Caven. I promise. We’ll be safe.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there soon.” I hit the end button and raked a hand through my hair as Willow stood at the front of my car, explaining the situation to a group of police officers—men who were probably toddlers at the time of the shooting.
Not a single one of them did anything other than stare at her like she was a mental case.
I couldn’t breathe.
Trent hadn’t been at the mall that day.
He’d gone to work, picked up his paycheck, and then gone home to pack for our grand escape. There’d been bags for both of us in the trunk of his car to prove it. He’d been questioned by the police numerous times. We both had, and short of the Polaroids he’d specifically left out, I’d had no reason to dispute anything he’d said.
Besides, it wasn’t like the cops were out combing the streets for Malcom’s accomplice. Every single witness from the mall had reported that my father had worked alone.
Every single witness except Hadley.
His face was blurry in the image on Willow’s phone.
But it was him.
Absolutely, one hundred percent Trent.
He was wearing the purple soccer jersey he rarely took off, and back in those days, he’d kept his hair long, almost brushing his shoulders. The lower half of his body was obstructed by Willow’s father, but that was no woman.
That was my brother, and it scared the hell out of me because it made no sense.
Sheer adrenaline had forced my legs down Willow’s stairs and out to my car. My chest felt like it was going to cave in, but I didn’t have time for a heart attack yet. Not until I had my family in one place and could figure out what in the fucking hell was going on.
It was all lies upon lies. And while I didn’t believe Trent was capable of the shit that was going through my mind, I’d learned the hard way not to leave anything to chance. He was in the area and pissed at me. I wanted my daughter and Willow safe before I started the what-if game on why Trent had been at the mall that day.
Pressing the button, I rolled the window down and yelled, “Get in the car, babe!”
She broke the conversation mid-sentence, snatched her phone back from one of the cops, and started toward the door. She was cut off by one of the officers.
He propped his elbow on the window and casually leaned in like it was any given Sunday and not the day the entire fucking world had fallen off its axis. “If what you are saying is true, Mr. Hunt, and that is, in fact, your brother in that picture—”
“No ifs,” I snapped. “That is my brother. And he was at my house less than an hour ago. He’s a cop with resources, and we got into a big argument and he left pissed to hell and back. So, if you will kindly back the fuck up, I’ll be happy to come up to the station and tell you everything I know about that damn picture, but not until I have my daughter.”
He arched a dark eyebrow as Willow tried, unsuccessfully, to squeeze around him. “Do you have reason to believe that your daughter could be in danger?”
“I don’t know what to believe at this point!” I roared, slamming my hands on the steering wheel. “I just want to get to my daughter!”
His eyes narrowed, but he slowly stepped far enough from the door to allow Willow to get in.
I had the car in reverse before she shut the door.
He leaned back into the car. “How about I give you an escort to your house? Just to be on the safe side.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the actual safe side or if he thought I might be an emotionally unstable person he needed to keep an eye on. Either way, I didn’t care. I just needed to get home. Fast. “Great. Perfect. Whatever. Just move so I can get the hell out of here.”
WILLOW
My head was a veritable vortex of swirling puzzle pieces—none of which fit together.
Above and beyond the fact that Trent had been at the mall the day of the shooting, I couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of why Aaron White would want that picture from my album. When he’d assaulted me at the grocery store, he’d accused Hadley of stealing a flash drive, not a photo.
It could have all been one big coincidence, but there were too many corner pieces to that puzzle even if the center was a jumbled wreck.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I whispered around the knot in my throat as we drove—entirely too fast—with a cop on our rear.
“I know,” he replied, his voice sounding like it had traveled over a pile of broken glass. “I want you to take Rosalee and head to my beach house in North Carolina. I’ll text you the address and have my property manager meet you there to let you in.”
I gave his thigh a squeeze. “Maybe it won’t come to that. There has to be an explanation for—”
“I want you both out of here!” he snarled, flicking his gaze to mine for only the briefest of seconds, but that was all it took to see the terror in his deep blues.
“Caven,” I breathed.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I have a bad, bad feeling about all of this. There are a million blinking neon signs pointing in different directions, but if even a single one of them is pointing at you or Rosalee, I’m not going to wait to see how that pans out. God willing, I’m overreacting. We’ll all be laughing about this by this time next week. But if I’m not and my gut is right, I don’t want you two anywhere near this mess. I fucked up that day at the mall. I’m not doing it again. I’m going straight to the cops and you’re going straight to the beach. Worst case, you have a fantastic vacation. But I need you to do this. I need you to get out of here and take our girl so that she’s safe while I figure out the rest. Can you please just do that for me?”
My stomach twisted, and I hated the idea of leaving him to deal with whatever the hell was happening all alone. But he was right. If there was even the slightest possibility that Rosalee could be in danger, it was his—our—responsibility to protect her.
Written With You Page 19