Page 99 of When the Smoke Clears

I intend to head for the front door, but my feet carry me upstairs instead, toward my father’s library. If he was capable of lying to my mother and keeping this from her all these years, what other secrets might he be hiding?

I step into his office, my eyes narrowed with suspicion. Every creak of the floorboards sounds like a gunshot in this museum of his ego. If there’s any secret he’s hiding, it’s bound to be in this room.

The office is pristine, with every item meticulously arranged, just as it always is. My gaze drifts toward the gun case. The SIG 9mm catches my eye, and before I realize it, my fingers are unlatching the case and reaching for the weapon.

I cradle it in my hands, noting the cold, solid weight of the metal. As I rotate it, a chilling image surfaces in my mind—the gun that had fired at me. It had been the same model, only with a suppressor.

For some inexplicable reason, I check the cartridge. Every bullet is accounted for. I slide my pinky through the barrel, feeling the smooth, polished interior. It’s spotless.

What am I doing? My father might be concealing something, but he’s not a killer. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, and return the gun to its designated spot in the case.

That’s when a sharp, unexpected scent hits me—the acrid odor of cigarette smoke. It’s odd because my father doesn’t smoke, only an occasional cigar.

In the middle of the mahogany desk sits a large marble ashtray, and nestled within it is a half-smoked cigarette. It must belong to a business associate. Nik had been here earlier; perhaps it was his. My father wouldn’t permit just anyone to smoke in this sacred space.

Leaning closer to inspect the remnants, my breath catches in my throat. Next to the ashtray on my father’s desk sits a rock—ruby red and flat. It looks like it was haphazardly thrown on the desk, in much the same way as the one I found on the road.

I pick it up and turn it over in my hand, almost convinced it’s the same object I had sent to the lab. But it’s slightly smaller in my palm, and the texture is just a bit rougher.

I begin to pace, the thoughts swirling in my mind. This probably doesn’t belong to the person who was at the scene. But why is it here?

But the thought gnaws at me persistently. What if...what if it’s true? What if one of my father’s business associates has something to do with all of this? The idea is like a giant jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, but then again, nothing in Wildhaven has made sense lately.

I need to uncover everything I can about my father’s business dealings. I begin my search methodically, drawer by drawer, sifting through the contents of his desk. Each drawer yields only mundane items: pens, paperclips, and old receipts. But when I reach the bottom drawer, I find it locked, unlike the others.

I recall the time Gabe picked a lock at the lab, and I quickly grab a paperclip from the tray on the desk—it’s my only option. I unfold the metal wire and insert it into the lock, manipulating it until I hear that satisfying, soft click.

As the drawer glides open, I’m greeted by a stack of files. I flip through them rapidly, my fingers brushing over the edges of papers that seem irrelevant. But then, as I push past the last file, I notice a narrow gap at the back of the drawer.

Wedged in this hidden space, I discover a sleek, black phone—the very one my father claimed was exclusively for his business associates.

CHAPTER 24

ISLA

The crunch of boots on gravel and the slam of a truck door signal Luke’s arrival, sending a flutter of excitement through me. I can barely contain my giddiness at the prospect of seeing him, even though he only left the house six hours ago. He’s quickly become the light to all of my dark corners. Again.

It’s the little things. He keeps me company while I make meals for us, singing along, though completely off-tune. Bursting into laughter at a silly joke or an old story. The gentle rise and fall of his chest against my back as he sleeps, his warm breath tickling the nape of my neck.

Luke strides through the front door, his brow furrowed deeply, and his posture ramrod straight.

I place the steaming meatloaf onto the cooling rack and press ’pause’ on my phone to disable my playlist, where Frank Sinatra is currently crooning about riding high in April and being shot down in May.

Seems fitting.

Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, I walk to him and wrap my arms around his waist, sensing the tension in his muscles. “I’m so glad you’re home. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s much better now that I’m with you,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

I release my hold, and he strides over to the refrigerator. The door rattles as the condiments clink together, and Luke retrieves an ice-cold beer. He pops the cap off and takes a long, hearty gulp, draining half the bottle in one go.

I raise an eyebrow. “Rough day, huh?”

He sighs, leaning against the counter. “I went to see my mom after work.”

“Oh. I had no idea you were going to do that today. How did it go?”

He shakes his head, a shadow passing over his face before finishing his beer and reaching into the fridge for another. “She didn’t know.”