Page 89 of Breathe Me In

Brad: We found where Timothy Ford lives. I’m heading there now.

I couldn’t type back fast enough once he texted the address.

Bree: On my way.

I thought for a second and switched to Kennedy’s chat, knowing he’d most likely give me more details.

Bree: How did you get Ford’s address?

Kennedy: After the chase, the Ram was brought to the impound lot. Brad got a call from Rudy, a guy who works there and found a gym membership under the seat. Cap made a call and got them to give up his address. It’s him alright.

Bree: That’s crazy, weird how things work out, but we’ll take it. Thanks Kennedy, I’m heading over there now.

I added the address to my GPS and headed over.

Our number one suspect had a house on the outskirts of town, and by the time we arrived, SWAT and most of Sheffield’s PD were in place down the street. I tried to ask a few times about his car chase, but Brad was so focused on this suspect that I had to let it go.

“Hey.” He made the motion for me to roll my window down as he got closer. “Stay behind me, let me ask the questions, and if I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?”

“Yes.” I gave him a firm nod. There was no way I’d run the risk of screwing up for anything.

He held my gaze for a moment, and I saw something just below the surface.

“Want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“I just”—he cleared his throat—“I just need you to be okay, so do as I say.”

“I promise,” I reassured him and stepped out when he stepped back. We walked up the driveway like we were a new couple looking to move into the neighborhood; at least that’s the story we were spinning. Brad threaded his fingers through mine as he knocked on the door. I hated and loved how much that simple touch did for me.

The door opened, and a lady who looked to be the housekeeper looked at us with a strange expression. “He’s out back.” She stepped aside without another word, and Brad wasted no time and pulled me with him through the house toward the back door. He let go of my hand as he stepped outside. I instantly missed the safe feeling his hand had given me. Timothy Ford’s yard was well maintained. He had a large greenhouse set in the center of his garden beds. Brad pushed the door of the greenhouse open, and I followed hard on his heels.

At the far end of the greenhouse sat a battered Timothy Ford. His face had been beaten to a bloody mess, yet he seemed calm and raised his hands high into the air.

“Isn’t this where you say, ‘Hands up’?” He shrugged.

I noticed his hands had no obvious signs of a fight. His knuckles had no cuts or bruises. No defensive wounds. How odd.

“Detective Stone, welcome.” He gave a happy smile, but his lip cracked when he did, and he flinched. “And PI Bree Jaminson, lovely to see you again.” Brad kept his weapon on him as he took a step closer to me. I fought the urge to grab his arm. “I’m so pleased you made it out of the lake.” His eyes lit up.

I grabbed Brad’s arm to stop him from charging blindly toward the strangely smug man. Something was off here. “We know it was you who ran me into the lake.”

“Of course it was.” He was eerily calm. “You saw my face at the club, and that could have messed everything up. You needed to be dealt with, but . . .” He shrugged again and looked away as he touched his bruised cheek. I waded through a sea of Amazon boxes and thought he had a minor obsession with online shopping.

“I may have looked at you, but I didn’t see you.” I hoped that comment hit home.

“Yes, well, I suppose we both learned a lesson.” He touched the cut on his lip, and I wondered who beat him up and if I could buy him dinner for what he did to Ford.

“Who did that to you? Was it Rodger Gumbo?” Brad’s voice was sharp.

His lips twisted into a dark smirk. “Wouldn’t you both like to know?” Then like a villain in a movie, he blinked away the darkness and grinned. “Just look at the two of you—you found me.” He looked almost pleased as he held up his green-dyed thumb with a chuckle.

“Why?” The question dropped out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Why kill those girls?”

“Kill?” His face snapped back. “Oh no, no, dear, I’m just in awe of a much higher power. I’m a mere disciple of his work.”

“Wait, so you didn’t kill Maggie Deloitte or Shelly White?” I kept up the conversation, as I’d noticed Brad seemed to be looking all around the greenhouse, as he kept his weapon pointed at Timothy Ford. I took it to mean he wanted me to keep talking. He’d told me to stay quiet, which apparently, I couldn’t do, so why wasn’t he stepping in? “So, you weren’t at the club when those girls were murdered?”

He opened his hands on the table he was sitting behind. “I didn’t say that. I said I was an admirer, if you will. This entire thing is just”—his face wrinkled around his eyes and mouth as he beamed from ear to ear—“fascinating.”