Page 171 of Secret Obsession
I do know, I won’t be turning any of them in for this.
That much has shifted inside me.
I go to the couch and practically fall into it, burying my face in my hands. Our lives, or livelihoods, rest on how well Steele’s dad will believe his story?
If Aspen hadn’t already spilled how his dad trusted himsomuch, he orchestrated her to spy on him, I would believe in Steele’s confidence.
“Next week is supposed to be in the fifties here,” Miles says. “The ground will thaw, and we’ll come back and do it then. Okay?”
“Okay,” the guys all agree.
“Okay,” I echo.
But something really doesn’t feel right.
52
MILES
Ipull away from the curb in my new rental, fuming in my head. In the rearview mirror, the police precinct gets smaller and smaller.
Detective Barrister spent the better part of an hour grilling me about enemies of Willow’s, where she spends her evenings, who might be out to get her. If she’s had any run-ins with a man who Willow might be too embarrassed to talk to the police about.
She showed me a sketch, a loose rendition of the man I killed. Although I suppose it could be his brother, the one searching for us.
In a way, I feel like we’re being hunted.
Steele and Greyson went to Prime last night to scope the place out. They did spot security cameras, but they didn’t have cash on them to bribe anyone to see it. The bartender seemed like the type to sway when faced with cash, though, so they’re going to return tonight.
I can only imagine the fiasco that would erupt if the investigating detective discovered we’ve been snooping. And worse, that we knew exactly who we were looking for.
This asshole is targeting her, but he’s been elusive. I keep scanning the streets in front of me for the dark truck with the brush guard, the one that totaled my car, but I’ve been coming up empty.
Willow: See you at the arena?
Me: On my way.
I drop my phone in the cup holder. My hockey bag is in the trunk. It’ll be nice to have Willow within sight—and hopefully not too much of a distraction—and focus on what I can control. Stopping the puck from getting past me.
In just a few days, we play Leighton University at home. And then I’ll take Willow back to meet my parents.
Spring break is next month. She mentioned in passing that her family is coming to visit, and I’m going to meet them. Okay, well, she didn’t add that last part. But I will get an introduction, and perhaps buy them lunch or something. You know, make a good impression.
Since they’ve no doubt already got an earful about my brother’s reputation—and how skilled he is at breaking hearts.
I sigh.
Something catches my eye in the rearview mirror, and my spine prickles.
A truck.
Keep cool, I order myself, taking a breath. Just because a truck is behind me doesn’t mean it’sthattruck. Even if it has a brush guard on the front. And just because it suddenly flicks on its high beams, nearly blinding me, doesn’t mean anything either.
I reach for my phone.
An engine roars behind me, and I’m reminded of thecrunchsound my car made when it was rammed into a few nights ago. Then, I wasn’t in it. Then, I wasn’t going to be flattened like a pancake along with it.
I wrap my fingers around the phone, and I tell it to call my brother.
