"The witness—did they see anything else?" Bryson asked.
"Actually, yes. They saw Emery arguing with Callie Callaway about five minutes before the accident. Heated conversation on the sidewalk outside the Copper Vine."
Ice flooded Devon's veins. "Callie was there?"
"According to the witness. But it couldn't have been Callie driving. The witness saw her walk in the opposite direction several minutes before the car came through."
"Are you sure?" Devon asked.
"Positive. Multiple people saw Callie leave the area on foot, heading toward her car, which was parked two blocks away." Sandy met his eyes. "I know what you're thinking, but Callie’s plate numbers don’t match the partial, and neither does the description of the vehicle.”
Devon wanted to argue, wanted to insist that Callie was somehow involved, but the logic didn't track. Callie couldn'thave driven a car at Emery if she was on foot two blocks away. “What about Winston?”
“I can ask where he was, but I’ve got no reason to go any further than that.”
"What about the emails?" Bryson asked. "The fake ones using Gabe's name."
"I'm working on tracing the IP address. Should have something in a few days." Sandy closed her notebook. "I'd like to speak with Emery when she's feeling up to it. Follow up regarding the argument with Callie and what she remembers about the car."
"I'll let you know when she can talk," Devon said.
"Thanks. And Devon?" Her expression softened slightly. "I know this is scary. But we're going to find out who's doing this. All of it—the break-in, the forged documents, now this. Someone's going to make a mistake, and when they do, we'll catch them."
After Sandy left, Devon resumed pacing. The rational part of his brain knew she was right—investigations took time, evidence had to be gathered, cases needed to be built. It wasn’t that long ago that this family was dealing with the murder of Sean and the subsequent setup of Grant. But the irrational part of his brain, the part that had watched Emery get publicly humiliated and targeted and now hit by a car, wanted immediate answers and immediate justice.
The waiting room doors burst open, again, and Ashley rushed in with Ethan Blackwell right behind her.
Devon's vision went red.
"Where is she?" Ashley asked, her face pale and eyes wet. "Is she okay?”
"Why the hell did you let her walk home alone?" Devon's voice came out harsh, accusatory. "You were supposed to behaving a girls' night. You were supposed to be looking out for her."
Ashley flinched like he'd slapped her. "Devon?—"
"And what the hell are you doing here?" Devon turned his fury on Ethan. While he’d never personally disliked the man, or the Blackwells, he struggled with how easily Ethan had disappeared from his sister’s life. It hadn’t been the same as when Riley had left. There was a reason for that, and as painful as it had been, there had also been a goodbye. “This is family business. You need to leave."
"I was too upset to drive, and?—"
"I don't care if he sprouted wings and flew you here. I don't want him anywhere near this family." Devon stepped closer to Ethan, rage making his hands shake. "I knew about you and my sister two years ago. I know you strung her along all summer and then vanished without a word. I'll be damned if I'm going to stand here and watch you waltz back into her life and hurt her again."
"That's not what's happening," Ethan said, his voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to make sure Ashley got to the hospital safely."
"We could hear her crying for weeks after you left," Bryson added from his chair, his voice quiet but cutting. “Family feud or not, that kind of shit isn’t going to help you get on our good side.”
Ethan looked at Ashley, something complicated passing between them. She gave a tiny nod, and he stepped back toward the door.
"Ashley," Devon said, his voice tight. “Your shirt is on inside out and backward.”
Ashley's face flushed crimson. She glanced down at the tag clearly visible at her neckline, then back up at Devon with her chin raised defiantly. "That has nothing to do with what happened to Emery."
"Doesn't it? You were supposed to be watching out for her. Instead, you were?—"
"Careful," Ashley interrupted, her voice sharp now. "Before you start judging my choices, remember that I've watched you date Callie Callaway. Twice. And we could start in on the long list of girls who worked the gift shop and then quit because you broke their hearts. So maybe we don't throw stones about poor dating decisions."
"That's different?—"
"It's really not." Ashley crossed her arms. "And for the record, I didn't let Emery walk home alone. She insisted. How was I supposed to know someone would—" Her voice broke.
