This time his grin stayed a little longer. “As many times as it takes.”
With a trembling finger, I punched the button to open the elevator doors. I was like a ball of electric emotions, bouncing all over the place and on the verge of short-circuiting. Stepping into the lobby, getting more space, brought me a sliver of relief, but I craved fresh air.
I made it three steps before Wyatt put a hand on my arm to stop me.
“Emersyn? I still want to do the stakeout, but if you need to cancel or postpone, I totally understand.”
Part of me wanted to crawl into bed and disappear under a pile of blankets, but I also dreaded the thought of returning to my empty apartment and waiting all on my own until Jemma returned with Livy.
“No,” I said, making up my mind. “I need the distraction. And…” I felt like I was about to take a dangerous step off a cliff. “And the company.”
His gaze seemed to reach for my soul when he said, “You’ve got it.”
Chapter
Forty-Six
I slid into the passenger seat of Wyatt’s BMW with a sigh. If I ever managed to own a car in the future, it would likely be a secondhand clunker, never anything as new and eye-catching as this BMW. The cognac-and-black interior was almost as gorgeous as the metallic green exterior. The seats were comfy, and there was a hint of new-car smell.
I took in my surroundings while waiting for Wyatt to circle around and get into the driver’s seat. The car was pristine. So much for fast-food wrappers and unpleasant smells.
He could still have other gross habits,I reminded myself.
The night was young, after all. Heck, it wasn’t even five o’clock.
We didn’t talk much as I directed Wyatt to Hoffman’s apartment building in Longwood. I appreciated the time to gather myself. The fact that my mom had booked an appointment with a lawyer still sent a myriad of emotions—including abject fear—roiling through me every time I thought of it, but I did my best to push that problem to the back of my mind.
Sometime this week, I’d speak to my dad. That was the only plan of action I could come up with. My mom tended to plow through people with hurricane force whenever she had a bee in her bonnet, and my dad typically rode along with the storm. Ididn’t want to drag him into the middle of a fight, especially considering his health issues, but I had to at least talk to him. Even if I decided that Livy was better off with my parents, I didn’t want to be railroaded. I had a voice, and I intended to use it to advocate for Livy, whatever that meant in the end.
“I guess we could be sitting here for nothing if Hoffman’s already sold the whiskey,” I said once Wyatt had found a parking space down the street from Hoffman’s building. “If he even stole the booze in the first place.”
At least we knew, thanks to his recent social media post, that he was hanging out at home. Or had been an hour earlier, anyway. The chance that he would decide to do something incriminating while we happened to be watching was slim, but I didn’t know how else to find out if he was Freddie’s killer.
“How long did you two date?” Wyatt asked as we kept an eye on the front entrance of the three-story brick building.
I sighed, wishing I’d never crossed paths with Hoffman at the pub trivia night where we’d met. “Eight months. Which was eight months too long. Not that I realized that until it was too late.”
Just as I was about to dive into the box of Milk Duds I’d bought at the convenience store, the door to Hoffman’s building opened. It was the third time that had happened since we’d arrived. Still, I couldn’t believe our luck. While I’d hoped that Hoffman would make an appearance, I didn’t think he actually would. I thought we would end up sitting there in Wyatt’s car until we were half frozen, with no evidence and no leads.
Maybe the universe didn’t hate me after all. Not completely, anyway.
Then again…
“Fudge muffins!” I slid down in the passenger seat until I was below the window.
Hoffman was walking our way, the strap of a slightly bulging messenger bag slung over one shoulder.
“Fudge muffins?” Wyatt echoed with obvious amusement.
“Hide your face!”
Hoffman had met Wyatt only the one time, but Wyatt’s face wasn’t easy to forget. Not for me, anyway.
Wyatt turned his head slightly to the side and looked down at his phone, as if engrossed in whatever was on the screen.
“I’m trying to train myself not to swear in front of Livy,” I explained in a whisper. “Fudge muffins might not have as much impact as an F-bomb, but it’ll have to do.”
“It has impact,” Wyatt countered, not doing a very good job of fighting the grin that was trying to appear on his face. “Maybe just not of the same variety.”
