DAPHNE
I stopped shakingon the highway. Not one agent, but four entire Secret Service cars escort me all the way back to Tristan’s house an hour outside of Baltimore. Dad’s time of death was three twelve. It’s seven twelve once we’re pulling into the driveway.
From a bay window, Hawkeye’s furry head pops up, his tongue rolling out in excitement before he barks at the motorcade. His sweet puppy face makes me burst into tears.
I’ve cried off and on all day, but it’s the first time I’m paralyzed by emotion. The agent beside me opens the door and offers their hand to help me out, but I can’t move. I can barely breathe.
All I can do is ball up and cry in the back seat of the sedan.
“Daphne?” Tristan’s voice echoes from the distance, and he closes in, stepping around the door and peeking into the back seat.
“Tris?” My voice cracks, and the sound brings him closer until he’s seated beside me.
I wrap my arms around him, and I’m crying so hard I have no idea how he manages to get me out of the sedan, but he does. He walks me inside and kicks the door shut behind him, Hawkeye tracking at his heels.
“Daph?” Tessa’s voice echoes from the living room as Tristan carries me inside.
“Can you get her some water?” Tristan asks her as he settles me onto the couch, resting me so my feet are against the end of the sofa.
Tristan grabs a cushion and settles it under my head before he sits beside me and rests my head on his lap.
I curl in closer to him, my gaze locked on the cushions under his arm. Hawkeye launches himself up, filling the gap at my feet as I kick my painful stilettoes onto the floor.
Behind me, Tessa sets a glass of water on the coffee table. “Do either of you need anything?” she asks, her voice heavy with concern.
“No, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Alright,” Tessa says with some resolution. “Love you both.”
“Love you,” Tristan says back to her. I can’t find the strength to answer her right now. The door closes somewhere across the house, and the faint rumble of a motorcycle rides out into the night.
Tristan’s large hand settles on the top of my head, slowly petting me. “I want to help,” he admits. “But I don’t know what I can do.”
“Hold me.” My voice croaks as I find the strength to sit up. Tristan hoists me onto his lap and cradles me to his chest, my forehead pressing into his neck.
I wait for tears, but none come. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” I mumble.
Tristan doesn’t speak. He only hugs me tighter.
“He wasn’t a good person.” The admission leaves my lips, and even though it hurts to say something so harsh about the man who raised me, I know in every atom of my being that it’s true. My dad wasn’t a good man. And the world will be a better place without him.
But that little girl inside me still mourns the loss of her father.
Damnit, why can’t I cry?
“I thought you killed him,” I say. “When it happened, you were the first person I thought might have done it. You’d mentioned it. I didn’t want to think, it was you.”
“It wasn’t me.” There’s a harsh bite in Tristan’s tone that tells me without a doubt he wasn’t behind Dad’s death. “I know who did it.”
I find enough strength to pull my head back and stare into his eyes.
“Who?”
Tristan keeps me close as he leans forward and takes the glass from the coffee table. “Drink. Then I’ll tell you.”
I take a few sips, which is enough to loosen his tongue. “The killer was a man named Zach Newey. He was an army sniper. I found him on the dark web.”
“How?” Sip.
