“Evidently, his father made copies. Spencer found them.”
“I vetted Spencer. His father is a lobbyist.”
“We missed something.”
Ash’s text tone kept her phone buzzing.
“You going to answer that?” Forest pointed to the phone clutched in her hand.
She wasn’t. Ash’s texts had become increasingly frantic, repeating similar versions of the same panicky phrases. There were over fifty of them now.
Where are you?
What’s going on?
Who is Clark Preston?
What do you mean, you killed him?
He’d finally broached the most damaging comment in her hurried text.
Answer me.
Are you in trouble?
Come to me, Skye.
Don’t run.
And the most often repeated, the one that shattered her heart, was the simplest of them all.
I love you.
He wouldn’t love her once her murderous past came out or when he found out about her and Forest.
She gripped the plastic casing of her phone as it warbled yet again.
Come back.
“You know, those things come with a mute button,” Forest quipped.
“I know.” But she didn’t want to turn off the sound.
“You can’t hide this from him,” Forest said.
“I know.”
“The courts found you innocent.”
Another stated fact. Surely, he had some piece of wisdom to share in her time of need.
Instead, Forest’s hard eyes stared down with the same resolute determination as the night when everything had changed. It was the one secret they’d agreed to carry to the grave, and she had unwittingly spilled it.
Two truths had come out of that night. They were innocent. And their foster father had deserved to die.
She gritted her teeth and ground out her words, “Damn it, I know!” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Spencer's going to break the news to the media.”
Forest’s deep bass rumbled beside her. “Is that how you want Ash to find out?” He shifted beside her, leaning fractionally closer without actually touching. “Think about it. How would you want to find out?”
