“Great. Can we do it now?” Chloe pulls a chunky script from her bag.
I round the table, leaning over my girl for a kiss. “Come find me when you’re done. I need to make a few calls.”
The small frown between her brows tells me she’s confused, maybe a little suspicious. I’ll deal with that later. Now, I need answers. Or at least to set the wheels in motion to get them.
I fish a half-empty packet from my inside pocket as soon as I exit the building. I’ve not had a cigarette since the night I battered Jensen and the headrush hits hard when I fill my lungs with smoke, dialing Ryder’s number on one of the burner phones. This conversation is not meant for my father’s ears.
I’ve been sending Rhett—or rather his men—on wild goose chases all week, feeding him bullshit intel about places Alex supposedly met with Aalyiah.
“Send your people there. Have them turn the place upside down, break the fucking walls, rip the floors.”
The longer I can keep him running around in circles—thinking he’s getting nearer to Alex’s stash—the longer I have to figure out what the fuck happened on the night of the accident and where the evidence actually is.
Ryder answers after two rings, his voice gruff. “To what do I owe this doubtful pleasure?”
It’s barely past eight am in Chicago. I bet he didn’t crawl into his bed until at least four in the morning.
“Get up, run a cold shower over your head and call me back. I need you focused.”
“Iamfocused.” The bed creaks in the background, then I hear his footsteps echoing through his apartment. “Go on, talk.” The distinct click of Zippo followed by a sharpinhale tells me Ryder’s dragged himself out onto the balcony, probably in nothing more than his boxers. “Is your girl there?”
“No, she’s not.”
“Good. A little heads-up next time would be appreciated. I almost slipped up.”
No, he didn’t.
Ryder never slips up, he’s grumpy and looking for a reason to give me some shit after I dragged him out of bed at this ungodly hour.
“So? Why am I up at eight in the morning?”
Surrounding myself with smoke, I outline what happened last night and what Hailey saw.
“She sure keeps your life entertaining,” Ryder muses, the clink of glasses piercing my ears. “What do you need from me? I’m good, but I can’t hack her brain, Boss.”
Him and his stupid jokes.
“I need to find out more, cross things off the list for certain. Can you pull Hailey’s hospital admission records? I need the details—what she was wearing, where she was hurt, who brought her in, who admitted her. Everything we don’t have.”
“I don’t think there’s anything more there. You said there’s no way she remembers Babyface shooting Alex so why do you need all that?”
“I’ve been here for weeks, Ryder, and I still don’t know shit. I’d rather triple-check every detail and prove myself right three times than miss something that proves me wrong.”
A chuckle rings in my ear. “Sounds like you’re homesick. Missing the fun? I thought you’d quenched your thirst with that Jason guy.”
“Jensen,” I seethe. “Where are you on Alex’s second phone? There’s nothing useful in his texts with Aalyiah, but if—”
I pause, a light bulb bursting in my head. Fuck.Hailey.
An adrenaline rush fills my veins, but the endorphins from my brilliant idea swiftly fade into hesitation. I wouldn’t have hesitated a couple of weeks ago but now... I don’t take breaching Hailey’s privacy lightly.
It’s bad enough that I read her diary. It’s bad enough that I’m lying to her while she gives me everything I never knew I wanted.
Needed.
I’m betraying her in the worst fucking way and I’m about to up my game even further.
Reading through her texts with Alex, her father, any friends she might’ve had, and, learning about the last two years of her life while her mind’s still only piecing together the fragments... that’s a brand-new level of cruel.
