Page 32 of Until Easton

"Late afternoon," he tells me.

"Good. I need to make a drive to Nashville after breakfast." I turn to Becca. "What's your pet policy? I need to swing by Miles' place after dealing with paperwork at the police station to get Gizmo."

Becca laughs softly. "Gizmo is more than welcome to stay with you here." Her forehead creased. "Does going to the police department have anything to do with your apartment break-in?" Shit. I didn't think when I mentioned that part. I close my eyes and wait for it.

"Break-in?" I hear the worry in Emerson's voice.

"Yeah. Someone trashed my apartment," I tell her.

"Is this linked to the stalker shit you're dealin' with?" Jake asks, and now I have every set of eyes on me.

I look to the ceiling. "They believe so."

"When you say 'they,' who are you referring to?" Emerson inquires.

"Jax, Miles, and the police. The place was trash, but nothing looked to be taken, and there were no signs of forced entry," I explain.

"Didn't security footage pick up anything?" Reid asks.

I shake my head. "Nothing unusual."

"I don't like this." My sister frowns.

There's nothing I can say that will make her feel better. "Miles had someone go by and install cameras inside the apartment. If it happens again, we'll catch the person. In the meantime, I have men investigating and have full confidence in them that they will find who the culprit is—promise."

"I'm riding to Nashville with you," Becca states.

I twist in my seat and face Becca. "I don't want to put you in the middle of this mess."

"You're here, in my home, on vacation because of this obsessed person's threats," Becca folds her arm, and the action pushes her breast up. My eyes drop to her cleavage. "I'd say it puts me in the thick of it." I say nothing because she makes a valid point, and it makes me feel like shit.

"I just don't want to risk your safety," I tell her but realize by the look on her face Becca is determined to get her way.

"She's a Connelly, son. Once we dig our heels in, you can all but guarantee you've lost the battle," her grandad says while buttering a biscuit. "My Becca is head-strong but also very resilient. I hold high regard for you wanting to protect her—it's what you should be doing. However, she can hold her own, too." His eyes land on me for a second. "Let her stand beside you, not behind."

Silverware tapping against ceramic plates is the only sound filling the room for a solid minute before Quinn speaks. "I'm taggin' along." He pauses and looks across the table at Jake. "You cool with that, Prez?"

Jake runs his palm down his beard. "Wouldn't hurt to have an extra set of eyes keeping watch over a member of our family."

I don't question or refuse the offer of added security, especially since Becca will be accompanying me. "Thanks," I tell them.

"No thanks needed, brother. We take care of our own," Jake states.

An hour later, we hit the road with Quinn traveling, without my sister, close behind us. Most of the ride is spent in comfortable silence, with Becca's hand in mine. The simplicity of her touch, along with the music drifting from the radio, make the short trip perfect.

Quinn walks up to the truck once we finally find a place to park. "I'm gonna hang outside."

"It shouldn't be long. I'll need to swing by my apartment before heading to Miles' place to grab a few things." I give him the heads up.

"Alright, brother." Quinn nods and walks back toward his bike.

I take Becca by the hand, help her from the truck, and we stroll across the street into the police precinct. After we walk through metal detectors, the clerk sitting behind the protective glass greets us. "How can I help you?" The female cop looks up from her computer screen.

"I'm here to see Detective Wilkerson."

"Name?" the officer asks.

"Easton Evans," I say, and her eyes widen.