Page 33 of Until Easton

"The Easton Evans, frontman for East of Addiction?"

"That would be me." I give her a smile, and her eyes cut to Becca.

"Umm." She looks around. "Could I have your autograph? My daughter is a huge fan."

"Sure." The officer passes me a blank police department letterhead. "What's your daughter's name?" I ask.

"Harper. Her sixteenth birthday is next week," she tells me, and I start signing. "She's going to lose her mind."

Happy Sweet 16, Harper!

Easton Evans.

"Thank you. Oh, and please sign in." She slides me a clipboard. "Wilkerson's office is on the second floor at the end of the hall on your right." She smiles again then Becca and I walk away and head for the elevator.

"Sorry about that," I say as we step inside, and the door closes.

"Why?" Becca pushes the number two button on the control panel.

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I'm not. I understand what you do for a living. Even though I've never been involved with the lifestyle, I'm going into this relationship with eyes wide open, Easton," Becca says.

"Come here." I pull her to me. "How'd I get so lucky?" I gaze upon her face and run the pad of my thumb across the freckles on her skin.

"Kiss me already," Becca orders.

"You don't have to tell me twice." My lips press firmly against hers.

The dinging of the elevator door pulls us apart, and we step into the hallway and head right toward the door at the end. I knock twice. "It's open." Wilkerson looks up from the pile of papers on his desk. "You Evans?"

"Yes, sir." Becca and I walk in, and Wilkerson stands. He isn't your cookie-cutter detective. His appearance gives me Jake vibes with the thick beard. The guy is built like a brick house, and has tattoos covering both arms. The guy looks like he could bench press a squad car.

"And the young lady?" His attention shifts to Becca, and I get a bit heated with him looking at her.

"This is my girlfriend, Becca Connelly." I could have kept the introduction to just her name but felt the need to make it known she's mine.

"Noted," Wilkerson states. "Have a seat." He resumes his position behind the desk and waits for us to be seated before continuing. "I need you to sign these." He slides a paper to me. "It's the incident report from the break-in.'' I skim the report before signing anything, then hand it back. "Is there any chance you may know this person? An ex, perhaps?" Wilkerson lens back in his chair.

"No exes."

"A former employee, crew member, anyone you can think of who may have been disgruntled or pissed off in the past?"

"I've yet to fire anyone, and I'm sure I've pissed a few people off in my life, but I hardly think they would be professing their undying devotion to me and threatening bodily harm over the fear of losing my affection," I tell him. "All your questioning leads me to believe you're hitting dead ends on the investigation."

"We don't have much to go on," he states the facts. "You hired Jax Mayson. I don't know him personally but know he's good at what he does, which is finding the small details." Wilkerson leans forward, placing his forearms against the surface of his desk. "I've been at this job for a long time, and one thing I can tell you is stalkers never give up. They feed off the fixation they have for their target. Over time it consumes them past a point of no return. They tend to be mentally ill and unstable individuals, so never let your guard down."

When we’re finished, we leave Wilkerson's office and head for my apartment. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I look for Quinn, who was cut off at the light by some dickhead driving a Lamborghini.

My mood feels heavy and paranoia has me looking over my shoulder every few seconds. What if Wilkerson is correct, and things get worse before they get better? I park my truck. "It will be okay." Becca tries to be optimistic and rubs her fingertips at the base of my neck.

"I'm risking too much being here—having you here with me."

"I wanted to be here, Easton. You didn't force me."

"I should have said no. I don't want something to happen to you because of me," I admit.

"First, I don't like being told what to do. And second, I feel safe with you." I close my eyes and lean into her touch when she places her palm on my cheek.