Page 109

“The harder they fall,” he finishes. “Just lie low for now. If the press smells blood in the water, they’ll start circling.”

“Will do. Thanks again.”

“No problem at all. Phillip Prescott was a good man. Surrounded by bad people, and clearly not the greatest judge of character. You should also know we’ve reopened the investigation into Dahlia’s father’s death. After her statement, I’m thinking his death was not an accident. Leon is dead, but if José is involved, we’ll find out.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. There were also a couple of large deposits into Leon’s account. I’m not entirely sure what those were for, but we’ll trace them back to their origination. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Sounds good. Thanks again.”

“Yeah. Talk soon.” He shakes my hand.

Feeling yet another weight lifted from my shoulders, I step from the Charleston precinct and head to my new truck.

As I pull out of the lot and drive toward Dahlia’s apartment, I call Zane over Bluetooth to check in.

“Hey, Tank, all good?”

“All good. They’re opening an investigation into the death of Dahlia’s father, too.”

“Good. How about Smith’s offshore accounts?”

“Alec said they’ve frozen them and are combing through them to see how much of it was stolen from the estate. He did say there were some strange deposits, but he’s looking into those as well.”

“Fantastic. Sawyer’s still digging, too.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I reply with a laugh. “I’m heading to Dahlia’s now. I’ll let you know when we’re on our way back to town.”

“See you soon.”

I end the call, then lean forward to turn up the music as I pull down the street toward Dahlia’s place. She stayed home and packed while I took the meeting. That way we can take the last of her stuff to her new place in Stormwatch Landing.

I’d tried not to pressure her, but she’d insisted that a fresh start was exactly what she wanted. And, well, why would I argue when her moving closer means I get to see the woman I love every single day.

After parking my truck, I start to climb out, but my cell rings.

“Hey, Presley, I’m about to⁠—”

“Where’s Dahlia?” my brother demands, his tone sharp and full of concern.

“In her apartment.” My blood ices. “Why?”

“This is so much bigger. Get her and get out of Charleston—now!”

I end the call and slam my door shut, then sprint up the steps, completely ignoring the pain in my side as my heart races a million miles a minute.

Her door is locked.

“Dahlia?” I knock.

Something breaks.

I slam my boot against the door. Once. Twice. It splinters on the hinges, so I kick it one final time, then rush into her apartment, adrenaline fueling me.

Three armed men stand just inside, while Dahlia sits on the couch, eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down her cheeks. Seeing her sitting there, absolutely terrified and completely heartbroken, destroys me.

And it makes me want to level this place with all three men inside.