Page 82 of Silent Desires

About twelve minutes passed with no new messages before Dom texted again.

Dom:Update?

Atlas:This radio silence is killing me.

That’s it, I’m coming in.

Tucker:No.

You can’t bust in there when she’s talking to the cops, nor do you want to be seen on campus by any suspects.

I finally jump into the conversation.

Me:Hey, she’s done with the officer now. Hopefully, we can leave soon.

Ben:How is she doing?

Max:She’s been crying a lot, but she’s calmed down a bit now.

Atlas:I’m going to kill Brad.

Dom:Get in line, brother. We’re in the parking lot. Bring her to us as soon as you can. I need to see her with my own eyes.

Max:She wrote her statement, and I took a photo.

Atlas:Send it.

Tucker:That’s probably not a good idea. Maybe we should wait until you’re home with a punching bag in front of you.

Dom:Send it.

I send them the picture, and nobody texts again for a while as they read and process what she just went through. I hang my head at this shitshow. It’s my fault. I overheard some guys talking about a friend in college who liked dating high school girls, so I called Jasper in so we could listen in more to the two guys who had mentioned it. Locker rooms are where you’re most likely to hear the sort of gossip we need to solve this case.

I hear a bit of commotion outside the office and grab my phone, sending a message.

Me:Tuck, what’s going on?

Tucker:Police just got a call and have to go. They’re taking Brad with them and charging him.

Gideon:I heard the radio. It said it was a 1-8-7.

Fuck, that’s not good. We might not be police officers, but we were familiar with some of the major codes, in case we were monitoring the police radio for information. And a one–eight-seven was one you didn’t want to hear. It meant that someone had died.

Chapter fifty-three

How does one tiny girl attract so much negative attention? It’s mind-boggling. She barely had any interactions with that asshole, and he just goes straight to assaulting her. Some guys are real pieces of shit. It’s the part of my job I hate to love: getting evidence on scum like him and taking them down. Is it possible that Brad is our killer? His background check says he was born and raised here, in Blue River, so it’s extremely unlikely. But a town can have more than one killer.

I see the front doors open, and the twins quickly walk our way with my little kitten, Mina, pressed between them. Max has his arm around her shoulder, while Jasper holds her hand.

When they get to our vehicle, Ben flings the side door open and moves back to let them help her into the SUV. I’d love to jump out to greet her, but we can’t be seen here. All three of us are already sitting in the back, waiting for her, and when she enters, we all try to pull her to us at once.

“Me first, assholes,” I say, pushing them away and scooping her into my lap in the middle row. The twins close the door and climb into the front seats as I give her a big hug, trying to be as gentle as I can while reassuring myself that she’s okay. I kiss her head and then hold her face in my hands, tilting it toward mine. She looks into my eyes and offers me a small smile. I press a kiss to the top of her nose before pulling back and resting my forehead against hers.

“Kitten, we have to stop meeting like this. I’m going to have a heart attack.” I pull her face to my chest, tucking her under my chin and holding her tight.

“Lord knows you’re old enough for one,” Max adds, and Mina’s body starts shaking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. Look at me,” I say, tilting her face back up to mine. Where I expect to see sadness and tears, I see amusement and laughter. My gaze darts to Max, and I give him a smile. Thank god for his ability to find humor in a situation like this.

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