Page 31 of Dylan's Dad
I swallow hard. "Yeah."
"You don’t know where he is, you haven’t talked to him, and you sure as hell haven’t seen him. But if you want to tell them what happened at Dylan’s house, that’s your call."
I nod, even though he can’t see me. "Got it."
Stallion exhales, his tone softening. "Reaper won’t let anything happen to you, darlin’. Just keep your head straight. They’ll be there soon. Be brave Darlin’ I’ll see you soon."
The line goes dead.
I sit there, gripping the phone, pulse pounding. Then I force myself to move. I take the stairs two at a time, heading to the bathroom on the top floor. Cold water splashes against my face as I grip the edges of the sink, staring at my reflection.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
The distant rumble of motorcycles outside sets my nerves on edge. A few seconds later, the front door swings open.
"Little Flower," Reaper’s voice calls out, strong and steady.
I take a slow breath, then head downstairs.
Reaper stands just inside the doorway, his presence grounding me before I even reach him. His blue eyes lock onto mine, searching, and whatever he sees there makes his expression soften. He steps forward, cupping my face with warm, calloused hands.
"You good?" His voice is low, just for me.
I nod, leaning into his touch. "Yeah."
His thumb brushes over my cheek, and for a moment, everything else fades. But then movement behind him reminds me we’re not alone.
The man beside him is tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp eyes that miss nothing. He carries himself with an ease that tells me he’s been doing this a long time.
Reaper keeps his hand on me as he turns slightly. "Lola, this is Detective Tristan Dumas."
Tristan nods. "Miss Martin. Hope you don’t mind me asking you a few questions."
I lift my chin. "Depends on the questions."
He studies me for a beat, then starts. "Have you seen Dylan?"
"No." The lie is smooth, my heartbeat anything but.
"He hasn’t reached out? No phone calls, no messages?"
I shake my head. "No."
Tristan watches me, and I swear I can feel him dissecting every inch of my response. "That’s strange. His work hasn’t seen him. Neither have his neighbors. You sure he hasn’t tried to contact you?"
"I’m sure."
"You two lived together, didn’t you?"
I nod. "Until I left."
His expression sharpens. "That the night his house got torn apart?"
I let out a slow breath. "Day but, yeah. I was there."
Reaper’s grip on me tightens slightly, his silent way of grounding me. Tristan, though, looks interested. "You were?"
