Page 48 of Jayson
“We came by two days ago,” the other one says, tone just a bit too sharp. “And again yesterday. No one answered.”
“And?” My mouth is faster than my brain now. “Is there some rule that says I have to be home every second I’m in the city?”
Another glance between them. Another silent message I don’t understand.
“Miss Bishop, you don’t seem particularly concerned that your father is missing.”
“I didn’t know hewasmissing until you said so,” I snap. “And even then, I’m still not sure I should be.”
One of them leans back, eyes narrowing slightly. “And why’s that?”
“Because,” I say, folding my arms, “he does this. He vanishes. He ghosts his own staff, his so-called friends, hell—even me. Whenever it suits him.”
That seems to catch them off guard. The younger one jots something down in his notebook.
“His secretary told us he had no travel plans.”
I shrug, shifting in my seat, channeling every ounce of calm I don’t actually feel.
“I don’t know what his schedule is like.”
“Can you think of any place he may have gone to assist in our investigation?”
I shake my head, shoot him a sympathetic look. The officer’s jaw tenses.
I lean back in my chair, head tilted slightly, and look him square in the eye.
“Well,” I say coolly, “I guess you’d better send out a search party then, hadn’t you?”
21
JAYSON
“What thefuckwas that about?” Keira screeches as she storms back into the kitchen, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls like a slap.
Her eyes are wide and blazing with something halfway between fury and fear. She snatches her phone off the bench, checks it, and scoffs like the mass of notifications is some kind of insult. Then she drops it—more dramatic than necessary—onto the counter.
I don’t blame her. I’d be screeching too if the cops showed up asking about a man I believed was dead and buried.
I lean against the sink, arms folded, watching her unravel.
She’s not shaking—but she’s close. Her spine’s straight, her jaw clenched, and that fire in her eyes is trying like hell to burn through confusion and fear. I know the look. It's the face of someone whose world just shifted, but they're not ready to admit it yet.
I wait a beat. Let her catch her breath. Let her stew in it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she snaps finally, turning on me. “My father’s dead, right? And you let them stand in my living room and talk about him like he just wandered off to get milk?”
I sigh, slow and measured. “That was kind of the point.”
Her mouth drops open in disbelief.
I push off the sink, walk over, and stop just short of touching her. “We moved the body,” I say quietly. “Staged it to look like a disappearance, not a murder.”
“You moved the—” she chokes, shoving her hand through her hair. “Jesus, Jayson. Youforgotto mention that?”
“No,” I say. “I didn’t forget. I chose not to tell you.”
That earns me a glare that could cut steel. But I don’t flinch.
