Page 52 of His Good Girl
Holding my hands up in surrender, I plant my ass back down, turning to face the front door with bated breath.
“Oh, it’s you. Come on in, I guess.”
Frowning, I see it’s Guy. I’m not sure how I feel about him right now. His action got my ass handed to me by the uncle of the woman I’m falling in love with. Ignoring the enormity of that wayward thought, I sit back and fold my arms over my chest when he lets out a loud guffaw at the sight of me.
“Why did you let him in?” I complain to Rose. “And why are you even here?”
“You’ve not been answering my messages.”
“Been kind of busy not being able to see.”
“What happened?”
“A lot. But none of it is important. What have you got for me?”
“A lot. Can we go upstairs?”
The drop in his volume gets me to my feet. “Sorry, Rose, I’m taking this off for now. You can wrap me up again later.”
Pulling the bandages off and leaving them on the coffee table in an herbal-smelling heap, I lead Guy upstairs. My sight is much better, but I’m still struggling to focus on small words like text messages.
Turning to face him, his wince does nothing to assure me I look any better, even though I know I do. I was an absolute mess a few days ago.
My ribs ache from the trek up the stairs, making it look like I’m in no pain, so I fold my arms over my abdomen, gripping the side of my white tee for support.
Guy lowers his voice even more than before. “It’s big. They found him.”
It takes me a second to register what he said before the blood rushes to my head, making it swim in a tumultuous whirlpool of nauseating emotion. “What?”
He nods. “You look like you need to sit.”
Stumbling to the bed, I lower myself, my heart hammering in my chest.
“His name is Clifford Stanley. He is currently incarcerated at the supermax in Glenridge for multiple counts of murder.”
Remaining as still as a statue, I have no idea what to do with this information. “When?” I croak eventually.
“Five years ago. He was completely off the grid until he made a massive mistake, and they got his fingerprints on file…”
He explains it to me, but I barely hear a word. All I know is that they picked up a partial from the handle of the knife, and it came back a match.
From this jumble of words, I have deduced two things. One mostly, but two. I can’t get to him in Glenridge. Solitaire might, but that’s a stretch I’m not willing to risk my life for. Not now, not when Serena needs me. The revelation that I’m putting her needs before my own is vomit-inducing in itself, but that’s where I’ve landed, and that’s where I’m staying, apparently.
“Put it back,” I choke, interrupting him, voicing my second thought.
“What?”
“Put it back into evidence. If he is already serving, I can get him the death sentence.”
“I don’t…I can’t…not in my wheelhouse. If you want me to hack the evidence room, I’m your man, but sneaking in to replace stolen evidence, which by the way, has massive chain breakage if it’s caught, is a no. You need to find someone else.”
“Where is it?”
“DWP labs.”
Nodding, I get to my feet. I guess it’s time to sweep everything under the carpet, grab hold of my balls and call Quen as if nothing has happened.
“Have it prepped for pick up in the exact same state as when it arrived. Do a sweep while you’re here as well, please.”
