Page 48 of A Witchy Spell Ride
Cross set a small kit on the desk. “Give me your phone,” he said. At my look, he added, “I promise I will not read your texts. I don’t want to know what you send Briar at two in the morning.”
“It’s memes,” Briar said. “Mostly.”
“And threats,” Cross said. “Occasionally.”
I handed him the phone. He plugged it into something that looked like it belonged in a spy movie. Numbers scrolled. He watched, calm and intent. “Do you have any cameras in your apartment we didn’t install?”
“No.”
He nodded once. “Then the photo was taken with a phone.”
Ghost leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded, watching me more than the room. “Angle?”
I closed my eyes and saw it again: the couch, my head on his chest, the window’s reflection a faint smear beyond. “Low,” Isaid. “From the kitchen door maybe. Or the hallway. Not too close.”
Cross typed. “Time stamp?”
“I found it at 8:12,” I said. “Envelope was cold. Could’ve been placed before dawn.”
Ghost’s jaw flexed. “While I was here.”
“While you were here,” I said, and I didn’t mean it like blame, but it lay between us anyway.
He looked away first. “We’re adding a camera to your hallway,” he said. “And one to the vent. And one to the—”
“Bathroom mirror,” Briar said cheerfully. “We’ll film you brushing your teeth and sell it to your fans.”
I flipped her off. She grinned, softer at the edges.
Reaper’s phone buzzed. He answered, face going stony as he listened. “Uh-huh. Send it.” He hung up and looked at Ghost. “Camera two blocks from the shop caught the sedan at 3:04 a.m. Driver stops. Lights off. Door opens two inches and shuts. Either he’s flexing or he lost his nerve.”
“Or he had a partner,” Ghost said. “And the partner didn’t show.”
The idea made my skin crawl new. Not one him. Two.
Cross’s device chimed. “There were three connection attempts to your Wi-Fi at 2:37, 2:42, and 3:01,” he said to me withoutlooking up. “Wrong passwords. He was close enough to try. He’s fishing.”
“Fishing for what?” I asked.
“Presence,” Ghost said. “Proof you were home. Proof he could touch your life without touching you.”
“Congratulations,” Briar said brightly to the air. “You’ve touched a lawyer, a biker, and a woman with knives. Prize is a funeral.”
Reaper cut her a look that said enough. Then, to me, “You sleep here today. You eat. You shower with the door cracked and someone outside. You don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I lied.
“You always do,” he said, but his mouth softened. “Later, we talk about how you kept this for weeks and made me find out like this.”
“Later,” I said.
He nodded once. Deal.
Ghost pushed off the doorjamb. “Come on,” he said. “Food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Good,” he said, “because I ordered too much.”
