Page 128 of Cross the Line
He taught me control and how to take command of situations when they feel like they’re spiraling. Dad’s the logical parent who understands the importance of emotions, but more so the importance of controlling them. Something that has served my career well.
Dragging Finley’s armchair beside Eli’s, I perch on the joined armrests. The height advantage allows me to feel more in control of the situation, despite Dad’s drawn face as he places a file in front of Finley.
Opening it to the first page, he points down at a number he’s highlighted in red with a red tab beside it on the edge of the page.
“Do you recognize this number?” He asks her, grabbing her phone from the top of the file stack. After unlocking it, he pulls up her contacts and scrolls down to point outBar Guy.
“No, I don’t know it.” Finley chokes on her words when Eli gives her a gruff questioning glance. “I don’t know how it’s in my contacts.”
“It’s registered to the same physical address the IP from the forum posts traces back to.” Dad keeps his tone level. “At least four numbers you’ve received texts from pinged the tower closest to that address.”
“I promise I don’t know whose it is.I swear.” Finley’s words catch in her throat as she shakes out her trembling hands.
“Baby,” I murmur, cupping her face and lifting her stare to mine. “Breathe.”
“I don’t know whoBar Guyis, JJ.” Her trembling hands claw into my thigh. “Why would I give my number to another man when?—”
“Relax, Fin,” I say as Dad adds, “The number in the phone is registered to Ryker Hallman.”
Fuck.
“What?” Finley sputters.
Eli pushes up from his seat with a vicious growl. “Motherfucker!”
Shit.
“There’s more,” Dad says, opening another file.
When he opens it, my heart stops. The image from The Chronicle’s article glares back at me in all its sickening ugliness.
“Lex and I are working to get the source details.” Dad flips to a printed screenshot of the email sent with the images and paragraphs. I don’t read it. Once was enough.
Eli braces over Dad’s desk. His breathing is erratic, and now that he’s taken off his jacket, I can see how tight his muscles are beneath his sweater.
Maybe we should’ve seen the holidays through before we dove back into this ghastly mess.
“The Chronicle is being difficult about giving us the IP address from which the email was sent. So, Lex has reached out to an acquaintance for help. However?—”
“It was him,” Eli says.
His vapid tone sends a chill through me.
“We’re speculating so… yes,” Dad answers.
“Of course it’s him,” Eli barks, his hands slapping down on the desk. “I know it is. The photos of us that Cecelia gave me a while back, that was him, too. Last time I saw him at the training facility, he had an envelope just like the one the photos were in. It makes sense. It all fits so perfectly.”
“Plenty of people use those mailers. It could be coincidence…” I’m lying to myself while desperately attempting to defuse the anger rolling off him.
Because I’ve only encountered this side of Eli once—when he beat the shit out of Presley. Right now, I need stoic Eli. The man who thinks before he acts and?—
“Eli’s right,” Finley whispers. When I look over my shoulder to look from Eli to her, she shrugs. “It makes sense.”
Fuck me.
I wish she hadn’t spoken, because the scowl on his face when he turns towards us makes my blood run cold.
“His number is on your phone. Why?” Eli stalks closer. “How does he have your number, Finley?”
