Page 52 of Call It What You Want
“Guys, slow down.Jesus,” Eve says, her breath heavy from trudging through the cold sand. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Someone probably just puked in the living room again.”
No, that look on Jackson’s face was serious. Whatever that guy told him, it wasn’t good.
Inside the house, things look pretty normal. People are hanging out in the kitchen, smoking, drinking, making out…whatever. Eve and I follow Wyn down the hall, past the foyer, and down the hallway. Raised voices echo off the walls. Well,onevoice. It’s Jackson, and he’sreallypissed about something.
As we’re walking, Eve twists to flash me a look, like,What the fuck?
My heart kicks up a notch as Wyn stops in front of a set of familiar double doors—the library with a dressing room and a secret door into hell.
Wyn hesitates, so I step past her and push one of the doors open. Christian stands off to the side as Jackson unleashes hell on two people—one guy, a cop, and a woman in a sleek-looking pantsuit. She’s staring down at a piece of paper in her hands, completely unmoved by Jackson’s fury.
“...she’s my fuckingwife,” Jackson fumes, jabbing at the paper.
I step into the room with Wyn and Eve right behind me. Everyone turns to look at us, and even Jackson’s fury stutters as his gaze collides with mine. The anger in his eyes quickly shifts to confusion.
For a second, no one speaks. No one moves. Then the woman in the blazer steps forward. “Miss Ava Baldwin?” she says smoothly, hand extended. “I’m Special Agent Silverman with the FBI. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the death of Senator Davis.”
I blink. Given Jackson’s reaction to her being here, this can’t be good…
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jackson
Fucking-A.
I want to wrap my hands around Ava’s delicate neck and strangle her right here, in front of everyone, including the fucking FBI. I swear to God, I wastwoseconds away from kicking Special Agent Silverman out on her ass when Ava waltzed in and fucked everything up.
“Nice to meet you,” Ava says, shaking the agent’s hand.
Oh, fuck no.
I turn to my cousin, Sean, who’s standing next to Silverman in his police uniform. He wears two badges: one for Malibu PD and the other for the Burning Crown. Silverman is smart, smarter than I gave her credit for. She clearly used him to gain access to Rush House, knowing damn well that any other cop would’ve been turned away at the door.
“Sean,” I say, “Come on, man. What the hell is this? Shut this shit down.”
He slides a hard glare at Silverman, like this is the last thing he wants to be doing. “Would if I could, man.Trust.”
Christian steps forward, a blunt hanging from his lips. “I just texted John. He’s on his way over.”
I level a glare at Silverman, who has her sights set squarely on Ava like a predator sizing up wounded prey. Violence stirs in my veins, stretching awake like a beast that’s been starved for far too long. No one threatens what’s mine. Not cops, not rival societies, and sure as hell not some badge-wearing bitch who thinks she can waltz into this house and set her sights on my wife.
“Our lawyer is on his way,” I bite out. “And like I said, Ava is my wife now. Spousal privilege. She doesn’t have to talk.”
Silverman’s sharp gaze shifts to me. “Privilege only extends to any discussions we have aboutyou,Mr. McKnight. But we’re actually here to talk about the rediscovered evidence that’s come to our attention—a bloody fingerprint on the knife that wasn’t tested three years ago.”
“Rediscovered evidence on a three-year-old case,” I muse. “That’s quite an oversight.”
It wasn’t an oversight, and we both know it. After my stepdad was killed, the Burning Crown’s Senior Council swooped in and did their thing. They threatened authorities, put pressure on political figures, bribed officials to cover shit up…
So, investigators not testing critical DNA evidence? That’s not surprising. Whatissurprising is that the DNA evidence wasn’t completely destroyed, which is what the Senior Council would have demanded. The fact that it didn’t happen? Heads will fucking roll.
I’m done waiting for my uncle to show up, so I walk over to the desk, pull the drawer open, and grab one of his business cards. I hand it to Silverman. “If you have any questions for me or my wife, you can direct them to our lawyer,” I say through clenched teeth, my jaw locked tight.
Silverman glances down at the card. “John McKnight. This is your uncle, is that right?”
“Yup,” I say, curt. Final.
“Hm. One uncle is a lawyer. Another uncleanda cousin are in the Malibu Police Department…” she says. “Quite the family network you’ve got, Mr. McKnight.” She presses her lips into a thin line and nods slowly, like she’s piecing something together. “Almost like you’re expecting trouble…ortrying to make sure trouble never sticks.”
