Page 105 of ILY
He has a point. I have a community here. A family.
And I have the man I am absolutely tits over ass in love with, who not only says he loves me back but has gone out of his way to show it. It’s not everything, but it’s so much more than nothing.
We head outside after, and Thom takes off toward his car once he sees Thorne pulling up, casting him a wave before disappearing around the side of the building.
I get in, but before I can so much as buckle up, Thorne grabs me with a firm grip and tugs me into a kiss so intense it makes my toes curl inside my shoes.
“Shit,” I gasp. “You sure we can’t go upstairs?”
He laughs against my lips, then pulls back. “I promise we will spend plenty of time upstairs testing out every spring in the mattress. And this won’t take long.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Sign forms agreeing to let the FBI look wherever they need to look to find as much evidence as they can.”
“Like more bodies?” I ask. My voice is thready and weak.
He cups my cheek and brushes his thumb over my lips. “Yeah. Like more bodies.”
I swallow heavily. Seeing the tooth was traumatic enough. “Do I have to see them?”
He shakes his head and steals one more kiss. “No,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to see them.”
He sits back and puts the car in drive, then holds my hand the entire way back to the farm.
There are marked and unmarked cars all over the property, and as we drive up and slow down, almost to a stop, I catch Salem’s eye, who’s watching from the side of the road.
‘What’s happening?’ he signs at me through the window.
‘MURDER,’ I spell.
His eyes widen more. ‘Repeat?!’
‘Text later,’ I promise.
The uniformed officer waves Thorne in once he catches a look at his badge, and we roll toward the house.
Of course, I’m expecting it to be like TV. Some gorgeous model slash detective in Chanel sunglasses and an Armani suit strolling around the grounds, making quips about everything.
Instead, we immediately meet with a short, broad man with a receding hairline, thick-framed glasses, and a gold wedding band that looks like it was recently polished.
“I have all the forms on a tablet in the kitchen,” he tells us…well, mostly Thorne since he’s not even looking at me. “I’ve already been in touch with the lead agent, and we’re fully ready to cooperate.”
“So am I,” I tell him.
He finally spares me a glance, looking me up and down. God, does he think I knew what my aunt did? Does he think that I, like, helped her or something? I was a damn toddler at the time, and I want to scream that at him, but I may be overreacting.
This is all very overwhelming.
“I’ve got you,” Thorne leans in and murmurs as he guides me up the steps and in through the front door. I half expect my house to be torn to shreds, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s been inside.
Yet.
Though there are flecks of paint all over the floor by the cellar door.
“That was me,” Thorne says, following my gaze. “I think it’s been sealed shut with cement.”
“Cement? Fuck.” Yeah, that’sdefinitelyserial killer behavior.
