Page 85 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

“No.”

“No damaged locks?”

Shadow shakes his head.

A knot forms in my stomach. “Then how did he get inside?”

Again, the men exchange looks. I suddenly hate that look. The one that says they’ve already had a conversation without me. The one that says they’ve reached conclusions.

“Someone used a key,” Chief says carefully.

The words suck the air from the room. “He had a key?” I ask, confusion and disbelief making my tongue thick.

Trigger slams his palm against the counter. “It was Ethan.” The name explodes from him. “He had access. He knows the house. He knows where everything is.”

Shadow nods grimly. “It makes sense, Sadie.”

I close my eyes briefly. When I open them again, all three men are watching me. Waiting. Expecting me to agree. I shake my head. “No.”

“No?” Trigger sputters.

I fold my arms across my chest. “No.” I take a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. “You’re jumping to conclusions without any proof.”

“Sadie—”

“No, listen.” The frustration building inside me finally spills over. “Yes, Ethan used to have a key. Yes, Ethan knows the house. But he isn’t the only person who could have gotten one.”

The men remain unconvinced. I continue anyway. “For years, I kept a spare key under the doormat.” That gets their attention. I gesture helplessly. “I know it was stupid. Believe me, I know. But I lived there alone with Owen, and it made me feel better knowing I couldn’t lock us out.”

Trigger’s face darkens, muttering a curse.

I ignore him. “Anyone could have taken it. Anyone could have copied it and put it back without me ever knowing.”

For the first time, I see uncertainty flicker across their faces.

“It could still be Ethan,” I admit. “I’m not saying it couldn’t.” The words taste bitter. Part of me is wondering if they’re right, if it could really be Ethan behind all this. I keep thinking about the phone calls, the desperation in Ethan’s voice, the strange comments, the growing instability. But another part of me remembers the man I married. The man who taught Owen how to ride a bike. The man who used to bring me flowers for absolutely no reason. The man who, despite everything, never frightened me. “I just don’t think we can assume it was him yet.”

My gaze drifts back to the note. I don’t know which possibility is worse, that Ethan did this or that somebody else did, because if it wasn’t Ethan, then somewhere out there is a stranger who has been watching me, watching Owen, collecting pieces of our lives without either of us noticing. That possibility is terrifying enough that I find myself wishing I hadn’t insisted on knowing the details.

“It was him.” Trigger insists, jaw grinding, foot tapping. Every movement is sharp and restless, as though he is burning through adrenaline faster than his body can process it. Trigger mutters something under his breath.

Shadow and Chief glance at each other, silently communicating. Something about the expressions on their faces makes a fresh wave of dread wash through me.

“What was that?” My eyes narrow. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Trigger suddenly becomes very interested in the coffee pot. Shadow studies a point somewhere over my shoulder. Even Chief looks vaguely uncomfortable, as if he knows and wishes he didn’t.

Trigger meets my eye, eyes flashing with conviction. “It was him. I don’t care what he says.”

Understanding dawns. “Oh, my God.” The words come out flat. “What did you do?”

“We stopped by Ethan’s place before coming home.” He sounds utterly convinced he didn’t do anything wrong.

For a moment, I genuinely can’t speak. “You what?” The words shatter like ice. Trigger flinches, as if caught in a hailstorm.

“Sadie, we didn’t touch him,” Shadow says quickly.

“That’s not the point!” My voice comes out louder than intended, and I quickly drop it to a low, calm tone. The last thing I want is for Owen to walk in. “You can’t go threatening my ex-husband every time something happens.”