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“So what did the person say? Is there any idea on who it could be?”
“No idea.” Beckham took another gulp before continuing, his glass already almost empty. “Holly got the call first and transferred it to Jonah. Whoever called was using a voice distorter. Jonah was able to record the message, and we all heard it.”
Part of me wanted to stay blissfully ignorant of the details. I had two people I cared a great deal for working at Stonewall; I didn’t want to spend my days obsessing over their safety.
Buuuut, my inner Anxious Annie couldn’t keep quiet.
“What did they say?” I asked anyway.
“That they were the ‘Third Fallen Angel’ and that they were going to drag us all to hell where we belong. They said that the bomb had been planted the night before.”
I felt sick to my stomach. “I can’t… this is crazy. Jesus, Mary, and Joe Jonas.”
Beckham cocked his head, as though he hadn’t heard me right, before cracking up once he figured that he had heard right.
“Come here, you bright, shining sun.” He placed the wineglass down on my kitchen counter with a clink before stepping toward me, a smile on his face. He kissed me then. It felt like a reminder of everything we had and how suddenly it could be taken from us.
“Third Fallen Angel…” I repeated when the kiss broke. “Does this have anything to do with the graffiti someone left a few months back?”
“We think so.” Beckham nodded. He looked stressed, and all I wanted to do was kiss that stress off him.
Of course, I didn’t blame him in the slightest. Stonewall Investigations was an incredible group of detectives set on helping an underserved community, but that also meant they were easy targets for other parties who didn’t have as good of a heart as the detectives did. It was proven months ago when they found graffiti painted across the entrance of the building. I remember my brother having told me about it, saying they suspected that maybe the church down the street had some worshippers who may have lashed out.
“So you suspect the church still?” I asked.
He chewed his lip in thought. “No, not anymore. I think there’s something else going on here.”
“Like…?”
“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t come over to speculate on cases. I came over to spend time with you, and judging from the smell, also to stuff my face with incredible food.”
“Well, I wouldn’t really say incredible.”
“What would you say?”
I cocked my head, smiling. “Delectable.”
“Perfect.” He kissed me again, almost sweeping me off my feet, literally.
My heart filled with happiness and relief. I felt like I was high as I scurried around the apartment and got the last touches ready, bringing Beckham to the table and having him sit down so I could serve him. I tried getting him to tell me what happened with his interview with Greg, but he was adamant on keeping the night easy. These four walls turned into a shelter strong enough to withstand a bomb. At least, that’s what it felt like.
Like nothing on the outside mattered. It was all just about me and Beckham.
And I wasn’t complaining in the slightest.
* * *
“So you’ve never beento prom?” I asked, a littletoosurprised.
“Nope. Well we don’t really have prom in London. Not when I was growing up at least. I think I’ve heard that it’s becoming more of a thing over there.”
“Wow, so you never had to feel the life-and-death pressure of finding a date?”
Beckham laughed at that. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, sitting back in his chair. The plate in front of him was empty and gleaming, as if I’d just taken it out of the dishwasher. You’d never guess there was a medium-rare slab of sirloin sitting there minutes before.
“I have seen them in movies and TV shows, though. Does make me feel a little bad that I missed that experience.”
“Oh really?” I arched a brow. Ideas started popping up in my head like little meerkats.
