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“Absolutely!” I laugh, then look up at Tucker when he doesn’t let me go. “Yeah?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“Nothing.” He kisses me softly, and there is something about him doing that and that kiss that feels significant. I just wish I knew why.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
tucker
With the TV on low and Miranda tucked against me on the couch, her thigh over my hip and arm around my middle, I dip my chin to look at her and find her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. I should have walked her out to her car an hour ago when I noticed she was getting drowsy, but it turns out I’m a selfish dick who wants as much time with her as I can get. Even if that time is spent with her asleep after she ate my food, entertained my niece, called her son, and then made out with me on my couch before I tucked her face into my neck before we got carried away.
Things between us the first time moved quickly, and as hot as it was and as much as I want to do that again, I also want her to know it’s just as important for me to get to know her.
Focusing back on the TV, not even seeing it, my mind wanders over what I found out today about Livy and Isabel from Kristen’s mom. Apparently, the girls and Kristen had been tight since junior high. All three of them tried out for cheer and volleyball, and they spent a lot of time at each other’s homes and at the church youth group together. Then at the end of sophomore year, something changed, and Kristen started to pull away from them and dressing differently. When Barbara would ask Kristen about this at the time, she would change the subject or shut down, and not long after that, she began hanging with Carrie, who Barbara thought was a nice-enough girl but odd.
Like Livy and Isabel, Barbara has convinced herself that Carrie had something to do with Kristen’s death or that she at least has information about what happened.
I’m not so sure.
It’s easy to assume shit based on a person’s appearance, but I’ve put away pastors, politicians, and men and women who are a considered bright lights within their communities for child molestation, rape, and even murder. None of those people wore what would be considered “gothic” clothing or pentagram necklaces, yet they were all evil in one way or another.
Now, with Barbara hyper-focused on Carrie and no new viable leads, even with Kristen’s story being aired on the news and on social media, Miles and I decided today to start the case from the ground up and go back to the beginning, to before the murder even took place.
We both believe something happened to Kristen to make her change so drastically from the girl she was when she was friends with Livy and Isabel, and my gut is telling me that change had something to do with why she was murdered.
And I wouldn’t be surprised if they know more than they are saying.
It’s just up to Miles and me to figure out how to get them to open up.
My cell ringing on the coffee table drags me from my thoughts, and Miranda stirs, lifting her head off my chest as I reach over and grab it.
Not recognizing the number, I slide my finger across the screen and put it to my ear. “Beckett.”
“Detective Beckett, this is Officer Sanders down at the central police precinct. I have you wife here. She was brought in for driving intoxicated.”
Jesus.
“She’s my ex-wife,” I say, and the phone gets quiet.
“I see,” Officer Sanders mutters, sounding annoyed. Then again, I’d be annoyed too. I’m sure Naomie told him who I was because there is a long-standing history amongst police officers that allows you and your family to get off the hook for shit, even when you shouldn’t. And she thought she’d use my name to get out of a ticket or staying the night in jail. “I’ll send her to booking, unless—”
“Do what you gotta do,” I cut him off.
“Right.” He chuckles, hanging up.
“Is everything okay?” Miranda asks, and I toss my phone on the coffee table.
“Naomie was driving drunk, and she dropped my name, either not knowing they’d call me or thinking I’d feel sorry for her and bail her out.”
Her nose scrunches. “Is that something she’s done in the past?”
“She’s never driven drunk that I know of, but she has a group of women here that she likes to party with pretty often.” I drag her on top of me, then wrap my arms around her waist once we are chest-to-chest.
“Should I mention it to Bowie?” she asks softly, looking concerned. “I don’t want her driving Kingston anywhere, even if that’s not normal for her.”
