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If I ever was to begin with.
I glance at the clock on the stove, debating stopping here and watching the football match while I wait for my food delivery to arrive.
But I’m so close to having my kitchen unpacked.While I may not be the best cook in the world, I’m looking forward to not ordering take out for every meal.
I take another drink of my beer, savoring in the cold liquid, then use my knife to cut through the tape on yet another box, this one containing more pots and pans I’d forgotten about.I consider rearranging the cupboards to make room for them when a knock reverberates through the quiet space.
“You can just leave it,” I call out, assuming it’s my food delivery.
“Open up, Creed.Right now.”
The hairs on the back of my neck bristle, my body freezing at the sound of my father’s urgent tone.
I leave my beer on the counter and go to the front door, drawing in a deep breath to calm my nerves over the prospect of dealing with my father.No doubt he’s here to talk to me about what happened at Anderson’s party last weekend.Truthfully, I’m surprised it took this long for the rumors to reach him.I may not have kissed Esme, but plenty of people saw us talking.In his mind, that’s probably just as bad as if I had kissed her.
I pull back the door, but barely have it cracked more than a few inches before my father pushes his way inside, throwing a paranoid glance up and down the street before locking us inside.
“Get your shoes on.We need to go.”
My brows knit together.“And where are we going?”
“We don’t have time for this, Creed.Put your goddamn shoes on.We’ll leave through the back.My car’s in the alley.”
An unsettled feeling settles in my gut that something’s wrong.And that feeling increases when sirens wail in the distance, my father’s eyes widening in panic.
“Now, Creed!”
I don’t question him.Instead, I do as he asked, hurriedly grabbing a pair of shoes I’d left in the foyer.Heart hammering, I rush through the house and down into the basement, throwing the back door open to see my father’s SUV idling in the alley, as promised.Just before I step outside, I double back toward my tool cabinet and open the bottom drawer, retrieving the gun and holster I stashed there.Then I slip into the alley behind my father.
“Probably a good idea,” he says as I attach the holster to my belt, confirming my suspicion that something is drastically wrong.
I start toward the front passenger seat, but he stops me with a hand on my forearm, shaking his head.
“In the back.And stay low.There’s a blanket on the floorboard.Use that to cover yourself.”
I hesitate, about to press for information yet again.
But as the sirens get louder, I sense whatever’s going on isn’t good.And those sirens are coming for me.
Not wasting a second, I duck into the back seat.I barely have the blanket on me before my father pulls down the alley, maintaining a moderate speed so as not to draw attention to himself.
Neither one of us says a single thing for several long minutes as I attempt to get my breathing and heart rate under control, my mind spinning.When I’m confident we’re several kilometers away from my townhouse, the sirens no longer audible, I lift back the blanket slightly.
“Now do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Okay…” I draw out, more confused and uneasy by the second.
“All I know is those sirens you heard are members of the royal police heading to your townhouse to execute an arrest warrant.”
“Arrest warrant?”I shoot up, meeting his eyes through the rearview mirror.The warning within has me lying back on the floor, covering myself with the blanket once more.“For what?”
“Murder.”
“Murder?Who’s dead?”I swallow hard, unsure I want to hear the answer, panic squeezing my heart.
“Jameson Gates was found dead from a gunshot wound to his chest earlier this evening.”
