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The kid looks over at his shoulder at us, eyes even wider, and I’m pretty sure his lower lip quivers.
“Didn’t realize you were breaking into the police captain’s house?” Trent asks.
The kid shakes his head.
Trent walks between us and down the stairs, leaving one foot propped up on the bottom stair, and leaning over his bent knee. “How old are you?”
“N-nineteen.”
Trent makes a sound in his throat. “We’ll have a nice discussion over life decisions before we’re done.”
I wander inside so I’ll be able to hear when the others arrive and sit against the kitchen table.
“You’re okay,” Riker says squeezing my arms just above the elbows.
I shake my head. “I’m not. I need this to stop.”
“Libby.” He tips up my chin. “You are okay, and if your suspicions are right, you’ll have leverage now.”
“Beckett’s the only one who would know that Spiegel sleeps in the bedroom at night, and I always sleep with the door closed.” I lean into Riker’s chest, needing his arms around me. Ten minutes ago, I was the one trying to comfort him. This is a hell of a cycle we’ve gotten ourselves into. “If you hadn’t woken up….” My voice cracks. Even if Spiegel had woken us up anyway, we would have been in the bedroom.
“Why would Beckett do this?”
“I think he wants me to believe you’re the problem. He seemed to get the impression that I suspected something, and that’s when he, not so subtly, pointed out that I wasn’t having a problem until I met you.”
“I’d considered that, too, but I haven’t been able to dig up any connections.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, crossing my arms over my chest. “Trent didn’t dig up anything either. He and his partner have some connections after working with the FBI a few years ago.”
Riker chuckles. “Course they do.”
The rumble of his laugh eases the tension in my neck.
* * *
While the uniformed officers take the boy down to the station, Trent joins me and Riker inside. “Between Spiegel, Riker, and realizing he just broke into the Police Captain’s house, kid’s terrified. He said he thought it all was a practical joke, and I’m inclined to believe him.”
“I wouldn’t call anything in the last two weeks a practical joke,” I snap. Riker keeps his hand on my back, and it’s the only that sensation that’s keeping me grounded. “Who paid him?”
“We’re going to try to figure it out in the morning. He doesn’t know the guy’s name. Said he met him at a bar.” He holds up his hand when he senses I’m going to speak. “Yes, he has a fake ID—we’re also going to address that. He said the guy looked to be mid to late twenties.”
That can’t be right, unless Beckett hired a middleman—or he hired someone who wasn’t stupid enough to break into my house and passed the gig along. I rub my hands over my cheeks and pace across the kitchen several times, trying to put it together.
Or come up with an alternative.
I cross my arms and look at each of the men in turn. “Beckett’s the only one who would know where Spiegel sleeps who isn’t accounted for. He was here tonight and didn’t take it too well when he found out who Riker is.”
Riker snaps his fingers, then gestures toward me. “You also said he tried to link the Georgia incident to my being there.”
Trent smirks. “So, he figured hiring someone to play a ‘practical joke’ while you’re here would definitely shift suspicion into your lane.”
Riker leans back against the wall with a similarly smug expression. “So if you can draw the line back from there—”
As soon as Riker pauses, Trent jumps in. “We might have the leverage to pressure him into spilling what he was into in the first place.”
Oh, God. They’re finishing each other’s sentences. Please let this be a nightmare I wake up from soon.
Then, they both look at me, and I’m positive I look like a deer in the headlights.I’m definitely not waking up. “We’ll get started on that in the morning, then. I’m exhausted, and I can’t handle you two in the same room like this any longer. Not before nine a.m. andcopiousamounts of coffee.”
