Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,182

meaning the leaves are fairly still except the crunching of my boots, so that’s a positive. I tell myself that I would hear him coming.

As I move toward the enclosure gate, I sing hymns in my head: songs my grandma used to sing, and some I sang back in the day when I would play piano or guitar sometimes at bars. I always wondered if it was sacrilegious, but I would put a haunting sort of twist on one or two old hymns, and people used to love them.

By the time I’ve reached the gate, I feel a little calmer. As soon as I step inside, my pulse begins to race, but I breathe carefully and check my phone and no one is around. I see that. There’s no hazy red splotches from a person’s body heat.

I do an hour-long walk around, texting Barrett when I think he’s almost back to his house, so he doesn’t have to deal with the anxiety of finding the note and wondering if I’m okay.

I walk past Aimee and Papa and vow that tomorrow, I’ll do walkbys on the others.

It’s almost Christmas, I think, as I sit down on a stump near the gate. Barrett texted back and said he’ll be here in a minute.

What should I get him for Christmas? Will he want to go somewhere? To Kellan? I’d love to be with him. Is that clingy?

I wrap my arms around myself as the breeze picks up. I talk to Helga tomorrow, and it’s a good thing, I guess. All this cold is getting to me.

I look down at my boots and notice that I’m humming “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster the People. Geez, that’s random. Old song. Inappropriate, but catchy. I always feel wrong for liking it when I hear it. Not that I’ve heard it much in the last few years.

“It’s like a fish bowl, but with beer, and it’s craft beer. Really good shit.”

My body freezes, muscles seizing, as I hear that same voice say, “What do you think of your friend’s new dude?”

What the fuck does that mean?

Barrett’s arms are wrapped around me, and I’m shaking. He’s gentle and strong and sweet, but he can’t shield me from this.

Craft beer.

Gemütlichkeit.

Beer bar.

I was at a beer bar New Year’s Eve 2012.

The realization stops my shaking. I manage to pull myself together before Bear calls Helga.

I know now. I know now. I’m not crazy. I’m…remembering.

December 20, 2015

‘Blue is in D.C. now. With the G. Have him tracked if you don’t believe me. It wasn’t him, Bear. Thank you for the dream catcher, by the way. I keep forgetting to say so.’

‘That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. You’re welcome.’

I blow on my numb fingers, then slide my glove back on and take aim one more time. The .38 is steadier in my right hand than it used to be. I hit the target this time. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

‘Why would he? We’re brothers, man. Remember that. You and me, we’re out now, but we’re still bros. We protect each other.’

I see the little bubble indicating Dove is typing, then he sends another message.

‘I’d think you would know that, Bear.’

Rage billows up inside me, followed quickly by remorse.

‘You know how Blue is. He’s scared of the fucking G.’ We try not to say General in text transmission, no matter how encrypted these messages are supposed to be. General Broomfield of all people can probably take a peek whenever he wants.

‘Blue’s still batting for you, brother.’

‘Bear…’ another message says. ‘His father’s guys know what you’re doing. He’s working his ass off to keep yours safe.’

I call right away, turning around toward my car, in the gun range parking lot, as if keeping my eyes on it will help me reach it faster. I start running. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“They watch you, Bear, like common fucking sense would dictate. You knew they might. We all knew.”

“What do you mean, smart ass? They watched me and what, Dove? Goddamn it!”

“They know that something’s going on with you and her,” he says quietly. “It’s like we thought it would be.”

“Meaning what?” I snarl as I throw my driver’s side door open.

“Meaning they’ve been eyeing both of you for the last week or so. Blue wanted to learn a little more before we told you. No one’s on you right now, Bear. They peeked in, botched that shit with Gwen that day, and left. Blue’s on it.”

“Blue is fucking on it. Like