Chapter 6 Motion to Suppress
MOTION TO SUPPRESS
THEO
The tricky part isn’t uncovering the truth.
Truth is irritatingly straightforward, like fingerprints or chain of custody forms—tedious, clinical, smug in its certainty. The real mess starts after, when you have to decide what the hell to actually do with it.
Every time Theo thinks he’s finally done with Lila Jennings, she turns up again—smudged eyeliner, those blue eyes that edge toward purple, a whole arsenal of strong opinions—and he realizes he never actually was.
It’s not dramatic, not cinematic. Just quiet and constant, something that lives under his skin.
He tells himself it’s irritation. Familiarity.
Anything but what it is. Still, every time she walks into a room, his focus narrows until the rest of the world feels like background noise.
Which is inconvenient at best, considering she treats him with the same unaffectionate exasperation one might reserve for fixing a broken printer.
And, yes, fine, maybe he had once derailed her meticulously choreographed presentation slides by plugging in the wrong HDMI cord.
Okay, twice.
Among other things.
The issue, really, is that Lila has to go on being incandescently brilliant and infuriatingly competent, and Theo goes on being… well.
Distracted.
By all of it.
By her.
Which is exactly why he hasn’t told Lila the whole truth. Not yet.
He has no doubt that she will flay him alive with those sharp eyes and sharper words, and he honestly isn’t sure which would be worse—her fury, or the possibility that she’ll stop looking at him altogether.
Even that put-upon exasperation of hers has become something he can’t seem to quit.
And if he tells her? He won’t just be wrecking whatever fragile, barbed thing exists between them. He’ll be hurting her. And Theo, selfish, gutless bastard that he is, can’t stand the thought of being the one to drive that knife in.
Eventually, though, the truth will inevitably corner him. And that might be the worst thing of all.
It doesn’t let him sleep, either.
He’d pretended well enough while Lila twitched through her own dreams, but the wind forcing the window open snapped him fully alert.
He lies awake, eyes open in the dark, thoughts spiraling. The house hums, restless. Much like Theo.
Lila’s breathing is steady beside him now, the faintest shift of the sheets each time she exhales. He should close his eyes. He should let himself rest.
But his mind keeps replaying the evening in an endless loop—the way Lila looked under the chandelier light, her dress clinging to her in a way that made his pulse stumble.
The calm way she spoke to the others. The way she looked at him, and how every word she said seemed designed to test his restraint.
Then came Emily, half a bottle in and hell-bent on turning dinner into confession hour.
The unfiltered kind of confession that should have been mortifying but instead detonated something in him.
He’d spent years trying not to notice the parallels.
Lila’s need for control wasn’t absolute.
There was a tell in it, a softness beneath it all, a willingness to yield when someone met her intensity head-on, which Theo often did just to see where it led them.
And now? Hearing it said aloud, knowing she wanted the same things he did—it’s a revelation that leaves him gutted.
It isn’t just the aftermath keeping him up. It’s this place. The walls of this place feel heavy, full of secrets, and he can’t stop thinking about what the house might tell him if he just gave it the chance.
Daylight has a way of masking things. Too much noise, too many eyes. But in the thick hush of night, the truth tends to crawl closer to the surface.
He exhales through his nose, resigned, and eases the blanket back. The mattress dips under his weight, and for a second he freezes, watching her. Lila doesn’t move, only murmurs something in her sleep before turning toward his empty side. He shouldn’t find that endearing. He does anyway.
Theo slides his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet hitting the cool floor.
He reaches for his house shoes and slips them on.
His clothes are folded on the chair; he pulls his shirt on, buttons it in the dark, careful not to make a sound.
It’s an unfortunate pairing—pajama pants and a button-down over his sleep shirt—but it’s cold, and it’s not like he plans on running into anyone at two in the morning.
For a moment, he is able to convince himself that it really is just insomnia, that he’s restless because he isn’t in his own bed. But the lie doesn’t hold.
It’s not the bed—it’s her. The fact that she’s here, close enough to touch, breathing the same air.
He glances back once more before he leaves, at the outline of her under the sheets.
For a man so obsessed with discipline, he feels as if he has next to none where she’s concerned—probably why he keeps his distance.
They’re colleagues, after all, and the things he wants to do to her are not exactly workplace appropriate.
Theo grasps the doorknob and turns it slowly, stepping into the hall.
The corridor is dim, only the faint glow from the sconces breaking the dark. He moves stealthily, more out of habit than caution, the old wood creaking beneath his feet.
The house is stripped of its performance now, the polished warmth replaced by something truer.
He isn’t sure what he’s looking for. Maybe just reprieve from the buzzing in his head left over from dinner—not just from the half-formed realization still gnawing at him, but from Baryn’s words and the sharp edge of jealousy that had blindsided him.
He’s not proud of it—the way he’d reacted so viscerally to Baryn’s insinuations, how something angry and mean in him had snapped the moment he started baiting him.
It wasn’t just irritation. It was an irrational kind of envy, one that surfaced only when it came to Lila.
Now he’s walking it off like some restless teenager who can’t sit still after a fight.
He rounds the corner near the guest rooms, fingers grazing the wallpaper—just observing, studying the place, and listening to what it might say when no one else is awake.
He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the door opening until a soft, startled voice cuts through the dark. “Professor?”
He freezes. Tillie stands in her doorway, wrapped in a pale pink robe that looks two sizes too big, hair slightly frizzed and escaping her clip. She’s holding a flashlight, which she immediately fumbles with, nearly blinding both of them before clicking it off with a nervous laugh.
“Good grief,” she whispers, pressing a hand to her chest. “You nearly scared the life out of me.” She peers at him with wide eyes. “Do you make a habit of lurking about in the middle of the night, or should I be worried?”
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, barely above a whisper.
She waves him off, the motion brisk and fluttery.
“Oh, I wasn’t really asleep. Haven’t been, honestly.
Not since that night.” She says it softly, a faint tremor beneath the words.
“Every sound sets me off. The floorboards, the wind, that damn grandfather clock in the foyer. My nerves are still in revolt.”
Theo slides his hands into his pockets, watching her fidget with her robe tie. “Understandable,” he says.
Tillie nods rapidly, eyes darting toward the shadows down the hall.
“You can say that again. I keep thinking I hear footsteps, but then I remember it’s an old place and I’m just highly strung.
” She laughs under her breath, the sound small and unconvincing.
“Anyway. You’re up late too, hmm? Couldn’t sleep? ”
“Something like that. I have insomnia on the best nights, and this house—everything that’s happened here—doesn’t exactly help,” he finds himself admitting.
“Oh, you poor thing.” She straightens, already halfway out her door. “I can make you some warm milk or cocoa, if you’re one of those people who needs bribery to relax.”
He almost smiles. “That’s kind of you, but I’ll pass. Just grabbing my sleeping pills from the car. Left one of my bags by accident.”
Her brows shoot up. “The car? At this hour?” Her hand flies to her chest again. “Good heavens, Theo, you’ll catch your death of cold. Or worse.”
“Won’t take long,” he says evenly. “Then it’s straight back to bed,” he promises.
She squints at him for a moment, suspicious but too tired to push.
“Alright, alright,” she says, angling toward him conspiratorially.
“But don’t go wandering. The house gets restless after dark.
Doors creak, floors shift, sometimes you’d swear you hear someone moving when there isn’t.
” She laughs softly, the sound too thin to be convincing.
“Old places hold on to things, that’s all.
Bad for any person—worse for someone with insomnia. ” She eyes him.
“Noted,” he says.
She nods, tugging her robe tighter before retreating into her room. “Well, if you change your mind about the cocoa, you know where to find me.”
When the door clicks shut, Theo exhales and keeps walking.
He descends the staircase and veers into the wrong hallway on purpose.
It’s longer than he anticipated, and after a while, the hall narrows, ceiling sloping slightly, the sconces thinning out until the corners blur into shadow. The air is still, stale, faintly colder than the rest of the house.
He passes three identical doors before the fourth one stops him.
It’s unremarkable in design but wrong somehow—off-center molding, the doorknob too dull compared to the others.
He angles his head, inspecting it, trying to pinpoint what sets it apart.
Maybe it’s the way it sits unevenly in the wall, or the faint draft whispering through the seam.
Whatever it is, it feels older. Watched.