Chapter 13
RONAN
It’s so much easier when the police aren’t involved.
Not that I have anything against them. We work with the police when a case calls for it.
Local departments refer clients to us—domestic violence and stalking complaints, in particular—when red tape keeps them from fully doing their job.
I’m friends with some of the local cops.
I respect them. There are plenty of times when we work well together.
But right now? Having to wait on forensics and suspects lawyering up and all the bureaucratic bullshit when I just want to get to the bottom of this? Knowing how much faster we could get this shit done if it were left up to us?
It’s beyond frustrating.
When it’s just us working an investigation, we can get creative. Alec can hop on the computer and find out pretty much anything. If we have a suspect, we can interrogate them ourselves. A client in immediate danger? We don’t wait for a warrant. We find our own way in.
Is it one hundred percent legal? Not quite. But we never do anything with the intent to harm. It’s only ever to protect.
Have I wanted to beat the shit out of a suspect before? Absolutely. When I heard about what Winter’s ex did to her, and that asshole brother-in-law of Rory’s… Jail didn’t seem like nearly enough.
And speaking of beating the shit out of someone… I can think of two men I’d like to have some private time with.
First off, Phil. I knew he was trouble. I knew it before he shoved Angel, and after, I was even more sure of it.
He claims he’s innocent. He claims he hasn’t touched any drugs or alcohol since that day at Blissful Brews.
And he claims he’s sorry for what happened to Angel. That he never meant to hurt her.
At least, that’s what Patrick said during one of his updates.
But all those statements came through Phil’s court-appointed attorney, which means nothing to me.
If I had Phil in front of me, preferably in a remote cabin where no one could hear him scream, then I’d be more likely to believe what he says.
And Justin. That piece of shit. He deserts Angel when she’s pregnant, blows off his own kid, and now he’s back?
Ten years later, and now he thinks he can just stroll back into their lives?
I don’t care if he allegedly has an alibi for the night Angel’s house was broken into. I don’t trust a thing that guy says.
It gives me a new appreciation for some of the tactics I’ve heard about other security companies using.
Alec’s old Green Beret teammate, Ace, works for a branch of Blade and Arrow Security out in Oregon, and they don’t let things like laws stop them from protecting their clients.
I’ve heard stories of what they do—breaking bones during an interrogation, forging evidence to ensure a guilty suspect is punished—and I can totally understand why they’d be forced into doing it.
Sometimes the law doesn’t ensure that justice is served.
Sometimes laws protect the guilty instead of the innocent.
And seeing what Angel’s gone through over the last twenty-four hours, I don’t think I care much about laws, either.
Case in point, the latest update from the police. Which was a big, fat nothing.
Analysis on the fingerprints in Angel’s house? Still working on it.
Phil’s interview with the police? Just a bunch of crap about how he’s innocent, and then he clammed up at his attorney’s advice.
Justin? A shitty alibi from a buddy in St. Johnsbury, where he’s currently living, saying that he and Justin were playing pool in his basement. As if friends have never lied to cover for each other?
Oh, and the cocaine. The damn cocaine that Angel would never dream of having in her house. That’s the most recent update Enzo just texted me about, since he’s been acting as liaison with the police.
Still pissed about it, I read his message again.
They didn’t find any fingerprints on the bag. The contents are with forensics, but according to Pat, they’re almost certain it’s the real thing. Pat says they’re not going to push the angle that it belonged to Angel. But he said they can’t completely rule it out, either.
Which means more shit for Angel to worry about.
I jab at the screen angrily as I type my response.
That’s bullshit. They know there’s no way it’s Angel’s. It’s a waste of time even considering it.
A few seconds later, Enzo replies.
I know. But they have to look into it. You know that.
Then another text appears immediately after.
They have no proof it’s hers. Especially given the circumstances. Angel isn’t going to be brought up on charges. Even if Kennis tries to push it, we won’t let it happen.
I scowl at the phone. Eager Officer Kennis, all full of himself over his discovery. He’s one of the newer additions to the police department, and I think he’s jumping on this whole drug thing as a way to prove himself.
I stalk across the kitchen, coming to a stop by the window that looks into the backyard. Through the darkness, I can see the tiny red lights of the cameras we installed earlier today lining the top of my fence—the extra security I insisted on once Angel agreed to stay with me.
Glancing back down at my phone, I send a quick reply.
We can’t let it happen. I won’t let it.
Enzo responds right away.
It’s going to be fine. Alec’s combing through the security footage. And he has some from the neighbors’ cameras, as well. We’ll find the evidence to prove who did it. They’ll confess to the drugs. And this whole thing will be over. In the meantime, Angel and Haley are safe.
I release a heavy sigh.
I know he’s right. And if this were any other case, I wouldn’t be stressing about it.
But this is Angel. My Angel.
Because in the last twenty-four hours, I’ve realized that’s what I want.
Not a half-relationship. Not a relationship where I hide things from her. Not a relationship where I’ve always got one foot out the door because I’m too damn afraid to commit to her.
Which means I need to talk to Angel. I need to explain everything. It’s just a matter of figuring out when.
Last night certainly wasn’t the time; not when we didn’t even get here until well after midnight, and Angel looked like she was barely keeping it together.
It wasn’t early this morning, while I lay awake listening to her tossing and turning in the room next to mine, wishing desperately I could go in to comfort her but knowing I hadn’t earned the right.
There definitely hasn’t been time to talk to her about it today. Our time has been taken up by meetings and logistics with Angel’s house and getting Haley settled in without making her suspicious that anything’s really wrong.
After Alec and Gage stood guard outside the Ryans’ all night, we finally picked Haley up first thing this morning.
Angel hated being apart from her, but she also realized that it would freak Haley out if we showed up after midnight to take her home mid-sleepover.
The explanation of a plumbing issue seemed to work, and fortunately, Haley was excited to stay here.
Angel, on the other hand? The jury’s still out on that one.
Setting my phone on the island, I walk to the kitchen doorway to look into the living room.
The lights are dimmed; low enough so that Haley can fall asleep in the loft upstairs, but still bright enough for her to see if she needs to come down to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Angel’s voice carries softly from the loft, where she’s saying goodnight to Haley.
My heart swells.
It feels right; having them here.
As I’m watching the empty living room, Angel begins to climb down the ladder.
Though I know she’s more than capable of it, I can’t help wanting to rush over to help.
To stand behind her. Brace her waist to keep her steady.
Lift her off the ladder as soon as I can reach her, so she doesn’t have to do any more work than necessary.
I don’t. But I want to.
Once Angel reaches the floor, she stretches, lifting her arms above her head, then rolling her neck and shoulders. Then she turns to see me in the doorway, and, after a brief hesitation, heads in my direction.
Not wanting Haley to hear us talking, I back into the kitchen and wait for Angel to join me. As she does, I scan her face, noting the bluish circles under her eyes and the lines etched between them. She looks tired. Stressed.
I ache to pull her into my arms, like I did at her house last night. But that was during a moment of crisis. This isn’t.
“How is she?” I ask quietly.
Angel gives me a weak smile. “She’s good. Excited about being here. Although she wishes there were stairs so Murphy could sleep with her.”
I glance at Murphy, munching contentedly on a bully stick in the corner of the kitchen. “He’d probably like that.”
“She’s okay. She’s got her stuffed animals. And with the full-sized air mattress, she has plenty of room for them.”
“I’ll see about getting a real bed up there,” I reply. “With everything going on today, there just wasn’t time.”
Angel walks over to the island and slides onto a stool. “The air mattress is fine, Ronan. I would never expect you to go out and buy a whole new bed just for Haley to sleep on for a few days.”
“I want her to be comfortable,” I insist. “Tomorrow, I’ll call the furniture store. See what they can do.”
“Ronan.” She traces a design on the counter with her finger before looking back at me. “The air mattress is fine. Really.” Pausing, she digs her teeth into her lower lip. “Have you heard anything? From Enzo or the police?”
I slide onto the stool beside her. My hand itches to touch hers, but I don’t let it.
“Nothing new,” I answer. “Forensics is working through all the fingerprints. Phil and Justin still both claim they’re innocent.
” As Angel’s forehead pinches, I add quickly, “That doesn’t mean anything.
Once there’s substantive evidence, I’d bet whoever did it confesses in hopes of a lesser sentence. ”