30. Stone
STONE
“What do you know about a Mary-Lou Anderson?”
Evan flinches.
Flinches .
“What?” I demand, dropping into the seat across from him.
Wren is with Taylor, on her way to campus for one of her ungodly science classes.
My best friend frowns. “Look, man, I appreciate you wanting to do what’s best for Wren. Protect her and all that shit. But rooting around in her past isn’t going to endear her to you—”
“I know she’s the social worker,” I interrupt. “And she called Wren last night.”
Evan frowns. “Why?”
I reach across the table and close his textbook for him. “She was assaulted.”
“Holy—”
“It gets worse,” I interrupt. “She was assaulted in her office as someone was going through it. And when the cops showed up, they discovered one thing missing—Wren’s file.”
He blows out a breath. “Fucking hell.”
“We’ve got zero leads,” I hiss. “We’ve got nothing on the cameras. No more break-ins, or people lurking around Wren, or—”
“Stop.” He flattens his hands to the table. “You’re going to freak yourself out if you keep going like this.”
“I am freaked out.” Something I’d never fucking admit to Wren, but it’s true. There’s a chill lodged in my bones, and I can’t shake it no matter how many precautions I take. “So just tell me what I need to know about this social worker.”
Over the next hour, Evan fills me in on every interaction he’s had with the social worker, every story Wren’s told him over the years. And it slowly dawns on me—because I’m apparently a fucking idiot—that Evan has a whole-ass relationship with Wren that I’ve never wanted to know about.
I mean, obviously she lived in his house. He cares about her. But he also knows her.
God, I hate the jealousy that twists my gut.
But the more he talks, the more I recognize that Wren’s social worker was a saving grace in her life. Swooping in whenever things with her dad got particularly sticky, figuring out her next safe haven. Which was almost always Evan’s family.
“What could’ve been in the file that her dad would want?”
He blinks at me.
“Come on. It was obviously some of her dad’s guys.” I glower at him. “Unless you think it was some other stalker?”
“Well, it definitely wasn’t Brad,” Evan mutters. “I heard he started dating a cheerleader. And Wren’s conversation with him sounded…honest, actually. I believe that he only called her once.”
“And the rest…?”
Her dad. Or someone close.
I straighten suddenly. “We need to go on the offensive. Burying our heads in the sand isn’t working.”
Evan grabs his computer from his bag.
“What are you doing?”
“Pulling up the public records for her dad’s arrest.”
I grin and come around the table, dropping into the chair beside him. I lean over while he types, opening up a web page that gives bare details about his sentencing. Drug possession with intent to distribute is the top charge, among others. Weapons, extortion, other drug charges.
But there’s a note. A little flag on the file.
Appeal ongoing.
Evan and I exchange a glance.
“Who’s his lawyer?” I ask. “Some shady fucker?”
I lean farther in and scan the page.
And then I spot it.
Evan inhales sharply a split second later.
“What the fuck is your dad’s name doing on these records?” Evan asks in a low voice.
Great question. “Beats me.”
My father is Wren’s dad’s lawyer. Evan and I stare at the screen while I try to wrap my head around this.
My dad is a good defense lawyer. One of the best in our town.
But…I don’t know, I guess I had it in my head that he only defended wealthy white-collar assholes and innocent people. Not drug dealers.
Not her dad .
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “If this is true—”
“I don’t think we can rule it out,” Evan interrupts.
I grit my teeth. “Fine. But I can’t just up and ask my dad. There’s attorney-client privilege and all that shit. He used to say that anytime I was curious about his cases growing up.”
There’s an uncomfortable pit in my stomach.
The kind that comes along with the realization that your dad might not be a good guy.
And yeah , I know some people, like Wren, have been living with this all their lives. But I idolized my father. I wanted to be him when I grew up. That was before the shit with my mom, before he married the step-monster, and before I discovered I could have a future in hockey.
I have no doubt in my mind that Jessie Davis is guilty of everything he was charged with. So where does that put my father?
Is he a good guy like I always thought? Defender of the innocent?
Or is he just…a lawyer who will do anything to get the job done? Who will fight the law, and exploit all its loopholes, and get his guilty clients set free?
“Fuck,” I murmur, pinching the bridge of my nose. “My head hurts.”
Evan grunts his acknowledgement. He can’t really talk, though. Besides sympathizing secondhand with Wren, and me when Dad became hyper-fixated on a case and spent all his days and nights at his office or taking work home with him, he can’t really relate.
His parents are wonderful .
“What are you going to do?”
I glance at Evan.
What am I going to do, not we.
“I guess I need to confront him…somehow. Without triggering his auto-response. Or raising his suspicions.” I pause. “Do you think he knew who the drugs belonged to when he got me out of being arrested on that drug possession charge in high school?”
He ponders that. Then, “Well, you knew right away. And it wouldn’t be a stretch for your dad to know the Davises. We made it no secret that Wren stayed with us, and you were over at my house all the time.”
“Yeah…” Except my father and I didn’t really talk about that kind of thing. I had my truck, he had work, and at the time, I was doing everything in my power to avoid the house. I hated living there. I hated Martha.
As long as I was staying out of trouble and keeping my grades up, Dad only vaguely knew that I was often at Evan Mitchell’s house. Another hockey player whose face would be somewhat familiar. He’d be able to pick out my best friend in a lineup if we put him at gunpoint.
Maybe .
I clear my throat. “I just need to talk to him in person. Appeal to his…”
“What does he care about?”
Isn’t that a great question? I suck my lower lip between my teeth and consider it.
“His image.” I hold up my index finger. “Being the world’s best defense attorney has always been high on his list of achievements.”
“Naturally,” Evan agrees.
“Um, the step-monster. He loves her, which is rather unfortunate.” I wrinkle my nose.
“You can’t call her that.” Evan groans. “You’re going to say it to her face one of these days.”
I smile. “Pretty sure I accidentally did on the phone one time. I played it off…I think.”
“Ass.”
“Third, as much as I hate to admit it, he does care about me.”
“You could’ve just said family,” Evan mutters. “That’s it, then? His image, which is essentially work, and family? The two most basic things ever ?”
I raise my hands. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, okay. So we appeal to both.” He considers me, his eyes narrowing.
“What?”
“There’s something you’re probably forgetting. An opportunity…”
What the fuck. I grab my phone and click on the unread messages from Martha, which have come in over the past two months. Reminders of his birthday party. Asking me to RSVP. Telling me it’s okay if I bring a friend. I can stay the night in my old room. On and on…
“Shit.” I drop the phone. “His birthday is next week.”
Evan straightens. “You seriously are the worst son ever. When’s the party?”
“How do you know there’s a party?”
He rolls his eyes. “When does Martha not go all out for your dad?”
That’s true. I scan her texts again and shrug. Then close out of her thread, which is ninety-nine percent one-sided. Then exit the messaging app entirely. I toss my phone on the table and lean back in my chair, balancing it on the back two legs.
“There’s got to be another way,” I reason.
“Stone.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Evan turns back to his laptop, scanning the records again. Not that it’s going to yield any more information. I think we hit our quota of good luck for the night.
The door bangs open. Evan slams the laptop shut as Wren coasts into the kitchen, dropping her bag on the chair. She looks a bit like a hurricane, all fierce and sharp-eyed. Not spooked or scared like before.
And it’s kind of irritating how much I’ve missed her, while she was just a few blocks away.
She plants her hands on her hips. “I’ve been thinking.”
Taylor comes in behind her and sighs. “They’re not gonna go for it, Wren.”
“I’m going to go see Mary-Lou,” she continues. “And it’s not up for debate. I want to know what was in my file that could harm me.”
Evan and I exchange a glance. I reach for Wren, running my hands down her sides before pulling her into my lap.
My first instinct is to say no. That it’s not necessary, that she shouldn’t put herself through that. That her social worker probably wouldn’t want Wren to see her like that.
But as I bury my face in her hair, inhaling her scent, I consider something else. The possibility that there was something damaging in the file.
Something that, if we know about it, could help keep Wren safe.
So, in the end, I suppose she’s right. Especially with what we know now about the appeal. And the possibility of her dad getting out on parole.
Two things I need to tell her—but not yet.
“Okay,” I readily agree. “But I’m going with you.”