Chapter 8- PHOENIX
The call comes while Jade is in the shower.
I'm sitting on the balcony, watching the waves roll in beneath a gray morning sky, when my phone buzzes with an unknown number.
I almost let it go to voicemail. I've been ignoring calls from numbers I don't recognize ever since that anonymous text message arrived, unwilling to engage with whoever is trying to rattle us.
But something makes me answer.
"Mr. Crawford? This is Detective Tomasz Nowak, LAPD. We spoke last week about Marcus Webb."
My stomach drops. I keep my voice steady, neutral, betraying nothing. "Detective. What can I do for you?"
"We'd like you to come down to the station for a formal interview. You and Ms. Catalano, if she's available. Just routine, tying up some loose ends in our investigation."
Routine. The word sounds harmless, but I know better. There's nothing routine about being called into a police station. They've found something, or they think they have, and they want to see our faces when they confront us with it.
"Of course," I say, because refusing would look worse. "When would you like us to come in?"
"Tomorrow morning, if that works. Say, ten o'clock?"
"We'll be there."
"Excellent. Ask for me at the front desk. I'll have someone escort you back."
The line goes dead.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at my phone, my mind racing through possibilities. Routine. Tying up loose ends. The words sound harmless, but I know better. There's nothing routine about being called into a police station.
My first instinct is to call a lawyer. We have an attorney who has handled everything for my family for years, from contracts to crisis management. He'd know exactly what to say, how to deflect questions, when to invoke rights I didn't even know I had.
But showing up with a lawyer to a routine interview sends a message. Innocent people don't bring attorneys to answer simple questions about a missing acquaintance. Innocent people cooperate, smile, act like they have nothing to hide.
And we have everything to hide.
No lawyer. We go in alone, we answer their questions calmly, and we walk out looking like exactly what we're supposed to be: two people with nothing to fear.
The shower shuts off inside. A few minutes later, Jade appears in the doorway to the balcony, wrapped in one of my robes, her dark hair wet and dripping onto her shoulders. She looks soft and vulnerable and completely unaware that our world is about to shift again.
"Who was on the phone?" she asks, toweling her hair.
I don't know how to soften this. There's no way to make it less terrifying than it is.
"Detective Nowak. They want us to come in for a formal interview tomorrow morning.”
The color drains from her face. She stops moving, the towel frozen in her hands, her eyes going wide with the fear I've seen too many times in the past week.
"What? Why?”
"He said it's routine. Tying up loose ends.”
"That's not routine." Her voice is climbing, edging toward panic. "They don't call people into the station for routine questions. They do that when they have something. When they know something.”
“Jade."
"What if they found evidence? What if there was something in Marcus's car, DNA or fibers or something we missed? What if someone saw us that night? What if they found the body?”
"They didn't find the body." I stand and cross to her, taking her face in my hands. Her skin is still damp from the shower, warm beneath my palms. "Listen to me. If they had real evidence, if they could prove anything, they wouldn't be inviting us for a chat. They'd be showing up with handcuffs.”
"Then why call us in at all?”
"Because they're fishing. They have suspicions but nothing concrete. They want to get us in a room, ask questions, see if we slip up." I hold her gaze, willing her to believe me. "We're not going to slip up.”
"Should we bring a lawyer?”
I've already considered this. Already decided. "No. I don’t want to arouse suspicion.”
"But what if they try to trap us? What if they separate us and twist our words?”
"Then we stay calm and stick to our story. The same story we've been telling since the beginning." I brush a wet strand of hair from her face. "We go in, we cooperate, we act like two people with absolutely nothing to hide. Because that's what innocent people do.”
"Phoenix, I can't do this. I can't sit across from those detectives and lie to their faces. I barely held it together last time.”
"You did more than hold it together. You were perfect.”
"I was terrified.”
"So was I." I pull her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her. She's trembling, and I hate that I can't make it stop. "But we got through it. And we'll get through tomorrow too.”
She doesn't answer, just presses her face into my shirt and breathes. I stroke her wet hair and stare out at the ocean, my mind already working through scenarios. We need to go over every detail of our story, every possible question they might ask.
We spend the rest of the day doing exactly that.
I make coffee and we sit at the kitchen table, going through everything from the beginning.
The dinner party where Jade met Marcus. The cabin trip.
The timeline of when we left and when we returned.
We rehearse answers until they feel natural, until the lies roll off our tongues as smoothly as truth.
"What if they ask about the cabin?" Jade asks, her hands wrapped around her mug. "What if they know we were there?"
"We were there. That's not a secret. We went up for a romantic weekend. We came back early because of the weather."
"And Marcus?"
"We didn't see him. We don't know why he was in the area. Maybe he was meeting someone else. Maybe he got lost. It's not our problem."
"What if they separate us? Ask different questions to see if our stories match?"
"They probably will. That's standard interrogation technique." I reach across the table and take her hand. "But it doesn't matter. We're telling the same story because it's the truth. The version of the truth that doesn't include what actually happened."
She nods, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. The fear that's been building since the moment this nightmare began.
We go over the details again. And again. By evening, we're both exhausted, wrung out from the constant rehearsal, but I'm confident we can handle whatever Nowak throws at us.
It's the things we can't prepare for that worry me.
Night falls. We eat dinner without tasting it, neither of us willing to acknowledge the tension that hangs between us. Jade pushes food around her plate while I pretend to read emails on my phone. The silence is suffocating.
Finally, I can't take it anymore.
"Come with me," I say, standing and holding out my hand.
She looks up at me, confused. "Where?"
"You'll see."
I lead her through the house to the garage, where my collection of cars waits in the dim light. Past the Porsche, past the vintage Mustang I've been restoring for years, to the back corner where a canvas tarp covers something low and sleek.
I pull off the tarp to reveal a midnight blue Aston Martin, its curves gleaming even in the low light.
"This was my graduation present," I tell her. "I've barely driven it. It's been sitting here waiting for the right moment."
"The right moment for what?"
"For this." I open the passenger door and gesture for her to get in. "Come on."
We drive up into the hills, winding through roads I know by heart, climbing higher until the city spreads out below us like a carpet of lights. I find the spot I'm looking for, a secluded overlook with a view that stretches from downtown to the ocean, and pull off onto the shoulder.
The engine ticks as it cools. The stars are impossibly bright up here, away from the light pollution. The air smells like sage and eucalyptus and the faint tang of exhaust.
"Why are we here?" Jade asks softly.
"Because I wanted to be somewhere that isn't the house." I turn to look at her, this woman who has turned my entire life upside down. "Tomorrow might be the last normal day we have for a while. I wanted to spend tonight somewhere beautiful."
Her eyes glisten in the darkness. "Phoenix."
"Whatever happens tomorrow, I love you. I need you to know that. Whatever they ask, whatever they accuse us of, that doesn't change."
"I love you too." Her voice breaks on the words. "That's what terrifies me. I've never had anything this real before. And now I might lose it."
"You're not going to lose me."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me."
I kiss her then, fierce and desperate, pouring everything I feel into the press of my lips against hers.
She responds with equal intensity, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer.
The gear shift digs into my hip as I lean toward her, but I don't care.
Nothing matters except the taste of her, the feel of her, the knowledge that she's here and she's mine.
"Back seat," she breathes against my mouth. "Now."
We scramble out of the front and into the back, a tangle of limbs and clothing in the confined space. The leather is cool against my skin as I pull her onto my lap, her knees bracketing my hips. She's wearing a sundress that rides up her thighs, and I slide my hands underneath, finding bare skin.
"I need you," she says, reaching for my belt. "I need to feel you."
I help her with my zipper, pushing my pants down just far enough. She lifts her hips and I push her underwear aside, and then she's sinking down onto me and we both gasp at the sensation.
There's no room for technique in the cramped back seat of the Aston Martin. We move together in an urgent rhythm, her hands braced on my shoulders, my fingers digging into her hips. The windows fog up around us, blocking out the city lights, cocooning us in our own private world.
"Look at me," I demand, and she does. Her eyes are wild, desperate, full of everything we're both afraid to name. "Whatever happens tomorrow, this is real. You and me. This is real."
"I know," she gasps. "I know."
I slide one hand between us, finding the spot where she needs me most. She cries out, not bothering to muffle the sound up here where no one can hear. The car rocks with our movements, springs creaking, leather squeaking against skin.
"I love you," I say again, because I can't stop saying it, because I need her to carry those words with her into tomorrow. "I love you."
She shatters around me with a scream that echoes off the hills. I follow moments later, burying myself deep as I spill inside her, my forehead pressed against her shoulder, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
We collapse together in the cramped back seat, sweaty and tangled, hearts pounding in unison. Through the fogged windows, I can just make out the blur of city lights below us. The world is still out there, waiting to crash back in.
But for now, there's only this. Only her.
I hold her close and try not to think about what tomorrow will bring.
The interview. The questions. The trap I can feel closing around us.
One wrong word and everything we've built will come crashing down.
And as Jade drifts off to sleep against my chest, I stare up at the foggy window and wonder if this is the last night we'll ever spend as free people.