Fear claws at my chest. “What the hell would I need a lawyer for? I didn’t do anything! They did it!”
“Just calm down. I’ll call Sheriff Keller to get help, and we’ll figure out what to do from here,” my mom says, sounding tired.
Both my parents turn to retreat, and I clamber off the bed, my chest heaving. I’m hanging on by a thread. My emotions and my sanity are boiling over.
“When will you both ever believe me?”
“When you finally tell the truth,” my dad snaps, slamming the door behind them.
I fall back onto the bed, dread settling at the base of my spine. I pick up the stack again, looking through everything.
They’re framing me.
They’re making me look like I’m the problem in this town, so they can all ride off into the sunset and attend their colleges without a hitch.
I dress quickly and shuffle down the stairs. Even though I’d like to stay holed up in my room, I need to know what’s happening. I can’t let those bastards get away with something else.
The kitchen is the most chaotic I’ve seen it in days. Mom is on the phone, and Dad is talking to my grandparents. I don’t know when they got here; I didn’t even hear them come in as I was getting dressed.
When I walk over the threshold, everyone turns to look at me. How is it I feel like a stranger—completely unwanted in my own home?
I head straight for the coffeepot and pour myself a cup. Usually, Mom has something to say about my caffeine intake but obviously not today.
She hangs up with whoever she was on the phone with, most likely Sheriff Keller, before she blows out a tired sigh and rubs her temples.
“I just got off the phone with Sheriff Keller and then Jared from the firm. He’s opting to help us. We can fight the lawsuit. They have no proof you did any of the graffiti. All we need is a solid alibi. So, Mack, before Jared gets here, where were you last night?”
My face settles into a grim, frustrated expression. “I was home last night. I didn’t go anywhere.”
“Goddammit, Mack—”
“That’s enough, Michael,” my grandpa scolds. “She’s told you where she was. Instead of pouring your energy into being angry with her and not believing her, why don’t you actually try to get this sorted and help your daughter out?”
My dad stews in silence. I send a grateful glance at my grandpa and wait for Jared to get to the house with what I hope is good news.
I listen to the water running in Baz’s ensuite bathroom and fidget on the bed, my gaze constantly drifting to his phone that’s resting on his nightstand by the closed door. My heart is pounding.
This is wrong.
I know it’s wrong.
Despite that, I still grab it. My hands shake with the weight of the device. Normally, it doesn’t feel so heavy, but right now? This thing feels like it’s a million pounds.
It’s password protected, obviously. I almost roll my eyes at myself.
What kind of idiot am I?
I’m just about to set it back on the nightstand when an idea strikes me. It might not work. The odds are slim, but it doesn’t hurt to try. If I don’t do it now, I might not ever have the chance again.
I hurry across the bedroom, digging through Baz’s laundry basket, picking up the slacks he wore last night when we went to dinner together. I dig in, searching for it, and I almost scream in rejoice when my fingers curl around the leather. I slide out his wallet slowly, staring at it for a beat, hoping to God it’ll work.
With shaking fingers, I open it, pulling out his driver’s license. I shouldn’t be surprised he looks handsome in the photo. Most people on their IDs and driver’s license look completely different than they do in real life, but of course, the same rules don’t apply to Baz.
Holding out his photo ID, I grab his phone. I try to line up his ID and the phone for facial recognition, but I can’t get it to work. I groan in frustration, trying one more time.
This time, I place the picture farther away, and suddenly, the screen opens to the home page, showcasing all his apps.
I choke on a disbelieving laugh.
It worked.
Fuck! It worked!
I tap on the mail icon, deciding to search through his emails first for anything suspicious. While it loads, I slide his ID back into his wallet and place the wallet back into his pocket. I toss his slacks back into the laundry, trying to make it look normal. I strain to listen for the sound of the water, just to make sure he’s still in there.
In the search bar, I type in the date of Maddie’s death, but of course, nothing pops up. That was years ago, and we were just kids. Of course, he wouldn’t have any emails from then. I delete that, then type in Madison’s name and the search comes up empty. I glance anxiously over my shoulder, making sure he’s still showering.
I try Trent’s name first, scrolling through all their emails. They’re all work-related. The same goes for the rest of the guys. There’s nothing suspicious. When the water suddenly shuts off, my stomach drops, and I run back into the bedroom, my heart pounding.
I jump onto the bed, closing out of his emails and locking his phone, then place it back onto the nightstand, trying to remember exactly how he left it before. I try for casual, lying down on the bed with my own phone. By the time he comes back into the bedroom, water dripping down his body, I’m feeling guilty as hell.
Why did I do that?
Of course, Baz doesn’t know anything.
I’m betraying his trust. I’m turning into a fucking psycho. All for what?
“Don’t pretend you don’t know why you’re doing this. You can’t lose sight of everything, not now.” Madison’s voice warns. I shake her off, trying to give Baz my full attention.
When he catches me staring at him, he smirks, dropping his towel, and my stomach tightens, my core throbbing with anticipation.
When Baz strides toward the bed, he tosses my phone onto the pillow beside me and yanks me to the edge. He spreads my legs, his fingers playing with my folds before he drops to his knees and shoves his oversized shirt up my body to expose my breasts. I hate myself when he eats me with a ravenous hunger. He groans as he plays with my tits. As he works my body, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of me, I vow to drop my case where he’s concerned. Because risking this? I refuse to do that. If I’m going to continue my research, it’ll be into the rest of the guys, not him.
“You’re making a mistake. He’s the root cause of it all. Can’t you see that?”
Madison’s voice continues to warn me, but I tune her out in favor of Baz. I get lost in his eyes, in the way he stares down at me with such heated possession, it sets my body on fire. I get lost in his smell, the musky rosewood scent that makes me dizzy with lust and has my heart beating a contented tune. I get lost in his touch, the way he works my body, the way he touches me and caresses me as though I’m his lifeline, and if he lets go, he’ll risk losing me forever. When I’m with him, like this, it’s the only time I truly feel like myself. Like Mackenzie. The real me. He’s reached inside me and managed to embed himself into my mind and soul.
When I’m satiated, completely out of breath from all the orgasms, and unable to move, I turn toward Baz, who’s watching me.
“You look tired,” he observes.