Forever Golden: Dark High School Bully Romance (Kings of Cypress Prep Book 3), Rachel Jonas [reading books for 6 year olds .TXT] 📗

“Seriously?”

That word oozes frustration, but I have no intention on sharing the truth behind Pandora’s post with her.

“Whose truck was that you were in? Did it… have anything to do with Mom?”

Shit.

I didn’t even consider she’d think that. Her eyes are watering now, and while I was fully prepared to not answer any of her questions, hearing the sudden spike of emotion in her voice has me rethinking my stance.

“It wasn’t about Mom. It was just… it was something you don’t need to worry about.”

Yes, that sounds dismissive as hell, but the alternative is to scare the shit out of my sister, which I won’t do.

“What about your hand?” she asks next. “Why’s it all bandaged up? You get into a fight or something?”

“Nope,” is all I say this time.

“Ok, fine,” she huffs. “You don’t want to talk about the truck, you don’t want to talk about your hand, then at least explain how and why we suddenly have an alarm on the house. It wasn’t there yesterday.”

Why can’t she just be overly preoccupied by her social life and obsessed with her phone like most teens? She has so, so many questions.

I’m at a loss for how to explain the alarm, but I sure as hell feel safer having it. Coming home tonight to see that West had followed through with getting it installed was the first sigh of relief I’ve exhaled all day. Granted, I don’t have the access code yet, and I have no clue how to operate the thing, but once I do, I’ll rest easier.

Scar’s staring hardcore right now, but I’m choosing to bypass this string of questions in favor of facing the TV again.

“Fine,” she huffs. “Maybe if I turn this off, you’ll focus and tell me what’s happening.”

She reaches for the remote with a frustrated sigh, but the familiar face at the center of the screen has my hand flying to hers—a tall, dark-skinned man with more gray in his beard than the last time we were face-to-face, but that’s definitely him.

“Hang on a sec.”

“You’re stalling and—”

“Shh! Please, I need to hear this,” I say, cutting her off.

When I snatch the remote and turn up the volume, she growls to herself. Or, hell, maybe she’s growling at me.

“Isn’t that Mike’s old partner, Louis?”

“Yes, now be quiet,” I say in a rush.

Scar’s not happy about being shushed, but she’s not talking anymore, and that’s the important part.

“Now, Detective Roby, it’s our understanding that you’re the first, and possibly the only member of the department to propose that the disappearances of these missing southside girls might be related. Is that correct?” The reporter’s question prompts Detective Roby to nod.

“I am the one who initiated the new task force,” he explains, “but there’s been tremendous effort from a handful of my peers, who are both vigilant and exceptional in their given fields.”

“I understand this, Detective Roby, but is it true that you received a lot of pushback? Our sources tell us that many who do oppose the formation of the new task force base their opinion on the fact that there simply isn’t enough evidence to support there being a connection. What’s your response to anyone who shares this view?”

I’m fixated on Detective Roby as he thinks before responding to the reporter’s question. Seeing him transports me back in time. Back to when he and Mike were partners and the Robys were like family to us. But then Mike’s occasional drinking turned into full-blown dependency, which led to him being let go from the force. Once that happened, Louis, his wife, and their daughter, Dez, sort of forgot we existed. Now, from the looks of it, a promotion has pulled Louis from behind the wheel of a patrol car and placed him behind a desk.

My memory of him is somewhat hazy now, but I remember him being one of the good guys. Even Ricky can attest to that, seeing as how he’s only received lectures from Roby on several occasions when he should’ve been in handcuffs. Louis was even instrumental in getting Hunter a slightly lighter sentence than he deserved.

Detective Roby meets the reporter’s gaze again, and the room is completely quiet as Scar and I listen.

“Well, my response to anyone who believes we’re making a mountain out of a molehill would be to challenge them to pretend—just for one second—that it’s their daughter, or their granddaughter, or their niece out there, gone without a trace. Then, I’d want them to honestly ask themselves… do they still feel this task force is unnecessary?”

The reporter’s brow rises, and she faces the camera again. “Very well-said, Detective. We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us.”

Detective Roby nods and when his gaze locks with the camera, I feel like he’s looking directly at me.

Like, maybe my seeing this tonight is fate.

Like, maybe he is someone we can trust, someone who can help us.

Chapter 9

BLUE

The moment Detective Roby’s interview ends, Scar gets a call and leaves me for more interesting conversation, I guess. Her bedroom door slams shut and it’s just me since my phone is off limits until further notice.

Or maybe not? I mean, as long as there’s no pertinent information being passed, a vague ‘I miss you’ text wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Don’t be stupid. Be patient. You’ll see West tomorrow, and he’ll tell you everything then. Stop worrying.

With that, I pretend to be content not hearing his voice before bed, then turn off the lights.

But after taking maybe three steps, there’s a knock at the door that has my heart racing and my palms sweating. I stare through the darkness and dread the very thought of looking outside to see who’s there.

Because there’s a chance it’s someone I don’t want to let in.

I’ve been startled before, and this isn’t that. This is real fear, it’s me being scared shitless at the thought of whoever’s at the door with malice in their heart.

I’m quiet when slipping between the end table and window to peek