Page 117 of Racing Hearts

She smiles. “And I’ll stop treating you like a crutch.”

“Everything is changing,” I say, frightened.

Evan shuffles into the room, his eyes half closed. “Coffee,” he demands like a zombie.

“Not everything.” She laughs.

“Coffee?” Lally groans, stumbling into the room, just as much of a zombie as Evan.

“No wonder they are besties,” I scoff just as Skylar groans from the living room.

“You’re all so loud with your feelings. I was having a good dream about a certain tattooed asshole?—”

He grunts when I throw a pillow at him, but it ends in a laugh that fills the house, and I can’t help but smile.

Everything is changing, but it’s for the best.

This house is a home now, filled with laughter and love, and no matter what happens, we’ll face it together.

FIFTY-FOUR

Iknow Alek is worried about Alice and me. He shows it by hovering around and trying to take care of everything. It’s sweet, but I can see Alice rolling her eyes. It seems they had a heart-to-heart this morning, which was needed. I’m glad Alice is realizing just how much her brother does for her and giving him some freedom from that. He needs to know it’s okay to let her live her life and for him to live his.

By early afternoon, we are all restless, unsure what to do, so we contact the lawyers and head to the station. In the daylight, it’s a much different sight than last night. There are police cars everywhere, and when we walk in, there are more officers here than I have ever seen. There aren’t any bodies or blood, so they must have cleaned it up, but I know they must feel the loss.

Their officers died protecting us last night. It makes my steps heavy with guilt. However, none of them blame us or glare. They welcome us warmly and take us to a side room, and a burly man comes inside with an older man carrying a briefcase.

He’s attractive, probably in his mid-forties, with a strong build. He’s wearing a designer, tailor-made suit, a Rolex on one wrist, and a diamond ring on his left hand. His hair is artfully swept back, displaying strong features, and he seems familiar, but I can’t place why. “I am Sergeant Rodgers, and this is my precinct. It’s nice to finally meet you,” the burly man says as he sits.

“I’m Declan Townsend, and I will be representing you in any matters.” The man nods at us and sits. He has an elegant if slightly stiff aura about him—arrogance, the type that comes with power and money. I know that all too well because it surrounded my family.

“I tried to explain you don’t need representation,” Rodgers starts.

Declan simply smiles. “Then I’m here as a formality.”

“I see.” Rodgers eyes him and then turns to us. “Interesting how you sought the richest and most lethal lawyer in the vicinity.”

“You flatter me.” Declan smiles. It’s sharklike and reminds me of Bones for a moment. Shit, is this Bones’s dad?

I eye him again, noticing the resemblance once more. It has to be. He mentioned his dad owns a law firm. He hired his dad for us?

“Yes, well, I’ll cut to the chase since we all know that we have our dead to see to,” Rodgers says, his eyes haunted. “All I need are your statements on what happened last night. We have camera footage and witness statements, including ones from Officer Beckett, Winchester’s partner.”

“He survived?” I lean forward.

“He’s in critical condition, but he’s alive.” Rodgers nods. “We know you have nothing to do with any of this, but you were here, and we need answers. I’m going to record it, if that’s okay.”

I look at Declan, who inclines his head and leans into us. “Look at me before speaking. You don’t have to answer anything I say not to.”

“Declan.” Rodgers sighs. “I’m not trying to trick them?—”

“William,” Declan retorts, using the sergeant’s first name since he did the same. “I will advise my clients as I see fit. You may record the interview, but they are free to ignore your questions or leave whenever they wish. You have already said they have no charges being pressed against them. Now, let us begin. My clients have been through a terrible ordeal and should be resting.”

“We lost good officers last night,” William snaps. “I just need to know how and why.”

“A great loss.” Declan nods. “But your anger is misplaced. Aim it at Miss Clarissa Wright, who you have in holding, not my clients. Now begin.”

William looks tired, and I feel for him. These officers were probably colleagues and friends for many years. I know that loss well.

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