Page 89 of Ace

I shrug it off, incapable of staying calm the way he's urging me to.

"She left with Christopher Preston. She was covered in blood."

"What happened?" I prod.

"I can't tell if she's hurt. She seems to be walking stiffly. She's terrified," Wren says, making my gut clench with worry.

"Hemlock," I say, my throat threatening to seize.

"I'm on it," the man says, the SUV growling as he presses down harder on the accelerator.

"I've already contacted local police and they're sending units to the house," Wren says. "They left in her car. There are no reports of them going to the police. It's been an hour since they left the house."

"That doesn't make sense," Jericho says, always fucking helpful.

"It does if you've been involved in something terrible and you have to worry about the media as much as you do the police," Wren says. "I can't count the number of times we get a call for Quinten's help before they ever think to call the police."

"Quinten's your fixer, right?" Jericho asks.

"That's right. I can mobilize him to South Carolina if you need him," Wren offers.

"We'll handle this," Hemlock says before I can get the words out of my mouth.

"Kincaid says he's sending a chopper in case we need it," Jericho says. "He just texted."

I don't know how much time we're wasting by heading to the Preston Estate, but we have no further recourse until we get additional information.

The miles seem to grow longer as we all sit in silence for some of the longest moments of my life.

"Units are three minutes out," Wren says. "Entry will be slow because they don't know what they're going to be facing."

Three minutes seem to take days.

"Do you think William went after her and she had to kill him?" Jericho asks.

"Did you miss the part where Wren said he was in DC?" Hemlock says, only lifting his eyes to the rearview mirror for a second to glare at the man. "This isn't a time for fucking speculation."

From the corner of my eye, I see Jericho lift his hands as if apologizing.

"No," Wren says. "He's got a point. William has had enough time since the flight landed to drive back to South Carolina or even catch another mode of transportation. His phone is pinging DC, but he could've left it there to try and create an alibi."

"Men who hire hitmen aren't exactly known for having the guts to kill someone themselves," I say, knowing from experience that it takes a fit of rage for most people to follow through with murder. It's a special person who can think about doing it and plan it out and then take care of business. As much murder as there is in the world, most people just don't have it in them if they aren't threatened or protecting someone they love.

"That's true," Wren agrees. "But I'm still checking. From my end, it looks like he'sstill on Capitol Hill but all I can track is his phone."

"Any updates on the police?"

"I'm watching their body cam feeds right now," Wren says.

"They gave you access to their feeds?" Jericho asks, his voice filled with disbelief.

"I have access to their feeds," Wren counters, and that part of me that should argue it's against the law stays silent because legality is no longer a concern for me, but I am aware enough for my brain to remind me that this is exactly why it's so fucking dangerous to get tangled up with someone on such an emotional level.

"They're going through the front door. Blood in the foyer, footprints, not pools of blood like from an active wound. From seeing Cora leave the front door, I'm guessing it's hers."

"Her blood?" I snap.

"Her footprints," he corrects. "There's a deceased elderly woman in the kitchen with an apparent knife wound to the chest."

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