Page 36 of Brazen Criminals

I pull my blanket up over us both, suddenly freezing. “It didn’t feel wrong or dangerous. But after a summer away, when I came back? I hated the way he talked to me, the way I couldn’t do anything right, how I always had to be perfect, and I couldn’t just be, well, me. So I left.”

Emma takes my hand, her palm warm in my bloodless fingers. I’m not ready to meet her eyes, so I look out my window. The neighbor’s house is dark tonight. “I never thought it was scary, if that makes sense. It was, I guess, all-consuming, but not dangerous. Not until tonight. That shit was scary. I mean, he put a tracker on my phone. And it’s been there for years, Emma.” I stare at my phone, suddenly afraid to touch it.

Fear is easy, though. It belongs to the old me. I won’t let Bryce scare me anymore. I roll off my mattress, snatch my phone up, and march out of my room.

“What are you doing?” Emma asks, following me down the hallway, through the kitchen and living room, then up the stairs. I knock on the second door at the top of the stairs. “RJ?” I call.

Walker and RJ poke their heads out of Walker’s room. I hear muffled grunts coming from the first door, Trips’ room, but I ignore them and move to the back of the house. “Can you fix it?” I ask, handing him my phone.

“Tracker app, right?”

I tug on the hem of my shirt. “Can you just check? Make sure it’s all legit? Nothing else, nothing extra, no way he can, I don’t know, watch or listen? Not just find me, but I don’t know, I just, I need it to be Bryce-proof. Can you do that?”

“For sure.” He takes my phone and heads back down the hall. I turn to follow him, but Walker gently brushes the back of my hand. “He’ll work faster alone. Why don’t you guys come in here?” He opens the door to his room for Emma and me.

He has a small couch right inside the door, so Emma and I settle in next to each other while he rolls a drafting chair to sit across from us. “How are you doing?” he asks.

I stare at my lap. “Honestly? I feel like an idiot.”

“Clara,” Emma scolds beside me.

Pressing my palms against my thighs, I look between the two of them. “I do, though. I should have known. Why didn’t I know? He said that app’s been on my phone for years. He’s been watching me for years and I didn’t notice? I must be a fool, or oblivious, or blind, or something.” I sigh.

Walker and Emma share a glance, but I cut them off. I don’t want a lecture. I want a distraction. “Can we talk about something else? I feel like he’s already taken too much from me,” I plead with Walker. “Give me something else to think about?”

He scans his room for inspiration. “Want to talk about art?”

A sad chuckle slips out. “Sure. Wow me with art.”

Emma laughs, and the tension softens. I’m grateful for the distraction, Walker explaining what’s in his room, which artists he’s been mimicking, what level of reproductions he’s made, what’s good or bad or right or needs fixing in the piles of papers and canvases throughout his room.

His eyes twinkle as he talks, his arms waving when he gets excited, lifting some of the dread from my shoulders. I may have fumbled my perfect life, but I somehow stumbled into this wonderful group of guys, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to try for happiness instead of perfection. That possibility pushes some of the awfulness of the night away.

I’m done being perfect.

Bring on what comes next, world. I’m ready.

Chapter 20

Walker

BythetimeRJcomes back with Clara’s phone, she’s curled up on my couch, pretending to still be awake with poorly timed oh’s and um-hmm’s. Emma half scoops up her friend, helping her to the door. “I’ll let myself out once she’s in bed, guys. Thanks for…well, thanks for the cookies, I guess.”

With that, RJ and I are alone. I flop onto my bed, rubbing my eyes.

RJ sprawls across my couch. “I got the spy software off. Fucker had location alerts, as well as listening capabilities. He even added one of those apps that can force a remote reinstall as part of a normal update, so I pulled that code out too before giving it back. I’d hate to have that mess show back up again next week because the crazy fuck is sick of waiting for her.”

“Good.” I roll onto my side and take a sip of water from the cup on my nightstand. “How’s Trips?”

RJ shakes his head. “He’s still wound up, but it sounds better now that the heavy bag’s taken the brunt of it. It was mostly grunts coming through the wall, so an improvement over the yelling earlier.”

“Do you think Jansen needs a break?”

RJ smirks. “Jansen was made for this. He’s fine.”

I can’t argue with that. Jansen is the only person who can talk Trips down when he gets that mad. All RJ and I can do is keep other people from making it worse. Trips has a surprising amount of control considering his starting point. He’s a volcano of pure fury, but I’ve only seen him explode once in three years. It still makes me vomit if I think about it too long, though.

“What are we going to do?” I ask.

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