Page 32 of Can You Take It?

UNKNOWN: If you’re lying, you’re digging your own grave. If Charles gets cornered, he might spill everything. And I mean everything.

Me: What do you mean by everything?

UNKNOWN: Everything you’ve been running from. And if he talks, you’re not just a witness. You’re the target.

I look up from my phone and glance at Noah. How much of an idiot is this guy? Do these people not know how to be discreet? I stifle a sigh and go back to typing a response. I’m in the middle of typing a response when the front door swings open, and I quickly close the app on my phone. Richard walks in accompanied by a fiery redhead from the crime scene.

I watch as they walk in the direction of Noah, who’s busy working on his laptop. Richard doesn’t even spare a glance in my direction, and it’s a weird feeling. For some reason, I expectedhim to at least acknowledge my presence. But he outright ignores me.

Their conversation continues, and I overhear Richard mentioning the Slasher case, and Noah does that little eye thing that tells me he’s about to reveal something important. I remain quiet on the couch, trying not to draw attention to myself.

But it doesn’t take long for Richard to finally notice me. His eyes narrow in annoyance, and for a fleeting moment, I can almost see the anger in his expression. The guy is never content with his life, is he?

He points at me. “Why the hell are you not wearing pants?”

I shrug nonchalantly, offering a response that’s become all too familiar during our interactions. “I told you, I don’t wear them.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, and I can feel the tension in the room ratchet up even higher. I’m not sure what’s worse – the fact that I’m stuck here, half-clothed and treated like a nuisance, or the way Richard’s mere presence manages to get under my skin. This idiotic mess of a situation isn’t doing any wonders for my patience.

Chapter 12

RICHARD

I lock my gaze on Izel, and raw anger ripples through me. The fact that she’s not wearing pants is a glaring reminder of just how absurd this situation has become.

I trust Noah, and I know he’s a professional. But right now, I can’t seem to shake this possessive feeling that’s clawing at the pit of my stomach. She’s been with him all day, and the thought of it leaves me seething.

I try to keep a lid on my anger, but it’s a losing battle. She’s sitting there, seemingly unfazed by my reaction, and that just infuriates me even more.

“So, what, you just roam around without pants on?” I snap.

She merely shrugs. “Well, it’s a free country, right? Besides, Noah doesn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s not the point. This is my house, and there are rules.”

“Your house?” she raises an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about being here.”

“I just don’t appreciate your lack of respect towards the people who’ve lost their lives.”

She snorts, refusing to back down. “Oh, forgive me, Mr. FBI, for not wearing pants in your oh-so-holy house. But I’m not really following how it’s affecting the dead. For all I know, I’m probably giving them a show. It’s not like they have Netflix.”

The possessiveness I’m feeling is fucking irrational, and absolutely maddening. I can’t really dictate her choices, yet here I am, wanting to stand between her and anything that could hurt her.

“Go back to your room,” I command, and she starts to protest. But I cut her off with a sharp, “Now.”

She grumbles in frustration, pushing herself up from the couch. As she does, I notice something peculiar. Her oversized sweatshirt slips slightly, revealing a scar on her stomach. It’s not just any scar; it’s large and far too noticeable to be missed.

I can’t tear my eyes away from it, and she avoids my gaze, looking away. My mind races as I recall her medical records, and I’m certain there was nothing out of the ordinary in them. This scar, however, tells a different story.

She tugs her sweatshirt down, as if to conceal the evidence, but it’s too late. The sight of that scar is etched into my memory, and it’s raising a multitude of questions I can’t ignore.

“Luna, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on Izel. Make sure she stays in her room,” I instruct. No way I’m keeping a man around her, especially if she’s not going to be wearing pants

Luna nods in understanding.

As for Noah, I turn to him and gesture for him to accompany me. “Let’s drive back to the office together. I need you to tell me the information you have on our Slasher.”

Leaving the house, I make a mental note to double-check Izel’s medical records.

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