Page 57 of Falling for a Killer

She doesn’t ask me why I can’t do it myself, she knows. I have to work on helping Donna — or another lawyer if she meets with Killian and changes her mind — mount some sort ofa reasonable defense. She just agrees. “Yes, I’ll find you a place and get it booked for at least the next six months, just in case. Hopefully he’ll be free long before then.”

And if he’s not, I might be taking up permanent residence in Idaho of all places. I never saw that coming, but I do know one thing for sure. I’m not giving up on him.

Not now, not ever.

Twenty-Seven:

Preparations

Waking up alone is harder than I thought it would be. I wasn’t expecting to sleep at all, but I passed out on top of my laptop and the notes I’ve been taking trying to piece together the timeline from the moment of the crash that killed Killian’s mom to the moment Lawson was pronounced dead at the scene. There are still a lot of gaps from what I can see through blurry eyes, but I’m getting there.

Breakfast is a lonely affair that consists of popcorn and day-old coffee I never bothered to dump from the pot. I feel stuck, like this has all been some crazy bad dream I’ll wake from at any second. I know it’s not. I know I need to get my ass in gear, make preparations, go see about bail or if charges have even been filed. Just because they think he did it doesn’t mean they have enough evidence to arrest him, and I also need to make sure Donna came to see him. If she’s not going to help him, I need to find someone who will.

I shower quickly and throw all of our laundry into the washer, then grab every suitcase we’ve got. If they do let him go, we need to leave Windwinter for a while. If they don’t... well, Violet worked overtime last night finding me a place to stay in Blackridge. I need to be prepared for anything.

But I can’t bring myself to pack his hoodies or his sweatpants, his toothbrush or his shampoo until I know for sure what’s going on, so I drive back over to the police station and give myself a few moments in the parking lot to just breathe. I can’t go in there half-cocked. I can’t go in there disrespecting them like I did yesterday. I should apologize for that, stay calm, and then demand answers.

Easier said than done.

Every step I take toward the front door feels harder than the last until I’m standing at the front desk. “I’m here to find out what’s going on with Killian Blake. He was detained yesterday after a traffic stop where he refused to provide identification.” Screw the apology. They should be happy I didn’t bring a blowtorch.

The lady behind the counter looks me up and down, probably recognizing me from my outburst yesterday. “He’s currently in interrogation. You’ll have to come back later.”

Irritation spikes its way up my spine. “Has he been charged with a crime? Has bail been set? How long will he be in there?”

So much for being calm.

“What exactly is your relationship to Mr. Blake?” she asks, setting her reading glasses down in front of her and folding her hands like a cartoon villain. “You’re just his girlfriend, right? Not his wife, or sister, or mother? You’re not actually related to him at all?”

“No, I’m not related to him. What does that matter? I just want to know when I can bring him home, that’s all. He has no living relatives. Please, ma’am.”

Her face softens. “Yes, I believe charges have been filed. He’s being moved to the county jail in a few hours, so maybe you’ll have better luck there. I’d wait at least 48 hours before trying to visit him, though.”

I don’t want to wait that long, but I’m assuming it’ll take a bit for him to be seen by a judge about bail. Fucking hell. Forcing a grateful smile, I look around for the prick who manhandled me yesterday as I massage the shallow cuts on my wrist, then head back to my car and go home.

I run on autopilot finishing the laundry and packing our things. I nearly forget to eat dinner altogether until my mom calls to check on me and asks me if I’ve eaten, so I force downa couple of pieces of frozen pizza and turn on the news. By now, word has spread. His face is everywhere. It’s no longer some masked stranger with startling blue eyes, it’s Killian on my screen. As a teenager, as an adult. They even have a baby picture of him already. If we get through this, I’ll have to let him know how much cuter he looked with chubby cheeks.

It unfortunately doesn’t matter how cute he was or how hot he is now. People will judge him anyway, listening to the way these newscasters are painting him.“Unhinged,”they’re saying.“Broken from grief due to the tragic loss of his mother.” “A senseless killer trying to take matters into his own hands.”

They’re half right. And things will only get worse from here, I know that. People who think they know him will crawl out of the woodwork looking for a little bit of fame or a quick payday and the truth will get lost in the shuffle. Killian will get lost in the shuffle.

And I’m the only one who can stop it.

Twenty-Eight:

The Lies of Krystal Thomas

“Did you talk to him?” I demand, pacing outside the county jail three days later. “You’re taking his case, right?”

Donna’s voice drops, clearly annoyed with me already. I’ve called her half a dozen times. “Yes, Miss Moran. I spoke to him earlier today and have decided to represent him. You weren’t kidding about his charm, you know that?”

I’ll kill her.

“I know,” I force out. “Thank you. Can you tell me why they won’t let me see him? They keep telling me I’m not on the list but won’t tell me how to get on the list. Is it something you have to do, or maybe Killian?”

“They won’t allow him to have visitors right now due to the nature of his charges. I’m sorry, Joey. I know that’s tough, but you have to trust he’s okay.”

“And what about bail?” I press. “He was represented by some public defender and they denied bail. Is there anything we can do about it?”

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