Page 51 of Carnival Shadows

The officers leave without further comment, but their presence has shifted something in the air. The cruiser pulls away, kicking up dust as it disappears down the access road.

I follow Remy to Tyson’s office, my steps measured and calm despite my racing thoughts.

“Fucking cops,” Remy growls the moment he steps inside, pacing the small space.

Tyson looks up from his desk, his expression darkening. “What happened?”

“Snooping,” Remy says. “They wanted to look in my trailer. I asked if they had a warrant, possibly a miscalculation on my part, but it’s not like I could let them in.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck. There’s too much evidence of Eden’s captivity.”

Ty grabs his cell phone and dials a number, putting it on speaker.

“What’s up, boss?” a voice asks on the other end.

“Phoenix, I need you to investigate the local police department’s intentions regarding the carnival. They wanted to look around Remy’s trailer. We need to know their plans and whether they intend to get a warrant to search the place.”

“Shit.” Tyson runs a hand through his hair. “We need to move the?—”

“Wait,” I interrupt, my mind racing. “I might have a solution.”

Both men turn to look at me, Remy’s eyes narrowing.

“My podcast has a huge following. I could release an episode tonight about carnival discrimination—how law enforcement often targets carnivals without cause—paint them as prejudiced against carnival workers.”

Tyson leans forward, interested. “Go on.”

“I have evidence from other cases where police harassed carnival workers without justification. I can weave those stories with what I’ve observed here—hard-working people being profiled simply because they live differently.”

“It could work,” Tyson muses. “Public pressure might make them back off.”

“Plus,” I add, “I can hint at following leads in another state and make it seem like the real story is elsewhere.”

Remy’s anger shifts to something else; he almost looks… proud. He moves behind me, his hand settling possessively on my neck.

“Our podcaster is becoming useful,” he murmurs.

Tyson nods. “Do it. I’ll have Nash and Lars handle the other preparations, just in case.”

I feel a surge of belonging as they include me in their plans. This is what I’ve wanted, to be part of something illicit and dark. However, the desire to protect someone I care about is a new sensation, as I’ve never had anyone to care about.

“I’ll need more of my equipment from the motel,” I say. “I can have the episode ready in two hours.”

“I’ll drive you,” Remy says, his keys already in hand.

My heart races as we walk to his van, the tension crackling between us. The moment we’re inside, his hand wraps around my throat before I can even reach for my seatbelt. The pressure is firm but controlled as he pulls me toward him.

His lips crash into mine, hungry and demanding. The kiss steals my breath, making me dizzy. When he finally pulls back, his grip on my throat tightens just enough to make me gasp.

“Such a good girl,” he growls against my lips. “Using that clever mind of yours to protect us—to protect me.”

“I’ll protect you,” I whisper against his lips, and the words shock me with their truth. “Your secrets are safe with me. Always.”

The weight of my promise hits me hard. Just months ago, I was hunting stories like this, exposing killers to my listeners. Now, I’m actively working to mislead investigators, planning to use my platform—my credibility—to point suspicion away from the carnival. The thought should terrify me. Instead, I feel atwisted thrill at my carefully crafted reputation becoming the perfect smokescreen.

But doubt creeps in. Can I maintain this deception? One slip, one inconsistency in my story, and everything could unravel. My entire career has been built on exposing lies like the ones I’m about to tell.

The intensity in Remy’s eyes turns softer—a look that seems reserved for me flickers beneath the surface. His grip on my throat loosens, sliding to cup my face instead. At this moment, despite my fears, I know I’ve crossed a line I can never uncross—and I don’t want to go back.

His groan vibrates through me, sending heat straight to my pussy. My gaze drops to the obvious bulge straining against his jeans. I can’t help but run my palm over him, feeling him twitch beneath my touch.

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