Page 64 of Stay in Your Lane!

And something told me that after all this was over, I might not have a choice but to believe it.

I was saved from having to say anything about it because the front door of Waffles? opened again. Fidgeting, I muttered, “Here we go,” to Everett as my dad and brother walked in.

Dad was plainclothes as always, though he wore his badge on a chain around his neck. Colin was in uniform. As they approached, some distinctive oinking and snorting noises started up. I was confused for a second, but when Dad glared at the Goth kids, I put the pieces together.

Colin rolled his eyes.

Dad muttered, “Stupid fucking kids.”

“ACAB!” one of the kids called out over the oinking.“ACAB!”

“Fascist fuckers working for the fascist regime,” another declared.

“Fascist pig fuckers!”

“Dude! Don’t insult their wives!”

“They married cops—they deserve to be insulted!”

The table devolved into some of the liveliest conversation I’d ever heard from the otherwise quiet group, and my dad and brother both seemed pissed as they slid into our booth.

Beside me, Everett was trying to stifle a laugh. He wasmostlysucceeding.

“We just had to meet here, didn’t we?” Dad grumbled.

I shrugged. “I didn’t know they were going to…” I waved a hand at the other booth, which was behind a high enough divider that the Goth kids couldn’t see me.

Dad huffed and snatched up one of the menus. He, Colin, and Everett ordered some food. I ordered more coffee.

“You’re not eating?” Dad asked with an arched eyebrow.

I shook my head. “I ate earlier.” That was a lie. If I tipped my hand and told him how wound up and scared I was, he’d use that as leverage to get me away from this case.

He either accepted my answer or didn’t care enough to dig, because he moved right on. “We need to talk about the Leighton case.”

Colin worked at a crack on the table with his thumbnail, and he stared intently at that. Everett fidgeted beside me.

I held my dad’s gaze despite my pounding heart. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Right. Right.” Dad folded his arms on the edge of the table and looked right at me. “Well, it’s really simple.” He flicked his eyes to Everett, then to me. “You two aren’t cops. You have no business getting involved in a police investigation.”

“Agreed,” Everett said. “But since the police aren’t investigating Leighton’s death, we’re not stepping on any toes, are we?”

Colin’s head snapped up, and he stared at Everett, then me, his eyes asking if my boyfriend was stupid or suicidal. Dad glared across the table at Everett, and he seemed even more affronted by Everett’s audacity than by the Goth kids’ disrespect. Which said a lot, quite frankly—there were few ways to get on my dad’s nerves faster than disrespecting cops.

I nudged Everett’s knee with mine beneath the table and cleared my throat. Holding my dad’s gaze, I asked, “Do you think Rick Leighton killed himself?”

“I don’t know enough about the case.”

“I do,” I said. “And there’s no way it’s a suicide.”

He gave one of those heavy dad sighs and leaned back against the bench. “Kyle. You’re not a cop. You don’t know how these things?—”

“There was a smear of blood in the hallway,” Everett snapped. “And there was a footprint on Leighton’s chest. Afootprint. From a shoe that isn’t his size and wasn’t on the premises.” He inclined his head. “And I’ll bet you anything it matches the footprint on your son’s back.”

My breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t used to people pushing back against my dad, and neither was he.

Dad glowered at Everett, then turned to me. “What is he talking about? What footprint on your back?”

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