Page 70 of Stay in Your Lane!

“Hell, whatisn’the doing?” Colin grumbled. “He’s rattling cages all over city hall. He did a fuckingpress conferencethis morning, Kyle. My captain and two others are losing their fucking minds. The chief is apoplectic. It’s—God, it’s a mess. And this lawyer is making sure everyone knows Detective Reardon is right in the middle of it all.”

“I mean, then someone will look into his shit, won’t they? This is… kind of a good thing, isn’t it?” It seemed like it to me, anyway. “Someone’s looking into?—”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

I blinked. “Um. Apparently not?”

This time, his harsh sigh sounded exactly like one of our dad’s. “This kind of scrutiny makes people cover their tracks! The way he’s going public—all over thenews, for God’s sake—he’s just going to send everyone into the shadows. They’re going to start hiding or destroying evidence, and I guarantee they’re going to do whatever they can to shut people up. Especially people who know enough to be damaging.”

I gulped, my blood turning to ice. “Like me.”

“Yes. Like you.” Colin swore. “Look, you and your boyfriend are going to need to disappear.”

“What?” I squeaked. “Like, witness protection?”

“Yes. Not the kind where you have a new identity and all that, but temporary hiding until I can be sure you’re safe.”

It took a moment for that to settle in. But then my gaze locked on another set of eyes.

From the other side of the aquarium’s glass, in water made cloudy by his breakfast’s debris, Steve glared at me. I had no idea what I’d done to piss him off, or if he was just fantasizing about leaping from his tank and devouring me, but his pissy stare reminded me of a not-so-minor logistical issue.

“I can’t just leave,” I said. “I can take the cats with me, but my fish are?—”

“Kyle.Kyle. Dude. I’m not going to let you stay out in the open because you’re worried about your fucking fish. You could getkilled. Do you understand that?Killed. I know you love your pets, but I’m not prioritizing fish over my brother.”

Anger flared in my chest. “I’m not leaving my animals.”

The string of profanity coming down the line would’ve been comical under other circumstances. “For fuck’s sake. Fine.Fine!I’ll arrange for someone to stay at your house and take care of your fish. Okay?Thenwill you go into witness protection?”

I swallowed, my heart pounding as the reality of the situation sank in. “Me and Everett, right?”

“Yes. I’ll make the calls. Both of you need to be ready to go in an hour. Got it?”

My head was swimming, but I confirmed that I did, indeed, get it. After my brother ended the call, I wavered for a moment, trying to comprehend what was happening. Witness protection. Because Reardon and whoever else was involved were cleaning house. We’d been in danger before, but now we were indanger.

Shit.

I gnawed my lip as I looked over at my fish. I still needed to scoop out the debris from their breakfast, but I was frozen. Would they be safe? Could I really trust anyone else to take care of them? I could take the cats with me, and I would, but I’d be worried sick about my fish until I got home.

If I got home.

Because you didn’t grow up around cops without learning how witness protection worked. Yeah, most of the time it was a temporary thing. Hide out in a cheap-ass hotel and slowly die of boredom, but then go back to your normal life after the bad guys were squared away.

Sometimes, though…

Sometimes it didn’t end that way.

Sometimes the bad guys had connections to other bad guys, and until every last one of those bad guys was dead or in prison, there was a price on your head. Even after trials were over and the witness’s testimony was no longer needed, they had to disappear.

That was when the U.S. Marshals showed up with their emotionless instructions and windowless vans, and it was“pack two bags and don’t bring anything that could possibly identify you,”followed by a long ride to an undisclosed location. Then it was a couple of weeks of learning your new name and your new back story and then?—

“Kyle?” Everett’s sleepy voice startled me. I whipped around, which my bruised back didn’t appreciate, and found him in the living room doorway, still wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. When our eyes met, his widened, and he came farther into the room. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“I…” It took a second to shake myself out of the panic over our not-zero chances of going into real long-term hardcore witness protection. When I did, everything else from my conversation came rushing back, and the accusation was out before I could think twice: “You got a fuckinglawyerinvolved?”

Everett balked, his jaw going slack. “I… what?” He came around and sat on the couch. “What are you talking about?” He reached for my hand, but I avoided his touch, and he stared at me, pain joining the confusion in his expression. “What’s going on?”

I wrung my hands in my lap and told him about the conversation with my brother. Then I looked in his eyes again and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting a lawyer involved? I was completely blindsided.” The hurt in my own voice caught me off guard, but I didn’t apologize for it. Iwashurt.

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