Page 89 of Pretend You Love Me
“How are you feeling today?” Hawk asks her. He winces as he takes in her face, which looks even worse today. The swelling is down, but all the bruising is much darker.
“Looks worse than it is,” she mumbles as she stirs her coffee.
“We almost murdered your brother over it,” Keene says with a mouth full of pancakes.
“You’re not supposed to tell people that,” Declan says.
Eli adds, “Yeah. Especially police-type people.”
Hawk lets out a loud laugh. “If Kip had done that to your sister, I would have watched while you beat the shit out of him. I saw it happen though - definitely wasn’t Kip.”
“You were here?” Will asks.
“Yeah, I had come by to get Ginger...I mean Brooklyn’s statement about the creep outside the bar, and she and Blue got tangled up. That dumb dog doesn’t know his own size.”
“Ginger?” Declan says with a raised eyebrow.
Brooklyn's face flushes.
Hawk leans into Brooklyn. “You could have told me about everything. I would have helped.”
She doesn’t respond and focuses all her energy on stirring her coffee.
After breakfast is finished and cleaned up, we move into the living room.
“Well, I have some things I’d like to share.” Hawk stands in front of the group and claps his hands together.
Brooklyn jerks her head up to stare at him.
“We ran the prints from the abandoned house and found they were a match to your stepfather’s. We can’t find conclusively who the blood belongs to though. I’m sorry. If you want to submit a DNA sample, we could test some of the blood against your DNA to see if it was your mother. We have no records of her prints or DNA in our system.”
Brooklyn’s eyes narrow. I can practically see the wheels in her head spinning.
“Daryl, Brooklyn’s stepfather, has been connected with a mid-level drug running organization in this county. We have some ways of getting information about that group. I can’t reveal my sources or anything, but I think they should be able to give us some information about him - possibly know his whereabouts.”
“It’s a start,” the President says, looking at Brooklyn.
She doesn’t look relieved. She should, but she doesn’t. She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek and pressing her lips together. She opens her mouth to say something, and then she shuts it tight. After a moment, she opens her mouth again and says, “Hawk, How did you know to fingerprint that house?”
Hawk’s eyes flash to me.
“How did you know to fingerprint that house?” She repeats, louder.
“Anonymous tip,” Hawk answers. He’s still looking at me, and Brooklyn turns to face me.
“Why did he print that house, Kip?” Her breathing is growing labored.
“Brooklyn...”
“Did you tell him to print that house?” She’s yelling now. Everyone is just watching us, silently.
“Just let me explain...”
“Did you?” she interrupts.
“Yes, I called him.” Our eyes are locked. I’m not flinching. I don’t regret what I did. She was in danger, and now she’s not. I won’t apologize for that.
She turns toward the President. “James, how did you find me?”
