Page 100 of Wicked Promises (Fallen Royals 3)

“Not personally.” Robert lowers himself into the seat next to me. “What are you chatting about? Besides Matt.”

“He has to be working with Lydia,” I insist.

Masters shakes his head. “Where’s the motive? She moved away after the trial and would have no reason to… what, exactly? And the other factor: usually kidnappers call the family with demands. A ransom. That didn’t happen.”

“Because Caleb and Eli found me.”

“Caleb confirmed that Matt was the one who led them to your location.”

I pause. “Huh?”

“It’s why I ruled out Matt as a suspect.”

“That and his bullshit alibi,” I grumble.

Masters pats the table. “Lying about it would be interfering with an ongoing investigation, which would result in jail time if he was caught. We confirmed it with the girlfriend. Ran them through their stories separately forward and back. It was solid.”

“Margo, maybe you’re reading too much into this,” Robert suggests. “You’ve had a crazy few weeks.”

“You don’t think the person who has been texting me and who kidnapped me—apparently without an actual reason—was the one to do that to my room?” I shoot to my feet, except there’s nowhere to go.

“I’m going to go take some pictures,” the detective says. “I’ll dig around the Ashers, see if I can find anything suspicious, okay?”

“Is this the first time?”

His eyebrows scrunch. “The first time for what?”

“That anyone has ever looked into the Ashers?” I shake my head. “Caleb’s uncle has been beating him since he was a kid. But I guess it’s all too easy for the Asher family to sweep everything under the fucking rug.”

“If that’s true—”

“Fuck your truth,” I yell. I storm out and up the stairs, locking myself in the bathroom. I grab my bag on the way, sinking to the floor once I’m alone.

God, I just yelled at a police detective. He was going to help me, but I probably just ruined any chance of that.

I slide my phone out. I stare at it, debating calling Riley.

But wasn’t it me who said Caleb and I needed to work together?

That means relying on him sometimes.

Me: You remember anyone calling me a pretty bird?

Caleb: ?? No. Why?

Me: Someone wrote it on my wall. It’s bugging me.

His contact picture fills my screen, showing the incoming video chat request. I wipe at my face, then answer it.

He frowns at me. He seems to be walking down the hall, his phone held at a low angle. It shows off his sharp jawline. “Please tell me I read that wrong.”

“I wish.”

“Have you been crying?”

“Do I look it?” I fixate on the tiny picture of me in the corner, wondering if he sees something I don’t. My eyes do seem a bit puffy, and my face is pale.

“You’re upset. I can tell that much.”

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