Page 71 of Fallen Knight

I should tell him not to call me princess, but I’ve missed hearing his raspy voice murmur it into my ear.

I join him, purposefully keeping some space between us. Creed places one of the cups in front of me.

“Hope you still take your coffee the same way.”

“I do.” I bring it to my lips and take a sip. I close my eyes, savoring that first taste. When I open them again, Creed’s studying me intently. He quickly looks away, clearing his throat as he digs through the bag to show me the various pastries he selected.

Which makes my stomach growl even more. They all look incredible. Much better than my typical breakfast of fruit and yogurt. After yesterday, I deserve to treat myself. Deserve some comfort food.

And there’s nothing more comforting than buttery, flaky pastries.

“How are you feeling today?” Creed asks after I’ve had a chance to indulge in a few of the pastries, including my favorite guilty pleasure — cream puffs.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” I glance at his arm.

“I’m not talking about physically, Esme. I’m talking about up here.” He taps the side of his head. “In my experience, the physical wounds are the easiest to heal. It’s the mental ones that take a bit of time. So… How are you?”

I pull my lips between my teeth, debating what to tell him. Do I tell him I still can’t stop thinking about my nightmare? I know it was just a dream. But it felt so real.

Tooreal.

It makes me wonder if itisreal. If my subconscious has been protecting me from the truth of the night Adam died, and seeing that man point a gun at me removed whatever block I’ve had the past nine years.

“What is it?” Creed presses when I don’t immediately respond.

“What do you mean?” I reply dismissively, taking a long sip of my coffee.

He narrows his gaze on me. “I know you, Esme.” A shy smile tugs on his lips. “Probably better than I wish at times. I can see the wheels turning in that brain of yours.”

“It’s just…”

I shake my head and gaze out the window as I attempt to formulate my thoughts. Try to figure out how to bring this up with Creed, considering he lost his brother in the car accident I’m questioning more with every day.

“Have you ever wondered if they got the right guy?”

“I told you last night. A dozen eyewitnesses saw him getting into a vehicle registered to Charles Thacker. The deceased man found in the vehicle matched the shooter’s description.”

“I’m not talking about yesterday.” I set my coffee cup back on the table and smooth my hands down my pajama pants. “I’m talking about Hayes Barlow.”

“Oh.” He sinks into the couch, shoulders dropping.

“Have you ever wondered if he’s really the one who did it?”

He’s quiet, his Adam’s apple working in a hard swallow, his expression tightening in deep concentration. I’ve always loved this look on him. Loved watching his mind work as he debates a course of action. So intense. Determined. Steady.

Finally, he shifts his gaze back to mine. “It’s kind of difficult to question heaps of conclusive evidence. His car was seen following the SUV Adam was driving. White gas canisters were found in his trunk. The clothes they found thrown in a trash bin at his house had traces of accelerant and reeked of smoke. Not to mention his car exhibited signs it had recently been involved in a collision. Paint transfer evidence was found on both vehicles — hisandAdam’s.”

“I understand that.” I pause. “But what if there wasn’t any physical evidence? If we were just basing this on motive, means, and opportunity—”

“Did I miss hearing about your degree in criminal justice or forensic psychology?” He flashes a smile, and it takes everything I possess not to melt into the couch.

I love that smile. The slight lifting of the corners of his lips. The sparkle in his eyes. The way he looks at me and makes me think he’s smiling for only me.

“I just have a bit of an affinity for true crime documentaries,” I tell him with a small shrug. “I’ve always found it fascinating to learnwhysomeone would act a certain way. Like Hayes Barlow. If you look at his background, he had a clean criminal record. Not so much as a parking ticket until Callie Sloane went missing. At that point, he was arrested for a misdemeanor breach of peace when he begged a local cop to investigate her disappearance, but he refused. I don’t know. I just…” Shaking my head, I blow out a long breath. “Based on everything I’ve read about him, he doesn’t seem the type.”

“You never know what might push someone over the edge. Losing his sponsorships could have been his tipping point.”

“But what if it wasn’t? What if—”

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