AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The police were at the door. When his brother yelled up to him, Bastian struggled to return to consciousness, but it wasn’t easy. He’d finally fallen asleep at six-thirty this morning; it felt like he’d barely closed his eyes.
Lifting his head, he squinted to be able to see the alarm clock on the nightstand. Nine-twenty. Three hours wasn’t nearly enough sleep.
“Bastian? You coming?”
Bastian managed to bark out a yes. Then he dragged his tired ass out of bed, rubbed his face, and stared at himself in the mirror over the dresser as his sluggish mind caught up with what was happening. The police were here?Why?Was this about yesterday, when he and Remy had seen Jack and Ismay walking along the side of the road?
Surely, Ismay wouldn’t have gone to the police. She had to know better than that...
“Bastian! Come on!” Remy yelled.
With a curse, Bastian pulled on a T-shirt with the basketball shorts he’d worn to bed and headed out of the room. He needed to be sharper to deal with the police. Being questioned for hours about the fire back when Lyssa died—it was all so traumatizing. Then there was the Peeping Tom complaint. That had been a close one. Bastian knew he had to be ready for anything. But Remy had no patience.
“What is it?” he bellowed as he descended the stairs.
When his brother had saidpolice, he’d thought he’d find an officer in uniform at the door. But it was Detective Livingston wearing his cheap rumpled sports coat. Seeing him sent fresh alarm through Bastian. He remembered how unimpressed Livingston had been with the Windsor influence and wealth.
“I’d like a word with you, if you don’t mind,” the detective said when their eyes connected.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Bastian said.
Livingston smiled blandly. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”
He had plenty to worry about. “Do Ihaveto talk to you?”
“If you want to be sure I get all my facts straight,” Livingston replied.
Bastian told himself he was overreacting. There wasn’t anything his mother couldn’t take care of. “Fine. Come in,” he said, and as soon as the detective had taken a seat in the living room, he added, “What’s wrong?”
Livingston pulled a pad and a pen from his pocket. “This might take a minute. Why don’t you sit down, too?”
Bastian chose a side chair, but Remy remained on his feet and said, “I don’t think it should take very long at all.”
Livingston’s eyes narrowed as he considered Remy’s response, but he started the interview anyway, and directed his first question to Bastian. “Your brother tells me you grabbed the wheel yesterday when the vehicle you were in nearly struck Ismay Chalmers and her brother Jack Chalmers, who were both on foot, about a mile from town.”
“What? Wait—Remy was driving!” he cried but knew he’d spoken too soon when Remy sent him a dirty look.
“Ididn’tsay that, Detective, and you know it,” Remy clarified. “I said it was an accident, that Bastian was reaching for his drink in the middle console as I took the corner a little too fast, and he fell against the wheel.”
“So it was just bad timing,” Livingston said.
“That’s right,” Remy responded.
Bastian could feel his heart beating in his throat as he glanced at his twin brother, who was, as always, completely calm and self-assured. Nothing bothered Remy. He’d acted the same way the night of the fire.
“And did you stop to see if they were okay?” the detective asked.
“No,” Remy replied with a shrug. “I could tell they were okay. I could see them in my rearview mirror.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Livingston said.
Remy chuckled humorlessly. “Maybe it wasn’t thoughtful, but you can’t charge me with not stopping to see if someone I didn’t even hit was okay.”
“You’re right,” Livingston said. “But what about the duffel bag that was in Remy’s closet?”
Bastian caught his breath. By now, he knew he was supposed to follow his brother’s lead, so he waited for Remy to answer.
“I don’t know about any duffel bag, and I’m sure Bastian doesn’t, either,” Remy said.
