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I scrolled to my contacts, and rolled through the list until I made it to what I was looking for. I compared the number to the one in my phone. It was the same. I considered sending him a text but stopped myself. With everything going on, it was better to let it go. Lethimgo.
So, I distracted myself and went to Google, unable to help myself. I typed inSarah Armitage, and then hit the search button. I held my breath as I waited for the page to load, halfway expecting to see the news of her death plastered all over the page...
But there wasnothing.
“What the heck?” I muttered, shaking my head at the screen. Since when did someone—someonewho happened to be a bright, young woman—get murdered and itnotshow upeverywhere. Even in Chicago, the murder capital of the USA, there would’ve been some sort of report hitting the news by now. Well, maybe. It hadn’t quite been twenty-four hours, had it?
I stared at the screen a little longer, before locking it and putting it back in my jeans pocket. I knew how criminal investigations went all too well. And it had been myjobto defend the guilty—well, sometimesnotguilty, but mostly, I defended the bad guys. I had never wanted the job, but it had been thrown in my lap, and honestly, I was good at it.
But that life felt like a distant memory in the moment.
Chapter 11
Garrett stareddown at the bottle of whiskey, tucked away in his toolbox at work. Part of him wanted to down the whole thing, and the other part of him wanted to throw it in the trash and climb in with it. Was that normal?
Probably not.
He closed the lid of toolbox, locking it shut and cramming the keys in his pocket. His head was still reeling from Sarah being murdered and the conversation with Beth. He wasn’t sure how he’d expected it go, and up until he saw her throw away the paper, he would’ve said it had been good.
But that ruined it.
Sighing, he pulled out his phone, relieved there were no notifications waiting for him. He scrolled to his little brother’s number and hit call. He put the phone to his ear as he angled his body to the big bay door, still open despite the shop being closed for the day.
“What?” Dylan answered, clearly irritated. “I’m at work.”
Garrett blew out a breath. “Sorry, I thought you might be free to hang out.”
“So,nowyou want to hang out? Dad told me you were with Beth Young today. You need to steer clear of her with this investigation going on. You don’t need to end up front and center with your previous charges.”
He rubbed his forehead. “That was years ago. It’s not even on my record?—”
“This whole town doesn’t care about the technicalities, and you know that.” Dylan sighed. “I’m just trying to look out for you. Just like we always try to watch out for you, but some chick you’re always around was founddeadlast night. Beth’s statement is incriminating toyou.”
“Me? Why me?”
“She saw you outside of the bar,” he said flatly. “That’s enough. Dad is trying to keep it under the table, but that’s hard to do when you go gallivanting around town suddenly sober and all cleaned up. It’s like you’re trying to put on a show, G. People notice when things change—even if it seems to be for the better.”
“I just wanted to be able to have a clear head when I talked to her. You were just a kid when all that happened, but I had to…break the ice, I guess.”
“You were shooting your shot,” Dylan snapped, his tone irritable. “I work with Lauren, remember? You think I don’t know you were sweet on Beth? Wrong. Iknowthat’s why you’re all cut up over her being back in town, and now, you’re trying to fix yourselffor her.”
“That’s not true,” Garrett argued, though he wasn’t sure if he was lying to himself. “It’s not about her at all. It’s just?—”
“Who’sher?” a voice cut in from behind him.
Anger rolled through his system at the recognition, and he spun around to see his supposed-to-be ex-wife standing in thebay of the garage with her arms folded across her chest. “I gotta go,” he said through gritted teeth, dropping the phone to his side. “You bringing back the papers?”
“I heard you were sober today,” she bit back, her brown eyes on fire beneath her perfectly curled caramel-colored waves. “But somehow, you still can’t call me back?”
“I don’thaveto call you back,” he snapped at her. “I told you it was over.”
“That’s not what you say in your drunk voicemails—which I’m getting really tired of.” She took a step forward, hurt flashing across her face. “I’mtryingto understand you, Garrett, and I can’t for the life of me. You say you want a divorce, and then claim you still love me in voicemails.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his truck keys. “I can’t deal with this right now. Please leave, Britt. I don’t want to talk. I want a divorce.”
“Thenstopcalling me. You left me a voicemail last night for heaven’s sake.” Her manicured hands pulled out her cell phone, and she began scrolling through it.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Garrett grunted, going for the garage door, and smashing theclosebutton. “Put that up.”
