Rosie
I froze, my pen clenched tightly in my hand as I watched Joel snag the puck and start skating hard toward the goal.
“Go,” Axel muttered from next to me, gaze glued to the TV. “Fucking go!”
I leaned forward, watching the play almost as if it were happening in slow motion—even though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.
But it was as though my brain knew this was going to be good, going to be important, so it slowed down everything I was taking in—Joel on the TV skating smooth and quick, Axel tense and focused, anticipatory next to me, Rob the legal pad he’d been writing furiously on all day, filling page after page after page, forgotten in his lap.
Dessie clenching her bottle of beer, lips pressed flat.
Bailey whispering, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”
“I can’t do this,” my mom murmured, pushing off the couch and moving out of the room. “I can’t sit here and—” A shake of her head before she disappeared.
Frankly, it was a miracle she’d lasted as long as she had, sitting quietly with us in borrowed clothes.
She’d slept all day yesterday.
Had barely come out of the guest room, had barely spoken another word, eaten a bite.
So, that she’d made it through half the game, sitting amongst my friends—not really welcome because…history, but also not excluded because she was my mom—was a miracle.
But she’d stuck through that tenseness.
And now she was out.
Yeah, well, that was a familiar feeling.
My attention went back to the TV, back to my man.
He was beautifully impressive, moving like that, in total control in a way that had my pussy convulsing in memory of all the ways he liked to control, all the ways I was desperate for him to exert that control.
“Oh shit!” Axel said as Joel closed in on the other team’s goalie.
And I felt that in my bones.
Because my man, my big, strong, and smooth man had just executed a move that was dirty as hell—in the best possible way.
And then just casually tapped the puck home, a la Billy Madison and “Go to your home.”
Except without the missing.
We all jumped to our feet, high-fived, and for a second, I forgot about my life falling apart, those handcuffs tightening around my wrists. I forgot about everything except Joel and my pride for him and how much I loved him and—
I watched him smile.
Felt my heart jump in my chest.
Because that smile…
It settled in my soul.
And it told me that everything was going to be okay.
The knock at the door a couple of hours later had Rob indicating to me to stay seated. “I’ll get it.”
Dessie had gone home.
Bailey and Axel had returned to their ranch on the far side of River’s Bend.
My mom hadn’t emerged from the guest bedroom since her mid-game hiatus.
And Joel wasn’t yet home from the game.
So, Rob and I were back to yellow legal pads and paper planners, respectively.
Putting everything together.
Helping me clear my name.
“Billie.”
I looked up from my planner, saw Dave walking toward me. I hadn’t heard a word from him after that phone call the day before, and maybe that was why it wasn’t a relief to see him now.
Because I didn’t know if he was here to slap cuffs on me again or if he’d come because he’d slapped them on my dad. Because I didn’t know if he was here because he believed in me enough to listen or if he…didn’t.
“Sorry it took me so long to come over,” he said, interrupting my spiral and leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek. “I didn’t want any of the media to see me showing up here and kick things off again.”
The coverage of my arrest had been brutal.
And the subsequent chaos in Joel’s front yard had been intense, was just beginning to die down.
Hope blossomed in my belly.
His voice didn’t sound condemning or disbelieving, and he’d been trying to be careful with the press.
That was…nice.
And hope-inducing.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Right. Thanks.”
He sat on the couch next to me, expression softer than I’d ever seen it.
But I had seen that same softness from everyone around me the last few days. Probably because I’d been slowly dying every time I saw a comment or a headline or if one of my friends looked at me like that—like I was fragile and breakable.
Dessie had even taken my phone.
So, I had my planners and my washi…and not one fucking thing to schedule.
No packed agenda.
Nothing to distract myself with.
Just hurt and worry and going through the flash drive and staring at the copies of the public papers we’d downloaded from the public databases. I had a growing list of evidence for my defense and because Rob’s paralegals had managed to get some of my personal belongings that had been seized from my office, I also had my planner.
Which had an important page inside it—the list of time stamps I’d been making of files someone had been accessing under my login.
One only three people had—me, my assistant, Bella, and…
My dad.
Paired with everything else, I thought it was pretty clear that I hadn’t done what they said I did.
But whether or not anyone would believe that, I didn’t know.
“So,” Dave said. “About your call…”
I tensed, glanced at Rob, holding my breath.
“Your dad’s in custody,” Dave told me bluntly. “It took a while to track him down, because he wasn’t at his normal fishing spot, and because he didn’t go back home afterward.”
My brows rose. “He didn’t?”
Dave shook his head. “I had to track him down two counties over, and his car was full of belongings, Billie. And enough cash to keep him on the road for a while.”
My mouth dropped open.
“I think it’s pretty fucking clear that there’s more going on here than we thought.” He pulled out a pad of paper, a pen, flipped to a blank page, then looked up at me expectantly. “So…I’m here to listen.”
Relief rushed through me so heavily that my hands started shaking and I had to put my own pen down.
Because he believed in me enough to stick his neck out for me.
Because he believed in me enough to go after my father just because I’d asked him to.
Because…now I could show him.
Now I could prove myself, could get myself out of this mess, could—
“Before we disclose to you what we have,” Rob said, sitting on my other side, hand coming to mine and gently cupping it. He was Joel’s dad, of course he’d see me shaking. Of course he’d do something about it. “I need you to know that we’ve made copies of all of this information we’re about to share and will be providing it to the city prosecutor and asking her to immediately drop the charges.” A beat. “We’ll also be releasing this information publicly.”
Dave’s brows had risen as Rob spoke. But the last had them snapping down, tone going sharp. “I think I already proved that I trust Billie enough to go out on a limb and spend two fucking days looking for—and then quietly arresting—her father without any clear indication of what charges we could press.”
My lungs loosened.
“Release the information to who you want to, talk to the prosecutor, put the office on blast,” he said. “But know that we went into this fucking reticent as hell, and conducted the investigation as by the book as possible, with the information we were provided and what we were able to collect.”
Provided?
But I didn’t get a chance to question that because he clicked his pen. “Now, why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me exactly what’s happening?”
I glanced at Rob.
He nodded.
So…I reached for my laptop, opened it, and…
I played the first file.
“Jesus Christ, Billie,” Dave muttered, up and on his feet, pacing back and forth.
He had his cell phone out, but no calls actually made yet. Probably because he was alternating between unlocking the screen and then locking it again, tapping the hard-shelled case against his forehead.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“I don’t have everything yet,” I told him softly. “There are other inconsistencies we’re looking in to, but I think we have enough to prove I didn’t do what they said I did.”
“We had evidence. We fucking had evidence,” he said, whipping toward me. “It felt fucking wrong to look at you that way. You’re Billie Rose. You live and breathe for River’s Bend, and it all felt fucking wrong to sign off on the investigation, to turn over the reports. But, fuck, we had evidence—”
I pushed up from the cushions, moved toward him, squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I…” A breath. “I didn’t see it at first either. I thought I was going crazy, but then Phoebe mentioned a man from the board of her auditing company”—my childhood enemy and now sort-of friend had been strong-armed by her board to conduct an audit of the city’s finances, and that effort had been driven by a man we now knew was my father working under an assumed name—“Roger Styles,” I said. “He hired Willow”—Joel’s not so ex-wife—“and he pushed going after the audit, forcing Phoebe to take the lead. And I’d just discovered that someone also named Roger Styles put in the complaints, started the petition, and filed the recall.”
More brow raising from Dave.
“Then just before you arrested me”—a wince, but I pressed on—“Phoebe sent me a picture of Roger Styles.” A beat. “It was a picture of my father.”
He exhaled. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Which begs the question of why Rosie’s father was trying to implicate his daughter,” Rob said. “And what else he might be involved in.”
“We found cash,” Dave murmured. “And files linking you to money laundering.” He glanced up at me. “Specifically to laundering the funding we got after the fire and putting it in your own pocket.”
Horror in my gut.
I knew Rob had the full list of charges, but he hadn’t given me specifics, and I hadn’t asked.
Maybe it was cowardly.
But…I knew it would break me if I knew how far these people thought I’d fallen, how bad they thought I was at my core.
After working so fucking hard, sacrificing so much…
I couldn’t know it.
Breathe. Think. Calm.
“Earlier, you said evidence was provided.”
“There was an anonymous drop-off at my house,” he said softly. “With files and a note. That started everything. And then we found money here”—a jerk of his chin toward the kitchen counter—“in the baskets you had there.”
I frowned because I didn’t have baskets—
Only we did.
Because my parents had delivered a housewarming basket.
One I hadn’t gotten around to unpacking because I was too busy with—you know—my life slowly unraveling.
We hadn’t even finished the cookies.
“Your mom,” Rob whispered.
“What?”
“Your dad didn’t want to be here. He was pissed the entire time. But your mom”—his eyes came to mine—“she was determined to leave it.”
My heart convulsed.
My gaze shot down the hall.
Then I was rushing to the guest bedroom, pushing through the door—
And finding…
The bed empty.
And my mom gone.