Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Chief Marshall about this situation,” I cut in, and his eyes swing up to meet mine.
“Chief Marshall is on vacation for the next two weeks. I’m in charge, Beckett, and I’m telling you to stand the fuck down,” he growls, and I jerk up my chin, letting him know I heard him loud and clear. “You two are dismissed,” he states, and I turn to open the door and feel Miles right behind me.
“Beckett, Thatcher,” he calls, and we both stop to look at him. “If you do find any evidence, I expect you to present it to me before moving forward.”
“Understood,” I clip, rage making it difficult to keep my voice even and my emotions in check.
Shutting the door behind us, I head for my desk and grab my gun from where I have it stowed along with my keys. Looking over at Miles, I watch him shrug on his jacket, and the second his eyes meet mine, he lifts his chin, and the two of us head through the room. Ignoring the looks coming our way, we walk out of the building and down the street to where my SUV is parked, and we both climb inside.
“What the fuck was that?” he bites out as I turn the engine over. “I’ve never heard of police—Deputy Chief or not—putting himself between a detective and a potential lead in a murder investigation.”
“We need to call Axel. I want all the information he can get us on Stedman.”
“We’re on the same page,” he says, putting his cell to his ear as I back out of my parking spot.
By the time he hangs up, Axel is as curious as we are about Stedman, and I’ve cooled down enough to go back to the station. But when I get back to my desk, I pay a lot more attention to who Stedman has around him and take notes for later. Something tells me we might have just found the closet with the skeletons hidden in it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
miranda
Walking into Tucker’s spare bedroom, I look around and sigh before I start to pick things up. Yesterday after I got Kingston from daycare, he and I met Tucker at Target so he could pick out some bedding for the bed Tucker got for him from Miles. What should have been a quick stop turned into a two-hour shopping trip, and Tucker—who has obviously never been shopping with a kid—put almost every single item in the cart that Kingston claimed he needed for his room at his house.
After the tenth time of attempting to put things back when Kingston wasn’t looking and being stopped by Tucker, I gave up and let the two of them bond over stuff neither of them needed. So, by the time we left the store, Kingston had new bedding, a nightstand bookshelf, a dinosaur lamp, along with a few toys and books. And now everything is everywhere like he spent the evening marking his territory.
When I’m finished cleaning up and making the bed, I step into the living room and stop in my tracks. My heart feels too big for my chest from the sound of Kingston giggling and Tucker laughing.
I would never discount Bowie’s love for his son, and he really is a good dad, but the relationship between Tucker and Kingston is not the same as the relationship Kingston has with his father. Tucker is never too busy; he makes a point to be available and present when we are all together, and Kingston has been thriving on all the extra attention. And me? Well… I feel like I have a partner. And yeah, I know it’s probably too soon to think of Tucker as my partner, but there is also no denying he’s stepped into that roll without me even asking.
“What are you two laughing about?” My feet come unglued when Kingston looks my way.
“I made a butt pancake.” He breaks into another fit of giggles, and I look at Tucker.
He holds up his hands. “He’s in charge of putting the batter in the pan. I’m in charge of flipping.”
“Right.” I sigh, looking between the two of them before I just shake my head. There are some battles worth fighting, but boys being weird boys is not a hill I want to die on. Walking to the wall oven, I open it up and check the egg bake I made, which is basically an omelet in a baking dish with onions, tomatoes, bacon, and sharp cheddar cheese. After checking and finding that it’s done, I grab a pair of potholders and pull it out, placing it on the counter where we have a full spread of fruit, toast, jellies, butter, bacon, sausage, and a few different kinds of cheese on a cutting board. This morning, Miles, Winter, her mom Hazel, Clay, Willow, and Dalton are all coming here for breakfast. And I might have gone a little overboard with all the food.