Conceal

With a lift of my hand, I take hers in mine. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“What can I do?” she asks, and I bite my lip.

“Nothing. You’ve already done enough. I’ve put you in danger by staying here, and on top of that, I didn’t even tell you. I don’t deserve anything else.”

“First off, shut up. Second, I would do it again in a heartbeat. I’m happy you thought to contact me, and that I made you memorize my number.” She winks at me.

“Right,” I agree. A shiver runs through my body at the thought of what would have happened to me if I didn’t have Maggie.

She squeezes my hand, telling me without words that she knows what I’m thinking and that I do have her.

“What are we going to do now?”

“We,” I say, “aren’t going to do anything. I have it handled.”

Her brow lifts. “And how do you have it handled?”

“Jax is helping me.” I say nothing else. It’s not my place to divulge his secrets. She nods and doesn’t press. A trait in Maggie I appreciate.

“Okay, well, now that we have that out of the way, I need ice cream.”

Her words make me laugh, but I’m in agreement. I’m emotionally drained, and only ice cream will do.

With Kit Kats sprinkled on top.

Nothing beats eating your emotions.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Jaxson

We spend the next few days camped out working. I don’t tell Willow everything I’ve found because she’s already too worried, but after searching encrypted texts, I could decode a conversation regarding her father’s death.

If there was any question in my mind whether it was murder, I’m no longer skeptical. Unfortunately, I don’t have proof that the phone used belonged to her husband. Yet.

Hopefully, I’ll have the answers I need soon, but this fucker really is a ghost, and not a cute one like Willow was.

I’m also sure I have tracked him down to a boys’ home. But without a picture confirmation, I’m not sure, and I don’t want to get Willow’s hopes up yet.

So instead, I keep searching, and I keep her as close to me as possible. Like tonight, I’ve invited her over under the guise of wanting to cook her dinner. Which is true, but it’s also because if it were up to me, she would sleep here every night. It’s safer here, and I hate the idea of her being in danger.

There isn’t much food in the house, and it’s way too late to do a grocery delivery, so we will have to make do with what I have in the pantry and fridge.

“What are we making for dinner?” Willow says as she enters the room. Pivoting my body, I turn to where she’s leaning against the wall.

“Not we, me,” I respond, and she shakes her head.

“Nope. I’m going to help you.” The corner of her lip tips up slightly as she pushes off the wall and heads toward me.

“Okay, but what are you good at cooking? Because I can only make breakfast foods.” I cock my head. “Plus, I only have ingredients for breakfast foods.” It’s my turn to smirk.

“So, I take it we are eating breakfast food for dinner,” she deadpans, and I chuckle.

“Yep.”

“Good, because I cook amazing eggs.” She walks toward the refrigerator, and I follow her. Turning to look over her shoulder, she narrows her eyes at me.

“I’m making breakfast, so I’m not sure why you are giving me the death stare.”

“Can’t I do something nice for you for once?”

I open my mouth to object, but I understand where she is coming from. She’s crashing at my place while I try to help her. She needs this to feel useful.

I throw my arms in the air. “Fine. The kitchen is yours.” Grinning. “But don’t think I won’t try to distract you,” I say, lifting my brows suggestively.

“You can try, but I’m not easily distracted.”

“I beg to differ.” I let my gaze run up her body, and she licks her lip, but she must realize she’s doing it subconsciously because she starts to fake cough.

The distraction doesn’t work, though. I know she hasn’t even started to cook, and I have her where I want her.

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?” I walk toward the fridge and grab a bottle of wine and hold it toward her. “White goes well with eggs, right?”

“I’m sure white wine goes well with anything.”

“Do you want a glass?”

“Sure,” she says as she cracks the eggs in a bowl she grabbed from the cabinet.

She certainly knows her way around this kitchen. The thought should make me nervous, as a confirmed bachelor and all, but it doesn’t. I care about Willow. A lot. Her in my kitchen every day holds merit.

Once I’ve poured our glasses, I hand her one, and then I take a sip before sitting at the barstool.