Page 54 of Detective for the Debutante (SAFE Haven Security #3)

MURPHY

“ T hanks, Cap, I appreciate it,” I say into the phone, ending the call as Leigh comes through the front door with the last box from her car.

“Who was that?” she asks, setting the box down.

When she turns around, I’m there to pull her into my arms.

“I’m all sweaty,” she says, trying to pull away.

“Me too,” I counter, tightening my hold until she relaxes against me.

“Who was on the phone?”

“Captain Overton.”

She tenses, which is the reason I wanted her in my arms when I tell her. We’ve been waiting for this call since the night in the warehouse.

It feels like I’ve been holding my breath since that night. I can only imagine how stressful it’s been for her.

“The DA made the formal decision. You’re not being charged for anything related to the death of Ellis.”

“Thank God,” she whispers, releasing the same pent-up breath.

She was so fucking worried about it. But there was no way. No way was she going to be charged when all she was doing was defending herself. It may not stop her nightmares, but at least she can rest a little easier now that the uncertainty isn’t poised above her head.

“What about Mr. Vanderweel?” she asks.

“He’s being charged for the murder of Selene Gordon as well as your kidnapping and attempted murder. Cap said the press has been going nuts. They’re running all kinds of stories about Selene again, and every business deal and charity is being questioned.

Which sucks. Because Vanderweel had done some good.

But now everything is being questioned—good and bad.

She stays quiet so I keep going.

“Kenneth is also being charged with your kidnapping and attempted murder as well as extortion, obstruction of justice, and a whole other slew of charges based on things nobody knew he was doing.”

My stomach turns at the memory of what Captain Overton had said.

Hard drives full of videos. Single encounters, multiple people, parties. Consensual…and not.

Hell is too good a place for the likes of Kenneth Scott and Charles Vanderweel.

She sniffles, her arms tightening around me, and I run my hands up and down her back, giving her time to process everything I’ve just told her.

I’m a seasoned detective and I still have a hard time processing it. Leigh wants to believe the best of everybody. And some people don’t deserve it.

“What about Charlie?” The question is so quiet, I almost don’t hear it.

“The DA didn’t charge him,” I tell her.

There’s a more prolonged silence, one where the only sounds are our breaths and the gentle hum of the air conditioner.

“I called him,” she murmurs, looking up at me.

Those Caribbean-blue eyes are stormy, moisture shining from their depths.

It’s taken me this long—and finding the real killer—to realize Charlie was just as much a victim of his father as Selene or Leigh was.

“And?” I ask.

“You’re not angry?” Her eyes widen in surprise, her mouth dropping into an O.

“Sweetheart, I knew you were going to. It was only a matter of time. I know you care about him. But I also know that it’s only as his friend.”

She nods.

“You’re right. After what he found out—the way he found out…” She trails off with a shudder.

“What did he have to say?”

“We didn’t talk for very long. I…I think he’s trying to move on.

Or at least as much as he can. He told me he’s talking to someone.

A therapist. For his grief and dealing with everything now that his dad admitted to Selene’s murder.

The board has put him in charge of the investment company and he’s trying to learn the ropes.

He did tell me that he still plans on honoring the commitments the company made for Shield 615 and the Wrongful Conviction Fund. ”

“That’s amazing,” I tell her, matching her small smile with one of my own.

Turns out, I had been wrong about Charlie Vanderweel. And his father.

“He asked me for help with the Wrongful Conviction Fund, but I politely declined. I need some time.”

“You deserve that time,” I tell her, pulling her back against me, loving the way her head feels against my chest.

“Will we have to testify?” she whispers.

I glance down to find her watching me.

“Probably. But the DA will reach out with those details when they’re ready.”

“I wish it were over already,” she says.

I wish that for her.

“I’ll be there with you the whole time,” I tell her.

“Promise?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Stóirín,” I tell her and drop a kiss to her forehead.

“You know, I’ve lived with my parents and sister and my sorority sisters. But this is different. Good different,” she adds.

Her words make me smile. Fuck, I’m happy. Happier than I ever thought possible.

“Well, I’ve never lived with anyone ever. Not since I went to the academy,” I admit.

“You didn’t for college?” she asks.

That had been the plan, but after Dad died, I didn’t want to leave Mom and the girls alone.

I shake my head.

“Nope. I commuted back and forth for classes, had family dinner if I wasn’t working, and girls were forbidden in my room under Mom’s roof.”

“Awww, poor baby,” she teases.

I find her ribcage with my fingers, finding all the ticklish spots that leave her breathless. She twists and folds in my arms but I don’t let up, laughing at her infectious giggle until we’re both smiling.

“Okay, okay, I give, I give,” she pants.

“Just keep that in mind when you decide to tease. Turnabout is always fair play.”

“You play dirty.”

“Only when you ask me nicely,” I tell her, tapping a finger against her nose.

“These boxes aren’t going to unpack themselves,” she tells me, pointing to the towers of cardboard.

“We could always unpack later,” I offer, eyeing the couch after a dozen or so trips up three flights of stairs already today.

“If I left it up to you, we’d probably live out of boxes. How long did you have boxes in your condo?”

I raise my hands, giving up.

“Fine. You win.”

“I like the sound of that,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Does that mean you’ll unpack all these boxes?”

I bark out a laugh and shake my head.

“Not a chance. I still have a few things in my car too. So how about you get started and I’ll finish and help unpack?”

Her lower lip pouts out and I steal a kiss.

“Fine,” she says.

I release her—reluctantly—and make several trips to my car for the last few boxes.

I cuss every single stair on the last trip up, trying to recall the reason why we opted for the third floor.

Right.

Because Leigh had fallen in love with the third-floor apartment and the gas fireplace.

Which isn’t going to be used for months since it is still ninety-plus degrees out. Fuck. It’s hot. According to the weather app, it’s the hottest day of the year—and one of the hottest in Knoxville’s history.

“It’s hotter than the hinges of hell out there. Whoever thought of the idea you need to move any time during the summer should be fucking shot,” I grumble and set the last box down on the stack by the door before taking the three steps to the couch to crash on it.

Leigh pops out of the kitchen, her blonde hair up in a ponytail, looking cool and fresh and carrying two frosted bottles of water.

“You look way cooler than should be allowed.”

She hands me a bottle and I guzzle the ice-cold water in one go, tossing the empty bottle toward the trash can at the doorway of the kitchen.

The glare she turns on me is cute. But I know better than to tell her so.

“That”—she points at the bottle sitting on the floor by the trash can— “is not okay.”

With one hand on her hip and the other holding her open water bottle, I can’t help myself. Reaching up, I yank her onto the couch next to me, her water spilling over the both of us. It feels amazing on my overheated skin, but she squeals.

“Holy crap, that’s cold!”

Grabbing the water bottle before it can continue to spill, I set the now half-full bottle on the box next to the couch. She lifts her tank top from her stomach, fanning it in an effort to dry off.

“You made me wet!” she says, shivering.

“You’ve never complained before,” I tease, waggling my brows and spinning us until she’s under me on the couch.

“You’re terrible.” Her lips rub against mine with her words.

I close the distance, brushing my lips with hers for only a fraction of what I want to do before dragging my nose along her jaw.

“Terribly in love with you,” I murmur against her skin before finding her lips with mine.

She opens immediately, her tongue dancing with mine as her hands roam my back, scraping through the thin cotton of my tee.

“You know the best thing about having our own place?” she asks, yanking her lips from mine.

“What?” I ask, reading the answer in her eyes but wanting her to say it.

“We get to christen every single room in our new apartment,” she says with an impish grin.

“So the boxes can wait?” I ask.

“The boxes can wait. I can’t.”

My fingers find the snap of her shorts and flick them open.

“I’m done waiting, Stóirín. Our forever begins now.”

And I seal the promise with a kiss.

The End

Thank you so much for reading!