Who Falls Hardest (Clearwater University Book 3) Page 5

  The deep chocolate pools of her irises gleam as she looks up at me. I can see her gathering her courage, and I lean a little closer, as if my proximity can force the words out of her.

  “What, Ems?”

  She draws in a breath. “I dreamed that you and I, and Trent and Reese, were—”

  The sound of the doorbell ringing makes us both startle, as if we’ve forgotten that anyone else in the world exists besides us. Emma jumps, and I grip her shoulders to steady her.

  What the hell was she about to say? She dreamed about the four of us? Doing what?

  Given the way her blush has deepened, I think I can guess.

  My cock throbs lightly, and my thumbs rub over the bare skin of her arms as I pull her toward me. “We were what, Emma?”

  Before she can answer, the doorbell rings again. I hear cursing from the living room as Trent’s bedroom door slams shut. Reese was asleep on the couch when I came into the kitchen, but he must be awake too now.

  Fuck. The moment is broken, and Emma looks slightly relieved to have been given an out.

  “We should see who that is,” she says softly, slipping out of my grasp and padding toward the kitchen door. “Maybe it’s about Leslie.”

  Damn it. That’s just about the only thing she could’ve said that would get me to drop this, but she’s right. It could be about Leslie, and that has to be my number one priority. I need to know Emma is safe before I can focus on anything else.

  We both head into the living room, arriving in time to see Trent ushering a dark-haired man inside. He’s not one of the cops who questioned us last night, thank fuck—they all seemed pretty incompetent and slow on the uptake, so I’m glad not to see any of them have been assigned to our case.

  But who the fuck is this guy?

  “Detective Walton,” he says, answering my unspoken question as he shakes first Trent’s hand, then Reese’s. He looks up to see me and Emma enter, and he steps forward to greet us too. Then he turns to Ems. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about your old roommate, Leslie. I read the police report you filed last night, and I believe I may be able to help you.”

  Emma lights up, stepping forward quickly. “That would be amazing. Thank you. What do you want to know? Whatever I can do to help, I’m happy to.”

  She’s still wearing the tank top and shorts she slept in, and I notice Detective Walton’s gaze slide down her body as she moves to sit down on the couch, gesturing for him to sit too. He’s not openly ogling her, but his perusal isn’t exactly disinterested either.

  My body instantly tenses, and I sit down on the couch next to Emma, close enough that our legs touch. I want this fucker to know that she is in no way available, and that if he looks too long or tries to touch what isn’t his, he’s liable to lose a hand.

  Trent and Reese moved at the same time I did, but instead of sitting, they’re both standing in front of the couch with their arms crossed—effectively boxing this Walton dude in.

  He glances up at them, not missing the expressions on each of our faces. Trent gives him a tight-lipped smile, and for the first time in what feels like a long time, I find myself entirely on Trent’s side.

  Walton shakes his head as if to clear it, turning his attention back to Emma. He keeps his focus firmly on her face this time.

  Smart man.

  “Ms. Holloway, I understand that you and Leslie Harstonn shared a dorm room for a semester, is that right?”

  “Yes.” She nods.

  “And in that time, you were aware that she was a hacker?”

  Emma shifts uncomfortably. She’s probably thinking of the incident at the end of fall semester when Leslie helped her post naked pictures and a video of Trent jerking off on the student portal website. Yeah, I’m guessing that would qualify as being aware Leslie was a hacker.

  She nods again, dropping her gaze to the floor. Trent’s jaw clenches. I’m sure he’d love to stop rehashing all the fucked up shit that’s gone on between the four of us, but how does that expression go?

  You made your bed, now lie in it.

  We all made this bed. Now we all gotta lie in it, as painful as it may be.

  “Did she ever talk to you about what she was doing? Did you ever notice her spending a lot of money unaccountably, or having a sudden windfall of cash?” Detective Walton goes on.

  Emma blinks. “No, she didn’t really talk to me about it. And as far as money… I mean, Leslie’s family was loaded. So she always had money.”

  The man’s brows pull down, and he shakes his head. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through it quickly, then looks back at her.

  “No, no, they weren’t. Not according to any of the statements I’ve received. They’re comfortably middle class, but they’re not extraordinarily wealthy.” His eyes narrow. “So you saw her spending an amount of money that made you think she came from wealth?”

  Emma’s hands twist around each other on her lap. “Well, yeah. I mean, she didn’t spend like crazy, but she always had nicer things than me. She always seemed to have money to spare, you know?”

  Walton nods. “I do know. Thank you, that’s helpful information.” He smiles at her.

  His gaze hasn’t dropped from her face through this entire exchange—I’m pretty sure he’s realized ogling her won’t end well for him. But still, I don’t like this fucker getting so friendly with her.

  I lean toward him, resting my hand possessively on Emma’s bare knee. I feel her tense slightly, hear her breath catch in her throat, but she doesn’t pull away from me. If anything, she seems to unconsciously lean closer, pressing more of her soft body against mine.

  “So what the hell are you saying?” I ask the detective, keeping my voice even as I meet his steady gaze. “What does that information give you?”

  He glances from me to my two friends, then back to Emma. Then he nods again, as if he just answered a question inside his own head.

  “It means that Leslie has very likely done things like what she’s currently doing to you before. She’s hacked other people somewhere along the line. In this case, she’s acting out of anger, being obvious, wanting you to know it was her. But I believe that she’s illegally accessed the personal information of several other victims and stolen money from them.”

  I sit up a little straighter, my grip on Emma’s leg tightening. Shit, that could be big. The more people who’ve been affected by this, the better the chances the cops will actually do something about it. Even the fact that a detective came to talk to us this morning instead of a beat cop means someone is taking this more seriously than I thought they would.

  That can only be a good thing for us.

  Emma looks horrified, and I think that as much as she hates Leslie now, a part of her still pities her ex-roommate. Which is why I can confidently say Ems is a way better person than I am. All I want to do is grind Leslie into dust and make sure she stays out of our lives forever.

  “If I can prove that, we’ll have a solid case against Leslie, and cause for her arrest,” Walton continues. “Which is where you come in.”

  “Me?”

  Emma’s hand lands on mine, as if she’s seeking reassurance. I flip my hand over and thread my fingers through hers, letting her know I’m here for her. That we all are.

  “Yes.” Walton rubs at his chin with a finger and thumb. “Given the timing of when she got into your accounts, it’s likely that she has someone helping her. I’m no expert on cyber security, but I do know that the simplest answer often turns out to be the right one. I’m sure there are ways Leslie could’ve hacked the four of you after being admitted to Sun Valley Rehabilitation Center. But the easiest way would be if she had someone who wasn’t in a facility, who had access to all the computer equipment needed, helping her.”

  “Who?” Trent asks, gazing down at the detective with narrowed eyes.

  Walton chuckles humorlessly. “Well, that’s the trick. We don’t know who. But I’d like to recruit your help in finding out. I’ll keep digging on m
y end, but you four were her classmates at Clearwater University. Three of you still attend that school. If it’s anyone on campus, you’ll be able to get closer to them than I will without scaring them off.”

  What he’s saying makes sense. We’re well positioned to keep our ears to the ground and see if any remnants of Leslie’s old life wash up to give us any clues. But I don’t like the idea of actively involving Emma in this. We did all of this trying to get Leslie out of her life, and thrusting her back into the middle of it seems too risky.

  But before I can say any of that, Emma speaks up.

  “Okay. I’m in.” She turns to look at me before glancing up at Trent and Reese, and her hand tightens on mine even though I don’t think she knows she’s doing it.

  I can see the determination in her face, and I know this is one of those moments where, despite her softness, the steel in her spine won’t bend.

  She wants to do this.

  And if she’s doing it, I’m with her all the fucking way.

  Something makes me look up at Trent and Reese, and I find them both nodding. Just like when Detective Walton was checking Emma out, their reaction is instantaneous. There’s no thought or debate required.

  It’s not just me who’s with her.

  We all are.

  8

  Emma

  It’s a relief knowing that Detective Walton is working on bringing Leslie to justice for what she’s done—not just to me and the Icons, but to whatever other innocent victims she’s fucked with or stolen from.

  Implicating her in any wrongdoing may still be difficult, especially if she’s covered her digital tracks. But as the detective pointed out just before he left, he’s not trying to beat her at her own game. He knows it’ll be hard to beat her on computer knowledge, so he’s taking a more old-fashioned approach, hoping to find some other way to prove her guilt.

  That’s why he’s hoping to get our help in identifying any possible accomplice Leslie may have had. If he can nail down that person, Leslie’s alibis should start to unravel.

  God, I want to help. I really want this mess to be over. And honestly, I’m glad we have a detective on our side now—not because I don’t think the guys are capable of standing up to Leslie, but because I was a little worried about what they might do if she pushed them too hard. I’ve seen Trent’s anger in action, and I know for a fact that he can hold a damn grudge.

  My feet slow on the pedals of my bike as that thought ricochets around my mind.

  Fuck. Am I making a huge mistake trusting these men?

  It wasn’t so long ago that I was on opposite sides of them, standing on one side of a line in the sand. After everything they’ve done, is it insane of me to even think about trusting them?

  And yet, insane or not, I find that I do.

  What Trent said to me last night… I believed him. I’ve never seen him look so humble, so earnest. I doubt there are many people in the world who could bring Trent Cooper to his knees, yet he knelt in front of me last night and swore he wants to make amends for his past actions.

  I know all three men are sort of competing with each other over me, although it’s kind of hard to process that fact. Somehow, we’ve gone from the men being united against me to all three of them being divided because of me, which is exactly what I never wanted.

  But maybe it’s always been inevitable that we’d reach this moment. Maybe I was kidding myself in high school when I thought that ignoring my feelings for each of them would allow our four-way friendship to continue as it was.

  I wonder if Reese and West think they don’t have much competition from Trent because he’s been the biggest asshole to me. He was the one who instigated everything, after all. The one who got me kicked out of Clearwater, the one who refused to believe I didn’t sell out our parents after their illicit kiss.

  And maybe all of that means I should hate him forever. Up until recently, that’s certainly what I planned to do. I never thought I could forgive him for what he’s done.

  But now, as the landscape changes around us, as alliances shift and betrayals come to light, I can’t stop myself from thinking that maybe Trent is exactly the kind of person I need in my corner.

  He loves fiercely.

  He cares deeply.

  And he doesn’t back down from a fight.

  The thought of having all that passion and intense protectiveness on my side sends a little thrill of warmth up my spine. I’m not sure if Trent will ever forgive himself for what he’s done to me, but the fire blazing in his eyes last night made me feel certain that he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to earn my forgiveness.

  A chilly wind whips past my head as I pedal a little harder, my mind still whirling with thoughts of the three Icons. I left the house with plenty of time to get to my interview, but I don’t want to let my daydreaming make me late. It’s not quite the same as being in school, but having a job would at least make me feel like I was moving forward in a positive direction in my life. And I think it would make Dad worry about me less too. I want him to see that I can take care of myself.

  Five minutes later, I’ve reached downtown Clearwater, and the buildings around me have gotten taller and a bit fancier. Our downtown is nowhere near as large and intimidating as San Diego’s, but right now, I’m grateful for that fact. I’m nervous enough as it is.

  “1213 Oakdale,” I mutter to myself, checking the numbers on the buildings I pass by. After a few more blocks, I brake and hop my bike up onto the sidewalk, dismounting before locking the frame to the metal bike rack outside.

  The guys all left for class about an hour before I headed out, which gave me ample time to fuss over my appearance in the mirror and change my outfit a few times before leaving for the interview.

  As I stride toward the building that houses the law office Reese works at, I pull my phone from my pocket and find four text messages waiting for me.

  REESE: Kick ass, Ems. I’ve been talking you up ever since you got the interview. They’re gonna love you.

  TRENT: You’ve got this. They’d be fucking lucky to have you.

  WEST: You’ll do great. I know it.

  WEST: And we’re going to continue that conversation you started in the kitchen. Soon.

  A flush of nerves and arousal fills me, and my footsteps stutter a little. This morning, still in a daze from that crazy-intense dream, I almost told West everything—nearly blurted out the truth that I don’t want to have to pick between him and his friends.

  The doorbell saved me from saying something stupid that I couldn’t take back, but I said enough to pique West’s curiosity. He knows there was more to what I was going to tell him than a simple dream about flying or something.

  Should I tell him? Tell them all the truth?

  It was a lot easier to contemplate doing that this morning when I was still shaking off the hazy fog of sleep. But now that I’m wide awake and totally sober, it’s a lot more daunting to consider.

  I text each of the men back, thanking them for the well-wishes. I evade West’s second text for the time being, choosing to brush right by it rather than admit to anything more.

  Just as I’m about to slip the phone back into my pocket, it rings. I startle slightly, gazing down at the screen. I wasn’t expecting any calls, and the fact that it’s not one of the guys or my dad narrows down the possibilities a lot.

  “Hello?”

  I hold the phone in one hand and pull open the large glass door with the other, stepping into the cool, minimalist interior of the building.

  “Ms. Holloway. Devon Clarke here.”

  My brows shoot up. That’s the man I’m supposed to have an interview with for this very job. Why is he calling me now? Am I late? That shouldn’t be possible.

  “Um, hi, Devon.” I speak with a smile in my voice, even though my heart is beating a little faster. “I actually just arrived at the office for my interview.”

  “Oh. You did?” He sounds a bit surprised at that. I hear a rustling of papers
in the background, and then he adds. “I wasn’t entirely sure you’d show up.”

  Not sure I’d show up?

  I stop in my tracks, my grip tightening on the phone. “Of course I showed up. I need a job, and this one seems like it would be a perfect fit for me.”

  “Yes, well.” He clears his throat. “As perfect as it may be for you, I’m afraid I don’t think you’re going to be a good fit for us.”

  What?

  My mouth becomes suddenly dry as I get the uncomfortable sensation that something is wrong. It’s the same way I felt at the restaurant when everyone’s cards got declined, and when Trent was pulled over and hauled in to the police station.

  Leslie. She’s somehow fucked with my life again. But what did she do this time?

  “I’m sorry,” I say slowly. “But I really don’t know what you’re talking about. How can you know I won’t be a good fit without even interviewing me?”

  “I went over the resume you sent out. Everything looks good on paper, but when I called your references… well, like I said, I don’t think you’ll be a great fit for our firm after all.”

  My heartbeat is a dull thrum in my chest as I reach into the bag I brought and pull out the resume I’ve been polishing ever since Clearwater kicked me out.

  “I… I didn’t send out any resume. I have a hard copy here I was going to give you today.”

  There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line. The security guard behind the desk in the lobby is watching closely—not as if he thinks I’m a threat, but more as if I’m providing him free entertainment.

  “Devon?” I turn away from the guard, lowering my voice a little. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.” The coolly formal tone has faded a little from his voice, replaced by confusion. “I’m here. But you did send me a copy of your resume. You emailed it to me two days ago. Don’t you remember? And unfortunately, given the reports from your previous employers, I don’t think I’ll be able to offer you a position here.”

  “Wait. Wait!” I move quickly toward the bank of elevators at the back of the building. “It wasn’t me who sent that. It’s complicated, but I’ve been dealing with a hacker lately, someone who’s trying to wreak havoc on my life. She must’ve emailed you a dummy resume from an account that looks like mine.”