Chapter 21

 CANDACE

I stared at Bridgette, waiting for her to explain what she meant by “I might know his.” She hadn’t moved from her spot on my bed, and the way she kept rubbing her thumb over the edge of the blanket made it obvious that whatever she was about to say wasn’t something she was comfortable sharing.

After everything that had happened tonight, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hear it either, but there was no way I could simply ignore it after she’d just told me the man who broke into her apartment knew her name.

“You think you know who did this?” I asked carefully.

“I’m not saying I know for sure.” She shook her head. “I didn’t see his face clearly enough. Everything happened too quickly, and by the time I turned around, he was already wearing the hood over his head. But his voice…”

She paused, her brows pulling together as she searched through the memory. “Something about it felt familiar.

The way he spoke, the way he said my name. I didn’t recognize him immediately, but after we got back here and I started thinking about it, I kept hearing his voice in my head.”

I sat up straighter, pulling my knees beneath me. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

Bridgette looked down at her hands for a few seconds before finally meeting my eyes. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I’ve met a lot of people, Candace.”

I gave her a look. “That’s a very reassuring answer considering someone just broke into where you live with a gun.”

“I know.” She sighed and leaned back against my headboard. “There’s this guy I used to know. We weren’t exactly together, but we had a thing for a night.

My eyebrows rose. “And you think he did this?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but his voice sounded like his. The way he said my name was familiar too.”

“What was his name?”

She hesitated before answering.

“Derek.”

I waited for something to click. Nothing did.

“Derek who?”

Bridgette shook her head, almost smiling despite the circumstances. “Somewhere.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for my glass of water. “So why didn’t you tell the police?”

Her smile disappeared.

“Because I don’t want the police involved in my life.”

I lowered the glass. “Bridgette. The police are already involved.”

“I know, but there’s a difference between them investigating a break-in and me handing them someone’s name when I don’t even know if he did it.” She pulled her legs closer to herself.

“The moment I give them his name, they’re going to start asking questions. How do I know him? When did we date? Why did we stop talking? Has he threatened me before? Have I seen him recently? They’ll want to know everything, and I don’t want my personal life dragged into this.

I understood what she meant, even if I didn’t particularly like it.

I studied her face. “If you remember anything else, you’re telling me.”

“Obviously.”

“And if you decide he might actually be involved, you’re telling the police.”

She sighed. “Yes, Mom.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then stop interrogating me like one.”

I laughed quietly and shook my head.

We were both exhausted, and neither of us had the energy to spend the entire night trying to solve a crime we had no way of solving ourselves.

Eventually we both slept off. I woke up because Bridgette had apparently kicked the blanket onto the floor and was complaining in her sleep about someone stealing her pillow.

By morning, I felt like I had barely slept at all.

Sunlight was already spilling through the curtains when I woke up on the couch with a stiff neck and one arm completely numb beneath me. I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before remembering everything that had happened the previous evening.

I pushed myself up and headed into the kitchen, where I started making coffee. I had just poured the first cup when I heard slow footsteps behind me.

Bridgette appeared in the doorway looking like she had been dragged out of a five-year coma. Her hair was sticking out in several directions, her eyes were barely open and she was still wrapped in the blanket from my bed.

I looked at her and burst out laughing.

She frowned at me. “What?”

“You look terrible.”

“You’re complaining about that after I got robbed?” She half hopped toward the kitchen and dropped into one of the chairs. “I was traumatized. My body needed rest.”

I placed a cup of coffee in front of her. “There. Your payment for being the worst houseguest I’ve ever had.”

She wrapped both hands around the mug and took a sip before making a satisfied noise. “You know, you’re surprisingly good at this whole babysitting thing.”

I stared at her. “Don’t get comfortable.”

She smiled over the rim of her cup. “You made me breakfast too.”

“I haven’t made you breakfast. I’ve made myself breakfast. You’re just benefiting from my generosity.”

“Same thing.”

I shook my head, but I was smiling. Seeing her joke around again made something inside me loosen. Last night, she had looked so frightened.

She looked at the screen after eating and. Her expression changed immediately.

“Who is it?”

“The police.”

Bridgette answered the call and listened without saying much, occasionally nodding even though the person on the other end couldn’t see her. When she finally hung up, she looked at me.

“They found something at the apartment and They want me to come to the station.”

“I’m coming with you.”

She opened her mouth, but I shook my head. “After everything that happened yesterday, you’re not going anywhere alone.”

She gave me a tired smile. “Fine.”

We got dressed and headed to the police station together.

The officer who met us led Bridgette into a small room while I waited just outside. A few minutes later, he returned carrying a clear evidence bag. He placed it on the table between them.

Bridgette looked at it.

Her entire expression changed.

I leaned forward slightly, trying to see what was inside.

It was a silver lighter.

Bridgette stared at it for several seconds before reaching toward the bag without touching it.

“That belongs to him.”

The officer looked at her. “You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“Whose is it?”

Bridgette swallowed. Then she gave him the same name she’d given me the night before.

“Derek.”

The officer wrote the name down before looking back at her.

“Have you had any contact with Derek recently?”

I watched her carefully. For a moment, she seemed to debate whether she wanted to answer.

Then she finally spoke.

“The last time I saw him was the night of the party about a month ago.”