One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(62)

I feel my eyes fill with tears again, but I manage to keep them at bay this time. He only asks one question.

"Did they catch the scumbag who did this?"

I shake my head. "No. But... I've been trying to figure out what happened since I was old enough to turn on a computer."

His eyes flash. “That’s why you do this. The hacking, the coding skills…”

I nod.

“So...” His hand fists in frustration. "The police have no leads? Nothing?"

"It's a cold case," I say, feeling hollowed out from my crying jag. "Back then, when it happened, there was an entire department trying to solve it. But as years went by with no suspects, no clues, no new evidence..."

"They stopped looking." His face contorts into a scowl. "That's bullshit. I don't care how long it takes, the BPD should be all over this."

"It's complicated."

"What do you mean?"

"The FBI was involved somehow. I don't know what prompted them to look into my parents' deaths, but last year I hacked into their database as a last-ditch effort to find a possible lead and…”

"You found something?"

"Maybe." I shrug. “There’s a file that comes up, when you type my father’s name into the government system. It’s almost entirely redacted, so it’s been pretty useless to me.”

Parker’s eyebrows lift. “That’s weird.”

“That’s what I thought.” I swallow. “Why would my father’s name and details of his murder be in an FBI file, unless there's more to his death than some random act of violence? Some crazed, Christmas-hating murderer on a senseless rampage?" My voice breaks. "I've spent so long wondering, so many years questioning why they were taken from me. And not having answers…”

Parker's silent for a minute. When he speaks, his voice is a vow.

"I'll help you. We’ll find out. I promise you, Zoe. This is the last Christmas you’ll spend wondering what happened to your parents.”

“How can you promise something like that?” I whisper brokenly.

“My best friend is the best private investigator in the city.” His eyes are somber. “Plus, my sister’s abduction last spring and my father’s testimony served Boston’s biggest mob boss to the FBI on a silver platter. They owe the family a favor, trust me.”

Something dangerous swirls to life inside me. It feels an awful lot like hope.

His eyes hold mine. “You aren’t alone anymore, Zoe.”

There’s a lump in my throat too big to talk around, so I don’t even try. I just reach for him and, when I do, he’s there to hold me close.



* * *



Later that afternoon, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of the Porsche with my arms crossed over my chest, staring straight ahead and wondering why I ever agreed to this.

“Are you sure I have to go?”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, darling,” Parker says. “But I’d say there’s a seventy-five percent chance if you stall any longer out here with me, Phoebe’s gonna burst through those doors and drag you inside with her bare bands.”

Damn. Figured as much.

“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing the door handle. “I’ll go. But I won’t like it.”

“Hey.” His voice is soft; when I glance back at him, I see his eyes are, too. “Forgetting something, aren’t you?”

My brows lift. “What?”

He leans across the center console and kisses me — a no-nonsense, domineering possession of my lips. His hand slides into my hair at the nape, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, and by the time he’s done, I’m panting.

“Oh,” I reply breathlessly. “That.”

“Yeah, that.” He grins at me. “Now go, before I decide you should blow off this whole lunch with the girls thing, and take you back to my boat to make you my sex slave.”

I tilt my head. “Actually, that doesn’t sound half bad…”

His eyes darken. “Don’t tempt me.”

I laugh, push open the door, and hop out. Bending down, I blow him a kiss before I slam the door.

“See you later, sailor.”

The grin on his face is hot enough to leave scorch marks. “Count on it, darling.”

The Porsche tires squeal as he rockets away from the curb, barrels down the road, and turns out of sight… leaving me alone on a sidewalk, chewing my lip and staring up at the cheery pink awning of my favorite bakery. Never has a cupcake shop looked so ominous.

Though, admittedly, that has more to do with the fact that there’s a group of women inside waiting to pick my brain for details of my sex life, and less to do with their top-notch pastries.

Phoebe called shortly after my meltdown, insisting I come to lunch with her and “the girls” — a group I must assume includes Gemma, Shelby, Chrissy, and Lila. Resistance seemed futile, especially when Parker suggested he’d use the time to meet with Nate and discuss my parents’ case.

I heave a deep, martyred sigh and force myself to walk inside, thinking it’s probably a bad sign I’d be happier talking with the guys about a grisly crime than deconstructing my somewhat baffling relationship status with these girls.