Facade of Love (Yvette Scott and Idris Young)
Chapter 317

Chapter 317 I Trust Him

Officer Jackson quirked an eyebrow and said, "Just because I'm not suspicious doesn't mean everyone else isn't jumping to conclusions. The guys at the station, the news hounds, and everyone in town has their own wild ideas. When Jack bit the dust, I pegged it as a suicide from the get-go, but that didn't shut down the rumor mill. So, I pulled you in for a run-through and to give you the lowdown."

Idris got the picture way quicker than me. He gave Officer Jackson a sharp look with those deep -set eyes and asked, "Is someone gunning for the Youngs?"

Officer Jackson's nod was heavy with meaning. "To be exact, they're gunning for you." That is when it dawned on me. None of these freak accidents screamed "Idris did it!" but somehow, they all seemed to whisper his name. Even without solid proof, these little clues could kick up a major fuss in the neighborhood if people started talking.

The fuss that could ensue would be a nightmare for Idris and Young Corp, the kind of nightmare that was too huge to slap a price tag on.

"Three weird things, all in a row. Who's got beef with you?" I shot a look at Idris, totally clueless about who he might have rubbed the wrong way.

Idris just pursed his lips, taking his sweet time.

He kept his eyes locked on Officer Jackson, who was frowning so hard it looked like he was wrestling with words he wanted to say but would not because I was there.

It seemed like something not meant for my ears. So, I stood up and said, "Man, I have been sitting so long my legs are totally numb. Going to stretch them out a bit."

They said nothing as I stood and walked out of Officer Jackson's office. I headed down the hall, my mind racing with thoughts of the tension brewing between Idris and the officer ever since I came back from Macamer.

I was totally in the dark about the details, and Idris was keeping his lips sealed. I was not the type to go snooping around. If it were no biggie, asking would not do any good. If it was a major issue, asking would just turn the whole thing into one big awkward mess, whether he spilled the beans or clammed up.

In the middle of the precinct's non-stop buzz, a bunch of officers huddled up, whispering like they were sharing top-secret info. I only caught bits and pieces, but it was enough to put two and two together. "Mr. Long? Oh, for sure, he was raised by Mrs. Newman. Now that she's out of the picture, poof! Just like that-he's super pumped to bust this case wide open. You've got to feel for the guy."

Another officer piped up from the sidelines, "Jackson's right, though. Mrs. Long's way too wrapped up in this to see straight. He could jump the gun, and then we would be in big trouble. Keeping him benched is probably for the best. Either way, it's a hard choice."

"Is this what we're calling work these days?" A new voice cut in, deep and icy, slicing through the buzz of conversation.

I spun around, my heart doing a somersault, and there he was. His eyes were like two black holes, intense enough to pull you right in. The guy towered over me, his hair buzzed short, his

skin bronzed from endless sunny days, and he had this vibe to him like he was a walking,

talking blade, sharp and ready for action. His uniform clung to him as if it were his battle gear, and he totally looked the part of a hero.

...Mr. Long!" The cops chatting nearby tripped over their own tongues trying to then scattered faster than autumn leaves caught in a gust.

say hello,

Mr. Long's mouth was a flat line, all serious, no-nonsense. He waited, stone-faced, until the last cop had buzzed off. Then, finally, he turned that intense stare my way.

His gaze locked onto mine, and I straightened up without even meaning to. "Nice to meet you, Officer," slipped out before I could stop it.

His eyes widened in surprise, then a sly grin broke through his stern look. "Officer?" he repeated, his voice smooth as melted chocolate.

Words failed me, and I could feel my cheeks burning. I had just called a dude who was basically my own age 'officer,' like he was some wise old man. Calling him 'bro' would have been way too buddy-buddy, so that option was out of the question.

I fumbled for the right words, feeling my face heat up. "Oh, sorry about that! It's just... you kind of reminded me of a cop I ran into when I was little. It just popped out. No hard feelings, you don't look old or anything. Actually, you've got this youthful vibe. You're easy on the eyes, too."

His laughter cut through the usual stern look on his face, and for a second, he seemed almost approachable. His comeback, however, quickly dispelled that notion. "Next time, try to cook up something a bit more convincing. That one was pretty lame."

I... well..

Talk about blunt.

I slapped on a grin, feeling so mortified I wished I could just melt into the floor.

He did not even blink, locking eyes with me. "You're Yvette, right?"

His question blindsided me. I jerked my head up to stare at him, my eyes popping. How in the world did he know me?

He caught my look of total confusion and let out a tiny, sly smile. "The name's Gregory. I have been out of the loop since I just got back into town. My mom's the one who dealt with situation."

your

I paused, thrown off. "Your mom is...?"

"Renata," he said, as cool as a cucumber, not giving anything away.

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