The Windhaven Witches Omnibus Edition : Complete Paranormal Suspense Series, Books 1-4 by Carissa Andrews (graded readers txt) 📕

I say, closing the door and turning to face him. I’m a bundle of raw nerves, so I can’t even fathom how he must be feeling right now.

Wade’s jaw clenches and he shrugs. “What can I do? I have a dead grandpa trapped in your boathouse that I need to do something with pretty damn fast. And now, someone wants me to leave or he’ll basically end me. I’m pretty much stuck between a rock and a fucking mountain.”

Chapter 14

Confessions

If we can’t figure out who sent the text to Wade, does that mean he’ll leave Windhaven behind? Could he really do that, even if he’s innocent?

Taking a deep breath, I can’t help but wish my own powers were tied more to telepathy and not necromancy or talking to the dead. At least then, maybe I could do some good. Instead, I feel so useless.

“Autumn, before we head back to your place, I think we need to go to the police,” Wade finally says, cutting through the pregnant silence.

My gaze snaps over to him. “Are you serious?”

“What other choice do I have?” he says, clenching his jaw. “If I don’t go to the police with what I do know…and that video goes out, it’ll be too late. It’ll be framed however this asshat wants to frame it. Then, nothing will matter. The police—or anyone else, for that matter—won’t believe a word I have to say. My only chance is to turn over what I know before it bites me in the ass.”

My lips snap shut and a stab of guilt sweeps through me. His words bring me right back to my own inner dilemma with what happened with Colton. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am, that’s for sure.

“All right,” I say, driving past the turn to Blackwood Manor and heading into town. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Wade inhales sharply, reaching for my hand. “So do I.”

We drive the next few minutes in silence; neither one of us wanting to convince the other of a different plan. As much as I hate to admit it, this feels right. If Wade can get to the police first, telling them what he knows, he stands a chance. Maybe we could completely disarm the situation.

As we reach the edge of town, my back begins to tighten and I find myself sitting up straighter in the seat. “So, we’re almost there. Have you thought about what you want to say?”

Wade nods. “It’s all I’ve been doing since we left.”

“Good. What do you want me to do?” I say, turning down Main Street and heading to the town square.

“Nothing. Let me do all the talking. Okay?” he says, running his hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to pull you into this at all, if I can help it. Deal?”

“But—”

“Promise me,” Wade says, cutting me off. His eyes plead with mine.

I nod. “Okay.”

My pulse quickens as I pull up to the police station, parking in one of the diagonal spaces right outside the front entrance. The visitor parking is practically vacant, but there are six police cars lined up around the corner. For such a small town, it seems a little like overkill at the precinct.

“Wonder why there are so many cop cars,” I mutter, putting Blue into park.

Wade’s eyebrows tug inward as his gaze sweeps over them. “Let’s hope the fact that they’re here is good news. It means there isn’t reason to be out and about.”

I nod, kicking open my door. “Good point.”

Opening his own door, Wade follows me. When we reach the sidewalk, he steps out in front, making sure he’s first to the door. He pulls it back, allowing me to head inside first. As soon as the door closes, he takes the lead again, walking up to the glass-enclosed front desk.

A woman with dark skin and big brown eyes looks up. She’s barely older than we are, but she holds her shoulders back in an air of authority as we both approach. Her name badge reads “Thompson.”

“May I help you?” Officer Thompson asks, her voice soft and almost musical.

Wade swallows hard, tipping his chin. “Yeah, uh—is Sheriff Gordon here, by chance?”

“He is. Can I tell him who’s asking?” she says, her dark eyebrows barely moving.

Clearing his throat, Wade reaches for my hand and says, “Wade. Wade Hoffman. I’m a friend of his cousin, Chelsea Gordon.”

Recognition flashes through the officer’s eyes and she nods. “Okay, Mr. Hoffman, have a seat. Sheriff Gordon will come get you.”

“Thanks,” Wade says, twisting around and eyeing the seating.

There are two sections, each with four chairs that have been clamped together. There are no tables or magazines to preoccupy those who take a seat. Instead, they all just face each other in a sort of seated standoff.

“I forgot about Sheriff Gordon being related to your landlord. That was a good call,” I say, leaning in and whispering in Wade’s ear.

Wade feigns a smile. “Yeah, I figured if nothing else, I’d have a little bit of leverage by talking to him. At least Chelsea knows me. You know?”

My insides clench and I try to suppress the irrational welling of jealousy springing up from her name. She’s been nothing but nice, but I can’t help but feel a little pang of possessiveness.

“Mr. Hoffman?” a man says, extending a hand as he enters the lobby. He has the same ginger hair and green eyes as his cousin and it’s easy to see the family resemblance.

Wade immediately stands up. “Yes, hi.“

“What can I help you with?” Sheriff Gordon says. His eyes crease at their edges, immediately disarming any apprehension lingering in me. Another trait he shares with his cousin.

“I—uh,” Wade begins. “Is there anywhere we could talk privately?”

Sheriff Gordon quirks an eyebrow. His lips tug downward as he nods. “Sure, follow me.” He turns on his heel, flashes a badge that opens the door he came through, and holds it open so we can follow behind him.

Wade reaches for my hand, and together we