The Truth of Yesterday
Book 4 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 18
Waking up in Micah’s arms for the second time that week was just as blissful as the first. Maybe even more so. There was something about the warmth of his body pressed against mine, the steady rhythm of his breath, the way his arm was slung protectively across my waist — it made everything else feel distant and unimportant.
I shifted carefully until I was facing him, doing my best not to wake him. He looked peaceful, almost boyish in sleep, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that he was mine — that this strong, confident, maddeningly sexy man wanted me.
I watched him for a few quiet minutes, memorizing the curve of his lips, the fall of his hair across his forehead. Finally, unable to resist any longer, I leaned in and flicked my tongue along the edge of his ear.
He twitched and rubbed at the spot but didn’t wake. I grinned and tried again, this time letting my tongue linger just a little longer.
Micah jerked slightly, blinking himself awake with a confused squint. As his gaze focused on me, his expression softened into a sleepy, radiant smile.
“Good morning,” I purred, pressing my body close against his, already very aware of the electric contact between us.
His hand slid lazily down my side, the tips of his fingers barely grazing my skin, and I shivered under his touch.
“Waking up to you makes it a very good morning,” he murmured, brushing his lips against mine in a soft, slow kiss. I returned it hungrily.
He pulled back just far enough to raise an eyebrow at me. “Unless I’m mistaken...someone’s a little horny this morning?”
“You must be mistaken,” I said, trying to look innocent — which was difficult given the very obvious way my arousal was pressing into his hip.
“Oh?” He smirked. “So you wouldn’t mind if I just got up and took a cold shower then?”
He started to shift away, but I grabbed his arm and tugged him back down onto the bed.
“You’re not going anywhere, mister.”
I swung my leg over him and settled into his lap, straddling him with a wicked grin.
Micah laughed, his hands finding my hips. “Well, this is new. We haven’t done it like this before.”
I rolled my hips slowly against him, feeling him harden beneath me. “You know what they say — there’s no time like the present.”
His breath hitched and his fingers tightened slightly around my waist. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not in the slightest. Just trying to prepare my body for the trauma.”
“Trauma?” I teased, grinding against him again. “Sounds like someone’s scared.”
“Not scared,” he said with a devilish grin, “just aware of the challenge.”
“Well then, quit talking and start proving something. Because if you don’t do something soon, I might have to find someone who can keep up.”
His eyes flared with heat. In one swift motion, he bucked his hips up hard, sending a jolt through me and forcing a gasp from my lips. I caught myself against his chest, wide-eyed.
Micah’s voice was low and full of promise. “Oh, sweetheart. I think you’re the one who’s going to have to keep up. Hold on tight, cowboy.”
And I did.
I managed to leave Micah's apartment in time to swing by the office before my classes. Novak emerged from his office while I was checking the office email and slapped a newspaper on my desk.
"I see your boyfriend has made the big leagues," he said.
"You're probably the only person I know who still reads an actual newspaper. You know they have this online now, right?"
"I stare at a computer screen enough, and besides, I like the smell of newsprint. Now get off my lawn."
I glanced down at the front page of the paper, and the headline practically shouted up at me:
COUNTY COUNCIL CORRUPTION
Payoffs, Bribes, and Cover-ups Abound in Local Government
Bold. Aggressive. Impossible to ignore.
Beneath the subhead, I spotted the byline: Micah Gerber.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “I knew he was working on something big, but I didn’t know it was front-page material.”
Novak, standing across from me, arched an eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to congratulate him — right after I remind him to keep his head down. I hope he’s ready for the fallout.”
I looked up sharply. “Is it that bad?”
Novak snorted. “You’d better believe it’s that bad. He’s just kicked a hornet’s nest the size of a city block, and some of those hornets carry badges, bank accounts, and backroom connections. He may not have named every name, but he named enough to start fires in a lot of very expensive offices.”
He tapped the headline. “Illegal contracts. Land deals. Missing funds. Millions of dollars. That kind of exposure doesn’t just make people uncomfortable — it makes them dangerous. There’ll be investigations, grand juries, maybe even arrests. But before all that, there’s going to be a lot of behind-the-scenes panic. People will want to know who talked. And who else knows what.”
I swallowed. “Do you think he’s in danger?”
“I hope not. But you know how these things work. People don’t like having their secrets aired in public. Especially powerful people.” Novak's tone shifted slightly. “You of all people should know what happens when someone tries to shine a light on the good ol’ boys club.”
I did. He was talking about my biological father — a once-prominent State’s Attorney who’d been taken down for covering up evidence in Seth's murder case...and a string of various other charges ranging from collusion to discrimination. His corruption hadn’t been as widespread as what Micah had apparently uncovered, but it was enough to destroy his reputation and send him to prison for five years. Most of the damage in that case had been self-inflicted, but it didn’t stop him from trying to take others down with him.
“I’d better check on Micah.”
I pulled out my phone and called his cell. It rang until voicemail picked up. I tried his office line — busy. Not a great sign. I sent him a quick text: Just saw the paper. Call me when you can.
While I waited, I opened my email to distract myself. The first message was from Noah, inviting me to Haven’s annual Halloween dance. It was set for the Saturday before Halloween, with awards for best costume and an open invitation for friends. I’d heard some chatter about it at the last meeting but hadn’t really planned on going.
Now, though, it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. Micah could probably use a night where no one was dissecting his article or looking over their shoulder. At Haven, no one would care about corruption or politics. Just music, costumes, and the chance to be yourself. It might even help him decompress — assuming I could convince him to go.
Then I saw the next message. It was from Neal.
My stomach dropped.
I clicked it open and read:
I would be willing to speak with you regarding the unfortunate death of Paul Flynn. However, the nature of my business being what it is, I'm afraid I will need some sort of verification that you are who you say you are. If I'm satisfied, we can meet, and I will answer your questions. Please call me at my office, and we'll see if we can work things out.
I exhaled slowly, heart thudding in my chest. Cautious, but not dismissive. He wasn’t shutting me down — which probably meant he did want to know what I knew. Or at the very least, he was worried I might already know too much.
It made sense. He couldn’t be sure I wasn’t vice, working undercover. But the fact that he was willing to meet — even with conditions — said a lot. And none of it made me feel particularly safe.
I sat back and stared at the screen, weighing my next move carefully.
Micah’s investigation might have stirred up trouble in the halls of government...but mine was starting to dig into the shadows beneath. And I wasn’t sure which one was going to get us hurt first.
I shook off the darker thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind and reached for my phone — just as it started to ring in my hand. It was Micah.
"Hey, I saw the paper," I said after our usual quick hellos. "Novak thinks you'll be catching hell."
"Novak would be correct," he replied, his tone flat and unreadable.
"Is it bad?"
"Not yet. But it could be," he said. “We've already gotten several calls — all from furious local bigwigs demanding to know how we could ‘print something like that.’ Most of them sound personally offended. A few have hinted at legal action. One or two were more...creative with their displeasure. I wouldn’t exactly call them threats, but I wouldn’t call them friendly either.”
My stomach tightened. “So this is going to blow up bigger than you thought.”
“Way bigger. These people aren’t just connected — they are the connections. They've got fingers in every pie from zoning to campaign donations. This thing has tentacles, Killian. I’m starting to think it might reach all the way to Annapolis. Maybe even higher.”
“Let me guess,” I said dryly. “Everyone thinks you should’ve let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Exactly. The real scandal isn’t what they did — it’s that I dared to say it out loud.”
I gave a humorless laugh. “This is the Eastern Shore, Micah. That’s how it works. The good old boys protect their own. First rule of the backroom.”
“I get that,” he said, his voice tightening, “but it’s not good enough. Maybe that was the way things worked fifty years ago — hell, maybe even ten — but we can’t just let it slide anymore. If no one calls it out, nothing changes.”
“I admire that,” I said honestly, “but just be aware, these guys don’t lose quietly. They’re used to winning, and they don’t play fair. You said some of them sounded threatening. Do you think you’re actually in danger?”
“No direct threats,” he said carefully. “Nothing they could get arrested for. But the tone...yeah, it’s getting heated. I hadn’t really thought they’d go further, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Then maybe you should be careful, Micah. I mean it. Maybe back off a little — at least for now. Let someone else pick it up.”
There was a beat of silence before he answered. “I can’t. You know I can’t. I broke this story. If I walk away now, it sends a message — to them, to the paper, to every source who trusted me. This is my job. It’s what I do. You, of all people, should understand that.”
He wasn’t wrong. I did understand. Too well.
“I do. I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I just...I worry about you.”
“I get it. And for what it’s worth, I worry about you too. Trust me, I’m not trying to be reckless. How about this? I’ll stay as low profile as I can and still do my job.”
"Promise?"
"I promise."
“Okay,” I said, even though it didn’t make me feel any better.
“You know what this means, though — you probably won’t be seeing much of me for a bit.”
“I figured. It sucks, but I’ve got a lot going on too.” I hesitated. “But what about Saturday night? Think you’ll be free to go to a Halloween dance with me at school?”
Micah hesitated. “A college Halloween dance?”
“It’s not just students. And it’s hosted by Haven. It’s safe. Fun. Low pressure. And I thought you could use a break.”
“We are going to the Equality Ball the next night.”
“I know, but this is different. It’s not tuxedos and photographers. Just dancing and bad costumes and maybe a few awkward teenagers.”
He chuckled. “Okay, okay. You win. Let’s do it. Do I have to wear a costume?”
“Yes,” I said, firm and unyielding.
I could hear voices in the background through the phone. Then Micah’s voice, lower, distracted: “Hang on a sec, Kill.”
He was gone for a few seconds, and when he came back, his voice was brisk. “Something’s come up. I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Love you. Bye.”
Before I could answer, the line went dead.
I stared at the screen, heart thudding. I hadn’t even said it back.
Be careful, I thought. Please.
It was stupid how quickly I’d gotten used to waking up beside him, how much it already felt like home. I just had to get through the next few days without him.
And hope the world didn’t fall apart in the meantime.
I needed a distraction. Good thing I was in the middle of two tough cases. If that couldn't keep my mind off how much I'd miss waking up in my boyfriend's arms, nothing would.
I dialed the number Neal had included in his email, and a smooth, cultivated voice answered on the second ring.
“The Drake Group. How may I be of service?”
“I’m calling for Neal.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Killian Kendall. We exchanged emails. He asked me to call.”
“One moment, please.”
A soft, inoffensive smooth jazz instrumental filled my ear — just generic enough not to be memorable, but polished enough to suggest luxury. It wasn’t long before a deeper, confident voice came on the line.
“Mr. Kendall, thank you for calling. This is Neal.”
“Neal, I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”
“Of course. Your email was...let’s say, intriguing. I’m sure you understand, before we meet in person, I need to be confident you are who you say you are.”
“And that I’m not a cop,” I said, dryly.
He laughed — warm, rich, and just a little too knowing. “You cut right to the point, don’t you, Mr. Kendall?”
“Please, call me Killian. And yes, I do. I imagine you’re a busy man. I’d rather not waste your time.”
“That’s refreshing. You said in your email you’re a private investigator looking into Paul Flynn’s murder?”
“Yes, sir.”
“May I ask who hired you, or is that confidential?”
I hesitated. Normally, I wouldn’t disclose a client’s name so easily, but I had a feeling it might help move things along in this case. “Actually, I believe you know him — Micah Gerber. He used to work for your agency.”
There was a pause, then, “Micah? Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I thought he and Paul parted ways years ago.”
“They did,” I confirmed. “But Mr. Gerber still wants to know what happened to his friend.”
I kept my voice neutral, careful not to hint at anything more than professional ties between us. The last thing I needed was for Neal to figure out Micah and I were dating.
“Understandable,” he said. “Though I’m not sure how much help I can be. Paul and I never actually met. Our communication was all digital or over the phone.”
“Micah already gave me the rundown on how your business operates.”
“Then I don’t need to explain the finer points of discretion. Let me ask you this — is there any way I can verify your credentials? Can I check your license with the state?”
I definitely didn’t want to get into the fact that I wasn’t licensed yet.
“You’re welcome to contact my agency. The owner is Shane Novak. He can confirm everything.”
“Could I speak to him today? I’m leaving town this weekend for an extended vacation, and I’d prefer to meet before then.”
“Where are you headed?” I asked casually.
“Costa Rica. I’ll be gone most of November.”
“Must be nice,” I said. “But Novak’s not in the office right now. I can try to reach him and ask him to give you a call.”
“How do I know you’re not just having someone pretend to be him?” Neal’s tone remained pleasant, but there was a sharpness under the polish.
Fair question. I paused. “Would hearing from Micah be enough? If he called and vouched for me?”
“That would work,” Neal said after a beat. “It’s been a long time since we talked. Last I heard, he said he was taking a job at some newspaper out on the Shore. I always suspected that was code for going independent.”
“He’s still in journalism,” I said, maybe a touch too proudly. “He’s actually the star reporter for the biggest paper covering the entire Eastern Shore.”
Okay, so technically that might have been a stretch — but I had no doubt it would be true soon enough.
“Is that so?” Neal sounded genuinely pleased. “Well, good for him. Yes, have him give me a call. If everything checks out, we can meet tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Union Station. Center Café. Noon. Just give them my name, and they’ll bring you to my table.”
“That works. Thanks again for your time.”
“Don’t mistake this as entirely altruistic, Killian,” Neal said with a smooth, dry chuckle. “It’s in my best interest to meet with you. I’d rather give you facts than have you wandering around with half-baked theories. Or worse — taking those theories to the police.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll be expecting Micah’s call. I look forward to meeting you...assuming all goes well.”
“Likewise.”
He hung up, leaving me staring at my phone. It had gone better than I expected. Now I just had to convince Micah to make the call — and hope Neal really did want to help.
I called Micah immediately, holding my breath with each ring. Come on, pick up. Please pick up.
“Hello?” His voice came through sounding a little curt — distracted and just short of annoyed.
“Micah, I’m sorry to bug you again, but I need a quick favor.”
“Is it important?” Papers rustled in the background, and his voice suggested he was only half-listening.
“It’s about Paul.”
That snapped him to full attention. “Paul?”
I couldn’t help the flicker of annoyance that flared in my chest. Nice to know Paul got an instant reaction while I had to compete with background noise.
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I just spoke to Neal. He agreed to meet with me, but he wants confirmation that I’m who I say I am and that I really was hired by you.”
Micah gave a short laugh, the sound tight. “Paranoia is the price of doing business when your business is a legal gray area. I don’t miss that part.” He paused. “Yeah, I’ll call him. Just give me the number. When does he want to talk?”
“As soon as you can. Now, if possible.”
“Alright, I’ll do it now before I dive back into work.” He sounded more grounded now — focused.
I rattled off Neal’s number, and he repeated it back flawlessly.
“That’s it,” I said. “Thanks, Micah. I love you.” I was determined to get that in before he hung up this time.
"I love you too."
I didn’t waste any time before placing my next call — this one to Chris. When she picked up, I filled her in on the meeting with Neal. She agreed to come with me without hesitation, offering to be my backup just in case things got weird — or dangerous.
I’d have to miss my morning classes, but this was too important to postpone. Neal’s tight schedule meant this might be my only shot to get real answers. And something told me he had more to say than he was letting on.
I hit more traffic than expected after I crossed the bridge, and by the time I finally reached the Metro station, I was running late and a little frazzled. Chris was already waiting.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” Chris said as I jogged up.
“That makes two of us,” I replied, catching my breath. “Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries. We should get there on time — assuming the trains cooperate.” She turned and started walking briskly. “Come on, we need to catch the Red Line to Union Station.”
I hurried to match her pace, taking a moment to look her over as we moved. She was wearing black jeans and a dark gray hoodie with a large white skull across the front. Not exactly subtle, but knowing Chris, she’d probably chosen it on purpose. Still, I hoped she wouldn’t draw too much attention.
We boarded the train a few minutes later and snagged a pair of seats. As the car rattled along, we spent the ride trading theories about the case. Most of it was speculation, but one thing we agreed on: I needed to talk to Paul’s family. And I needed to figure out what that damn key opened. I had a hunch it would turn out to be — quite literally — the key to everything.
Once we pulled into Union Station, we started reviewing the plan.
“Do you know where this restaurant is?” I asked as we exited the train and headed up.
“Yeah, the Center Café. It’s right in the middle of the main concourse. Can’t miss it.”
“Perfect. I’ll go in first. You follow me, but hang back — discreetly. Neal said to ask for him at the front, and they’ll take me to his table. Just keep me in sight. I doubt anything will happen in a public place, but...better to be safe.”
“Agreed,” she said. “I’ve got your back.”
We stepped into the grand concourse—its sweeping ceilings and soft light making the place feel more like a cathedral than a train station. In the center of it all was the café. True to its name, it sat open-air in the middle of the floor, two levels high, the second ringed with a black metal railing.
I approached the host stand, where a sharply dressed young man stood like he was guarding the gates of heaven.
“I’m here to meet with Neal,” I said.
The host gave me a slow once-over, his eyes cool and assessing, like he was trying to guess my net worth.
“Are you Killian Kendall?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
He led me up the stairs to the second level, toward a quiet corner where a single table sat apart from the others. The angle of the host’s body blocked my view of the person waiting, but as we approached, he finally stepped to the side — and I stopped cold.
Seated at the table, looking perfectly relaxed and unbothered, was a man with sharp, clean features and a perfectly curated air of polite detachment.
I’d never met him in person, but I recognized him instantly.
He was the man from the photo I’d found hidden in Jake’s room.
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