Текст книги "Tangled Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

She’s always done this—spoken Italian in hard times. I wonder if she knows we’ve all noticed. That even Mom will sit and listen to her as she hands her hopes and dreams over to her Lord’s hands.

I do this now. I listen. I want to feel the comfort of her still-thick accent and romantically fluent words flow over me.

“Bless this child,” she whispers, each word flowing into the next in perfectly smooth Italian. “Give him the strength he needs to keep his spirit on this Earth. Bless his laughter and his smile. Lend him your bravery so he may fight this obstacle that’s been thrown into his path. Bless his sweet disposition and selflessness. Allow him to draw on your everlasting knowledge so that he may give himself everything, so that his soul and his mind may align as one to give him the power he so desperately needs. Lord, I beg of you to give your son all that he gives to you without asking you for a single thing.”

My eyes sting. Her ability to trust something she’ll never have validity of is overwhelming. But it’s like Father Luiz said to me only weeks ago. Belief is relative.

She repeats that, over and over, never faltering in her whispering. Never a single syllable of Italian stepping into the wrong. Her whispers are melodic and rhythmic. I’m thankful for every single one as her words continue to wrap me in their warm embrace borne of the kind of belief and faith I don’t know I’ll ever experience myself.

The movement of a body next to me has me glancing over. Drake. He’s kneeling with us, too, his eyes closed. And Alison next to him. Then Trent. And Bek. And Dev. And Mom.

Mom.

“Speak up, Nonna,” I murmur loud enough for only her to hear. “You have an audience, and we’re not all hard of hearing yet.”

I glance at her in time to see her smile stretch across her face.

“Ah, Noella,” she replies, her voice thick. “You-a all-a know what I’m-a saying. You-a don’t need me. You need-a your hearts. Believe.” She closes her eyes once more “Me? I-a believe that-a the Lord will-a bless-a Brody. He will-a give-a him his heart. Believe,” she repeats once more. “It’s-a all about-a belief.”

And don’t you know, that crazy old lady has a point.

Once you believe, you can do anything.

The door opens, and we all turn our heads toward it. The man in the doorframe is wearing green scrubs, a hair cap in his hands.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he says in a thick Texan accent. “I’ll come back if y’all need a moment.”

“No,” Nonna says, standing before any of us despite her age. She’s facing I’m guessing is the surgeon before we’re all on our feet.

For as long as she lives, she’ll be the head of this family. That’s for sure.

“We are-a ready.” She pulls her pashmina over her shoulders and takes the seat closest to the door.

Devin hands her her cane, and she winks at him, but the lines in her face seem to have deepened since I saw her yesterday. Dad takes both of my hands and helps me stand. Then he immediately deposits me in the closest chair. Trent does the same with Mom and then Alison. Bek takes her seat next to Alison, and Drake stands next to me.

If this isn’t the strongest group of people I’ve ever met...

“Mrs. Bond,” the surgeon says, looking at Mom.

“Si,” Nonna says, her eyes going to Mom. “There are-a two of us. Antonio, move-a over.” She hauls herself up with the help of her cane and hobbles across the room.

I bite the inside of my lip as Nonna takes the seat next to Mom and takes her younger hand into her much older, darker, wrinklier one.

“We-a are ready,” Nonna informs the surgeon.

Twenty-eight years and, although my heart is so hollow, it’s oddly never been fuller.

The surgeon holds his hands out. “Well, Mrs. Bond...s,” he adds, glancing at Alison, too. “I don’t know what to tell you. Our intial tests showed the bullet inside his kidney, but when we got him on the operating table, it’d barely grazed it. Brody Bond has either skin of steel or the luck of an angel.”

“He’s okay?” I gasp, grabbing the edge of my seat and sitting forward. He’s okay.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s out for tonight to allow himself to sleep through the pain, but I’m gonna tell y’all that he’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

I cover my mouth with my hand yet again, but it isn’t enough, because those tears that threatened earlier are making their appearance. Mom grabs me into her, and I find my face against her shoulder, and Nonna’s hand reaches across Mom’s legs to find mine.

Find mine it does. And she squeezes. Hard.

Maybe there’s something to her beliefs after all.

Soon enough, every Bond in the room has been tugged in to this huge family celebratory hug. My eyes clear enough to see Alison reach out and tug Bek in. My best friend has tears in her eyes, too, and it’s an easy enough swoop from her gaze to Drake.

I think he’s the only one in the room not crying. But his smile? That half smile that only lightens the relief in his eyes and radiates the happiness he’s really feeling? That’s the best part of this post-Brody’s-okay moment.

And instead of joining us, he simply leans forward and touches his lips to the top of my head.

Somehow, it’s better than a hug.

Mom called first thing this morning to tell me that, since the bullet never hit any major organs and they’re leaving Brody to wake up in his own time, which they think will be any time now, they’re taking him out of intensive care and putting him on a normal ward.

Which is exactly why I’m sitting cross-legged on my office floor, in my yoga pants, with one hundred Post-it notes scattered in front of me in a pink-orange-yellow-and-green rainbow. Okay, one hundred might be an exaggeration. Then again, maybe not. Scribbling on the sticky notes is so addictive.

So is adjusting them so they make pretty patterns.

So far I’ve made a heart, a boat, and a cupcake.

There is method to my madness. Kind of. Each of the notes has a different aspect of the case written on them, and aside from my, ahem, procrastination designs, they’re all grouped together in my best shot at chronological order to see if there’s anything I’ve missed. Anything that might help figure this out.

I scan my eyes over each note, but the move is redundant. There’s nothing I’ve missed that I haven’t already looked at this morning.

I sigh and fall backward, throwing my arm over my eyes. Ugh. I roll to the side and reach for my purse. Yesterday’s mail is still sitting inside it, untouched, and I’m pretty sure there was a bill I should probably open in there somewhere.

I sit up again and pull the small stack out, removing the elastic band holding the envelopes together. The electric bill slips out of the pile, but my eyes catch the top envelope.

There’s no stamp. No postage. Just my name and the address of the building.

Handwritten. Hand-delivered.

Damn. These letters are never good in the movies.

Still, it has piqued my curiosity. Hell, it’s gone well above the peak. It’s the Everest of curiosities.

I slip my pinkie finger into the small hole by the corner of the flap and use my nail to ease it open. A piece of paper is folded in half inside, so I pinch the creased side and pull it out, but that isn’t the only thing inside the envelope.

Small photos fall out from the paper, and I reach for one as I open the note. They’re grainy and not the best quality, but what’s on them is obvious.

Two people are having sex. The woman’s hands are bound to a headboard, short, blond hair splaying around her face. The man has her legs hooked over his shoulders in this one, but in another, it’s vastly different.

I drop that photo and pick another up. In this one, the woman is attached to a large cross and the man is holding a whip.

In another, she’s on all fours and he’s coming at her from behind.

In another, her hands are bound behind her back and a tie is knotted around her neck. She’s on top of him, her head thrown back, and he’s pulling the tie on.

Holy shit.

These are pictures of Natalie.

And I’d recognise that smug face contorted with pleasure and the receding hairline anywhere.

These are pictures of Natalie...and the mayor.

Bile rises up my throat, and it’s only stopped from being vomited out by the lump that’s formed and refuses to be swallowed. This... Oh my God.

This is the something.

I turn back to the note and lift it to my eyes. Handwritten again. Whoever sent me this isn’t afraid to be found out. They must know that even the HWPD has access to someone who can recognize the handwriting.

There are more. Lots more. And it doesn’t stop in the photos. It doesn’t stop with you. He isn’t as safe as he thinks he is.

Oh my God.

It doesn’t stop in the photos.

The something, the one thing we’ve been searching for, Vince was probably killed for is a sex tape.

My very first instinct.

“Oh, shit.”

“Miss Noelle?” Dean pokes his head around my office door. “Is everythin’ all right?”

“Fine.” I gather the photos and stuff them into the envelope. “Hey, can you call the station and find out if Detective Nash is there? And Trent?”

“No problem.” He disappears as suddenly as he appeared.

I make my way into Carlton’s office without knocking and slap the envelope down on his desk. “Scan these images onto the computer and save them. Copy them to a flash drive, too, and give the drive to Grecia for safekeeping. Mark it ‘Owens photos.’ Wear these.” I throw gloves at him, all too aware that I didn’t take the same safety measures.

“What are the pictures?” he asks, picking up a glove and looking at it skeptically.

“At the risk of shattering your innocence... Sex photos.”

One light-brown eyebrow rises. “Excuse me?”

“Not mine,” I add hurriedly. “Trust me. If anyone ever made those, I’d be burning them, not requiring copies. I’m gonna tell you not to look too hard because it’s, uh, interesting.”

“Uh, okay.” He pulls the gloves on, then takes the envelopes and moves to the three-in-one printer in the corner. “Are these the something you’ve been mumbling about for a few days?”

“Kinda. God, this case is a nightmare. What time is it?”

He glances at his watch. “Eleven.”

“Okay. Are they done?”

“Almost.”

“Be right back.” I run back into my office and pull an empty USB stick from my drawer. Then I go back to Carlton. “Here. Don’t forget to label it or Grecia will have a coronary when I ask her to file them all next month.”

“Is that all? Just saving them and making copies?” He brings me the stack of photos back. “And you’re right. They are interesting.”

“Thank you. And no. It’s not everything.” I slide them back into the envelope and hug it to my chest. “These were hand-delivered yesterday. I have a suspicion I know who sent them, but I need you to find me something. It’s probably going to be hard, if not impossible.”

“Sure,” he asks. “What is it?”

“They’re both at the station, Miss Noelle. They’re waiting for you and requested Rosie’s coffee,” Dean interrupts. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

“No, you’re fine. Thanks, Dean.” I smile at him then turn back to Carlton. “I need you to find me the sex tape these images belong to. There may even be more than one.”

“I’ll try. Who’s in them?”

“Natalie Owens and Mayor McDougall.”

“Oh, fucking hell.”

“Sums it up pretty good, kid.” I tap his desk and turn. “You can get me on my cell. I’m out.”

I grab my purse from my office and run down the stairs, thankful that I’m actually wearing sneakers for once. This way, I can at least pretend that running all over town today will be a workout.

I go out to my car and get in. Drake and Trent have a point. Rosie’s coffee will definitely help. So will her pie. And cupcakes.

Cupcakes in yoga pants. Sounds like a perfect combination to me.

I pull up outside the little cafe and make sure the photos are well hidden in my purse before getting out and taking them with me. No way am I leaving these babies unattended.

“Noelle!” Rosie says, wiping her hands on a cloth. The bell over the door is still ringing as I approach the counter. “How are you? And Brody? How is he?”

“He’ll be okay. He has a couple of weeks of recovery ahead of him, but he won’t be kept down. Thank you for asking.” I smile.

“Oh, good.” She presses her hand against her chest. “I was real worried when I heard. I’ll get a batch of his favorite peanut butter cookies made up and sent to your mama for him.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Miss Rosie. Thank you.” My heart is full right now. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

“Not a problem. Now, what can I get you? I can see that you’re on some kind of mission by the look in your eye.” She winks, and I have to laugh.

“Sure am. Can I get two coffees for Drake and Trent and a vanilla latte for me, please? Oh, and a slice of cherry pie, a torte cupcake, and a peanut butter cupcake.”

“No problem.” Another wink, and she turns and gets to work. She has the coffees made masterfully in minutes and sets the three steaming cups in a holder.

I purse my lips as she pulls a piece of cherry pie from the new pie. “Actually, make that two. In, er, seperate boxes.” I smile sweetly as a smile of her own touches her lips.

“You got it, sugar.”

She serves another piece into a box then sees to the cupcakes. When that’s done, she stacks the boxes expertly. No idea how I’m gonna carry all of this. This is what happens when I get greedy and want pie and cake.

God. I’d say I’m gonna have to eat salads for the next week, but I like pasta and pizza too much to even think about torturing myself that way. Maybe I’ll have a salad with them. That’s much more preferable than instead of.

I hand Rosie thirty dollars and instruct her to keep the change. She raises her eyebrows, because she’s always hated getting tips, but I awkwardly grab my things and turn before she can even think of giving it back.

Just as I step out the door, I hear her drop it into her charity box.

That woman.

Now, with the goodies and coffee nestled onto my passenger’s seat, I drive to the station. The parking lot is almost full, and I drive for a moment before I find a spot on the other side of it. Ugh. I text Drake and tell him to come get his coffee because I can’t carry everything.

He comes out two minutes later and opens my passenger’s door. “That’s a lot of boxes for coffee. Wait. Do I smell chocolate?”

I slap his hand as he reaches for the box with our cupcakes. “No. Coffee. I carry the cake.”

“Possessive.”

I give him the finger then take the boxes and my purse. Then I kick my door shut, awkwardly hit the fob to lock it, and follow Drake into the building.

“What are you doing here today? I thought you were sleeping in. And you’re in yoga pants. Did you actually work out? Doesn’t your cupcake cancel that out?”

“How about you kiss my ass, you dick?” I mutter. “My brain had a workout and I’m rewarding her with sugar, okay?”

“The ass-kissing can be arranged.” He shoots me a sexy grin.

“Is that all you think about?”

“And guns. And food. And sports. Oh, and murderers.”

“You sounded like the typical guy until you added the murderers,” I sigh.

“Well, what do you think about?” he counters, his eyebrow raised as he opens his office door.

“Shoes. And clothes. And cake.” I pause. “And guns and murderers.”

“You sounded like the typical chick until you added the murderers—and the guns.”

“Oh, shut up.” I flounce past him, put the boxes on the desk, and then text Trent.

I have coffee and pie.

He appears in record time. “I read pie?” He holds his phone up, my message displayed on the screen.

“Cherry pie,” I tell him, sitting down and pulling my cupcake from the box.

“You’re my favorite sister,” he groans, grabbing for the box and attacking the slice like a rabid animal.

“I’m your only sister, idiot. And I’m not here for pie and coffee, you know. I actually have something very important to tell you.” I lick some frosting off my pinkie finger.

“If it’s that Coach has a sale on, Alison already mentioned it. Something about it being her birthday in two weeks.”

“Coach has a sale on?” I blink. “Wait, stop distracting me!” But thanks for the birthday present idea, bro. I was wondering to buy her. “Here.” I pull the envelope out of my purse and hold it up.

“What is that?” Drake asks, a bit of chocolate frosting on the corner of his mouth.

Is it wrong that I want to lick it off?

“This is my something.” I suck the remaining gooeyness from my hand before I pull the photos out again and drop them onto the desk.

Both the guys reach for them and grab at them. Their expressions turn identical as they realize what they’re looking at.

It’s a funny kind of look. Somewhere between surprise, shock, confusion, and, finally, realization.

“Explain,” Drake demands.

“These were delivered to me yesterday. I didn’t open them because Bek took me to the hospital.” I hesitate. “So I opened them this morning because my sticky notes weren’t helping. I only opened it because it was handwritten and didn’t look like a bill.” I shrug.

“You’re never gonna use five words where you can fit fifty in, are you?” he asks me wryly.

“You’re always gonna interrupt me when you could stay quiet, aren’t you?” I counter. “Thought so. Now, hush a minute.” I show them the letter. “This came with them.”

Trent reads it then hands it to Drake with a smidgen of cherry juice on the side of it.

I mean, seriously. He’s not two.

“What does this mean?” he asks me. “Do you have any idea who sent them?”

I chew the mouthful of cake I’ve bitten off and shake my head in the negative. “But,” I mumble quickly, swallowing my food before I choke on it. “I have a suspicion.”

“Well?” Drake asks. “Are you gonna share that with us or are we gonna get an explanation on how you came to the conclusion before you tell us who?”

“Hey! There’s a method to my madness. And this is the something y’all didn’t think existed.” I sniff. “I think it was Alyssa.”

“McDougall? The mayor’s wife? Why would she do this?” He holds the picture of Natalie cuffed to the cross up. “Have you even thought about that?”

“She knew!” I stand up to stop myself from rolling my eyes. With my hands on my hips, I continue. “When she kicked you out of our talk, she admitted to me that she knows about every single one of the mayor’s trysts after they happen. She was too afraid to leave him. We already know he’s been paying people off for years. There’s just never been any tangible proof. What would he have done to her?”

“So...”

“So I told her that, if she ever needed help, she could contact me. I think his and Natalie’s was the one affair he never told her about, but she found out, and this was her way of documenting evidence against him.”

“Okay, so just pictures?”

“No. I think there’s a video. Or videos. But to find out, I need to talk to her when the mayor isn’t around.”

“He’s out of town this weekend,” Trent supplies. “I heard Sheriff telling Dad that the mayor was taking a few days off to distance himself from these murders. He apparently hired Jessica and has thrown everything onto her shoulders.”

Good. I hope it crushes her. “Well, then. We’re going to see Alyssa McDougall.”

“Right now?” Trent asks, looking at his pie.

Drake has the same solemn look on his face as he glances at his cupcake.

And everyone says that I’m the one with the dessert problem.

“Bring them and eat them while I talk to her.” I stand up. “Come on.”

I climb out of the backseat of Drake’s truck. Apparently, he decided that it wouldn’t be great if a police car was seen outside of the mayor’s house. My suggestion that his truck was just as obvious was met with a stony silence, so I held my hands up and took my relegated seat in the back.

There’s only one thing a backseat should be used for aside from children, and since I am neither a child nor coming down from an orgasm, I’m not happy about the seating arrangements.

Should have driven myself and left them in the station with their treats.

I ring the bell of the McDougall family mansion. A maid opens the door and lets me in. Then she leads me to the very same room I spoke to Alyssa in last time I was here.

“Mrs. McDougall? Noelle Bond is here to see you, ma’am.”

Alyssa turns, and if she’s surprised, her face doesn’t show it. “Thank you. Noelle, please come in.”

I do as she said, holding tight onto the straps of my purse.

She waits until the door has closed before she speaks. “I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out.”

“I opened your letter this morning,” I reply. “Why did you send them?”

“Your brother was shot while you were looking for them,” she replies simply. “I’m very sorry about that, by the way. I hope it’s not serious.”

I shake my head. “He was very lucky. How did you know we were at Natalie’s house looking for them?”

“I am in...contact...with Nick Lucas.”

Huh. “What kind of contact?”

“That’s a very personal question, Noelle.” She turns to face me, pushing her hair from her face. “It’s nothing intimate. Let’s say that the both of us stand to gain from my husband’s fall as the sweetheart of the Holly Woods council.”

“Are you saying that you and Nick are involved in Natalie’s and Vince’s deaths?”

She laughs. “God, no. What would I gain from killing them and exposing my husband? Besides, Vince is the one who made the footage. Natalie knew they existed, but she insisted that their relationship be kept secret from me. And, well, my husband isn’t the only one who knows how exploit people’s weaknessess.” She leans against the fireplace and clasps her hands in front of her. “Vince’s business was failing. I told him that, if he gave me the information and continued to document their activities, I’d be a silent partner in his business and supply the necessary funds to keep him afloat.”

“And he agreed.”

“Of course he agreed. He knew Natalie could no more exploit my husband than she could abort his baby.”

Ah. So she knew.

“Vince told me everything. He knew that his position was stronger if he worked with me.”

“So it was all about money.”

“Darling, everything is about money.” She moves to the bar and opens the gin bottle. “I can’t divorce Randy without proof. He’s paid too much money to too many people to cover his own back. His biggest fear is that I would leave him and his integrity as a wholesome family man would be called into doubt.”

“And the images are the proof you need to get the settlement you deserve.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” She smirks. “This marriage is oppressive. I’ve lived miserably for years, keeping my nose clean, all while he’s been out dilly-dallying around with whoever he likes.”

“And this weekend? Is that where he is?”

“Ah, I assume so. I do happen to be aware that his darling new campaign manager flew to Dallas this morning where he’s supposed to be.” She knocks the gin back. “So the natural progression there is that he’ll raise her wages if he can screw her, too.”

“Boy, I sure hope you don’t mean the darling part,” I mutter.

“About as much as my husband meant his wedding vows,” she snorts. “Jessica Shearer is one of the biggest bitches I’ve ever met. She’s spent the last few days with her nose so far up Randy’s backside she can smell last week’s dinner. I, for one, cannot stand her.

High five, sister. “So these pictures,” I say, bringing the conversation back around. “What are you doing with them? And the tapes? Are they there for silent bribery in the hope that you can end things reasonably amicably?”

“That was the plan.” She shrugs. “But he got my daughter’s best friend pregnant and continues on with his antics although he knows he must be being investigated some way or another. No. Vince handed the tapes to someone in the media before he was killed. There were never copies.”

This in the media is the last thing we need. Randy McDougall isn’t exactly a quiet figure in Texas politics.

Holly Woods doesn’t need to be a circus right now.

“Where are they now? The tapes?”

“My husband was made aware of them, likely by Natalie before she died. However, there’s no indication that he has any idea that I know they exist.” She runs a finger around the top of her glass. “He’s meeting someone tonight, by the old 7-11 store just outside town. He’s flying into Austin to be here by midnight to get the tapes, and then he’s flying back out immediately after.”

“He’s paying them? The media? To keep it quiet?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars are on hold in his private bank account. The one where he pays everyone from.” She crosses the room to the large desk in the corner and pulls a book from the case next to it. She opens the book, removes something that looks like a key from the middle of it, and inserts it into one of the drawers.

Wow. I didn’t think people actually did that.

Alyssa crosses the room to me with a small pile of papers all stapled together. “These are the transactions he’s made over the last two years. They’re all over the place. To the media, his assistant Ellis, and several sex clubs around the country, including D.O.M. It’s all corruption to protect himself. There’s even a payment he made to Nick when he realized that Nick knew about him and Natalie. He paid him to keep quiet.”

“He didn’t,” I tell her, taking the statements from her.

“I know. I paid him not to.” Her lips curve to the side. “And I paid him more.”

Oh, to have money to throw away like that.

“Take them.” She taps the papers. “I’m certain my husband isn’t the person you’re looking for—he’s an asshole, but he isn’t evil. Unravel his ridiculousness and I’m sure you’ll find yourself one step closer.” She takes a deep breath, regret fluttering across her face. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more about the tapes. Your photos are copies of mine. That’s all I need to divorce him.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, slotting them into my purse. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“Don’t be. I’m not. I’m sorry I married a bastard.”