Текст книги "Tangled Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

If I get the medical bills, I don’t get the shoes. And I want the shoes.

I unlock the door then throw my purse to the side, dumping my shoes with them. I unbutton my jeans as I run up the stairs, sighing happily when it pops open and relieves the pressure on my bladder.

Jeans. They’re the work of the devil, and I’m probably five pounds too heavy to be wearing this pair. Oh well.

I peel my pants off my legs while I’m on the toilet and leave them in a heap on the floor. Two mental online-shopping lists later, I pull my panties up, flush, and walk into my bedroom for some comfy shorts.

My front door opens. Loudly.

I finish tugging the neon-orange shorts over my butt and grab my gun from the nightstand. What the fuck?

And did I forget to turn my alarm on again this morning? ‘Cause I sure as hell didn’t disable it when I walked in a moment ago.

Wait—fuck that. Someone’s in my damn house. Why am I contemplating the alarm?

Oh yeah. Because someone’s in my damn house.

I hold my gun in front of me and slowly tiptoe down the stairs, my finger resting lightly on the trigger. If this keeps happening, I’m gonna have to go door-to-door to remind the residents of his town that I will shoot them if they come into my house uninvited.

Still, my confidence in my ability to use this weapon doesn’t change the fact that my heart rate has picked up considerably and my body is flushing with uncertain, anxious heat.

A shadow moves in the doorway to my living room, and I stop on the bottom step.

It creaks.

I freeze.

“Fuck!” Drake steps back. “Put the damn gun down, Noelle!”

I drop it. “What the fuck are you doin’ in my house?”

“You weren’t answering your phone, and when I called the office, Grecia said you were here.”

“So you decided to storm in and not knock? And you’re surprised I had a gun pulled on you? Sweet Jesus!” I sweep past him, safely depositing my gun on the sofa. “Again: What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“Ugh, you say those words far too much.” I walk into the kitchen through the connecting door and pull a bottle of Pepsi from the fridge. “I don’t have anything to say to you, but if you have that much to say, spit it out.”

He stares me harshly as I unscrew the cap of the bottle and bring it to my mouth. Shivers waltz across my skin in waves, each one more intense than the last, because his eyes… God.

I hate his eyes.

I wish he would never look at me again.

They say everything he doesn’t. They say everything he’s said before and what he wants to say, and it’s terrifying. Thrilling, but terrifying. I feel like I need to spill every sin I’ve ever committed even down to stealing a lollipop from the general store when I was four.

After three steps toward me, he takes the bottle from my hand, retrieves the cap from the other, screws it back on, and places it on the counter behind me. “Contrary to what you believe, cupcake”—he rests his hands on the edges of the counter on either side of me and leans in—“we have a lot to say.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“It’s fact.”

“That’s also your opinion.” I push at his arm, but he doesn’t relent.

In fact, he brings his hand closer to me and brushes an inch of exposed skin at my hip with his thumb. The movement is light, but my skin is burning from the contact.

“This would be so much fuckin’ easier if you didn’t have a job that means you seem to be smack in the middle of yet another murder investigation I’m controlling,” he growls. “But you are, and I have no choice but to work with you unless I want to lose my job. Shut your mouth before you give me your sass,” he adds, putting two fingers against my lips. “So we’ll work together… Under duress. But before that happens, we have the big, fat elephant in the room that is the issue of you and me.”

I smack his hand away from my mouth and spin out from him. “You keep going on like you and me being in a relationship would be something that would last longer than five minutes.”

“Perhaps it would.”

“Perhaps it would?” I lift my eyebrows and run my fingers through my hair. “Shit, Drake! We can’t go a day without fighting. How fuckin’ insane are you that you think that kind of relationship would be healthy? That it would be worth the inevitable collapse, huh?”

“Noelle Bond, you’re so fuckin’ in denial it’s unreal.”

“No, I’m realistic. That’s the difference.” I storm back into the front room. “This, you and me, is pure insanity. We’ve fought twice today and it’s only one o’clock!”

“Then there’s plenty of time to make up, isn’t there?”

“Oh, you are so persistent, aren’t you?” I spin and look at him, pushing some strands of hair away from my face. “Are you trying to verbally beat me into submission? Are you trying to drive me into craziness so I agree to what you want?”

“No.” One word. Hard. Simple. Growly. “I want you to fuckin’ want me. Is it that much to ask?”

“Yes!” I wipe my brow and look away, taking a deep breath. “Yes. It’s asking the world, Drake. Do you get that? Do you get that it isn’t as simple as you want it to be? If I want you, it’s because I want you, not because you want me to.”

His steps are certain as he approaches me and forces me to look at him with a touch to my jaw. My eyes settle on his, and I’m stripped bare completely.

I know the answer.

I know his question.

But I don’t want to hear either of them.

“And do you? Want me?” His voice is softer now, but the hoarse tone is still there. “’Cause, babe, I ain’t gonna lie. I’d burn down New York City for you if I had to.”

The words catch in my throat, because yes, I want you.

I break away from him and run out of the room and to the stairs, taking them two at a time, my eyes focused on my room as soon as my open door comes into view. His steps thunder after mine, but he’s quicker than I am and lodges his shoulder between the door and the doorframe, forcing me to let it go. I’m pretty sure a tiny, frustrated scream leaves my mouth as he grabs my arm, spins me, and tugs me against him.

His eyes are blazing. They’re a fiery inferno of the absolute hottest temptation.

“No,” he growls again, taking my chin in a firmer grip, his gaze refusing to relinquish its hold on mine. “No, you don’t get to fuckin’ flake on me now, Noelle. Yes or no. Do you want me?”

The words burn through me, pulsing through my bloodstream until they’re screaming to get out, because there’s no more running from this, and I think my heart knows it.

“Do. You. Want. Me?”

“Oh, I do!” I say roughly and harshly, shoving his hand away and turning. Two steps and I turn back to him. “I want you, but I shouldn’t, because you piss me off so goddamn much! It’s driving me absolutely fucking crazy, because I have no idea what to do with myself anymore.”

He closes the distance between our bodies once again and wraps his arms around me until I’m trapped in his embrace. “Say it again,” he murmurs. “Without the defiance.”

“It’s passion, actually, and it’s one of my better qualities.”

His laugh rumbles against me. “Sure is, cupcake, but how about a little less angry passion and a little more sexy passion, yeah?”

I sigh, but my lips curve up anyway. When I don’t answer, he once again takes my chin between his finger and thumb and tilts it up. I inhale as his breath fans across my lips. Tension dances between us, its moves complicated and intricate, getting faster and faster until it’s suffocating.

“Noelle—”

“I want you,” I whisper. “God only knows why. But I do.”

He smiles, sliding his hand up my back and into my hair. “Sweetheart, you’ve got me.”

His lips are sweet and firm as they touch mine. I lean into the kiss, my fingers fisting the back of his shirt as Drake deepens it. I feel it everywhere from the tingles at the base of my neck and the flutters in my stomach to the weakening of my knees and the curling of my toes.

“Murder investigation,” I breathe, leaning back. “This is a really inappropriate conversation for us to have had right now.”

“Well, for one, you weren’t willing to listen before.” He grins, loosening his grip a little. “And two, the way this town has been in the last month, we’d be lucky to have had it outside of one. Especially with your stubborn streak.”

I’m going to ignore that last comment. He’s a fine one to talk. He does have a point though.

“Okay, but, uh, what exactly is this conversation? Like, specifically.”

His grin drops to a half smile, but it’s a hopeful one, and it sets another round of butterflies off in my tummy.

Sweet hell, I wish he didn’t have to make me feel like a teenage girl all the time.

“You want me, so you got me. I want you…”

I make my smile match his.

“Don’t leave me hangin’ here, or I’ll spank the answer outta you.”

I dip my head to hide my laughter, but when I take a step back, Drake pulls me against him again and the giggle breaks loose. It’s silenced by the burning way his lips collide with mine and his tongue unapologetically sweeps across the seam of my mouth. I gasp at the quick, dominant move, and then the kiss is all lips and tongue and quite possibly another gasp from my side. He kisses me until I’m dizzy and need to hold on to him to stay standing.

Hot. Damn.

Drake Nash is a walking, talking, highly irritating, spectacular kissing machine.

I wonder if he has a coin slot so I can get those world-stopping kisses to order.

“So?” he asks, his tone gravelly. “Do I have you, Noelle? Will you at least try for me? Are you mine?”

“Mine,” I murmur, sliding my hands up his taut body to grab the crisp collar of his white shirt. “Real possessive, that, don’t you think, Detective?”

“Oh, absolutely, Ms. Bond. ‘Cause see here—that’s nonnegotiable.” His eyes sear into mine. “No two ways about it, bella. If I have you, you’re mine.”

Bella. Oh.

“Are you sure that’s nonnegotiable?” I ask through the clogging of my throat. “I’d quite like to be my own on Tuesdays and Fridays between the hours of two and eight.”

The annoyed darkening of his eyes is spoiled by the fight he has going on with his mouth. Ultimately, his smile wins out, but not without a frustrated growl.

“Twenty-four fucking seven, you little pain the ass. And now, you’re fucking with me.”

“I know, but it’s so fun.”

“You want fun, huh? I’ll give you fun, Noelle.” He spins me and shoves me back onto my bed.

I clap my hand over my mouth as a scream leaves me when I go backward. A shadow falls over me as he leans over my body, grabs my wrists, and secures them above my head with one strong hand. I breathe in sharply at the rough move even as a jolt of pleasure flies through my bloodstream, leaving a fiery trail behind that.

“Fun,” he mutters, a darkly sexy smile on his lips. “No, fun is forcing that agreement off the tip of your tongue where it got stuck, sweetheart. But, because I’m a nice guy, I’m gonna give you one last chance to admit that you’re mine before I flip you over and fuck it out of you.”

I look up at him, ignoring the way my clit is throbbing at the brush of his erection against my thigh when he moves. Ignoring the way goose bumps have covered my body. “I’m not saying a thing.”

“Good choice,” he whispers right before he harshly tugs on the waistband of my shorts and kisses me simultaneously.

My legs bend of their own accord as he releases my hands and removes my shorts and easily. I crane my neck to kiss him harder and undo his top button. The shorts fall off my foot, and he covers my body with his, his hardening cock pressing against my panties and my clit.

His hands trail up my body, taking my shirt with him, and he cups my breasts as I finish undoing the buttons and yank the shirt from his waistband. I push it over his shoulders, my palms smoothing over his hot, tan skin, and he releases me for two seconds to shrug it to the floor. God—his body is so lean and perfectly toned. Sinfully ripped, even. With nothing but lust for him driving me, I want to touch every inch of him.

“Still not saying?”

I laugh breathlessly as he pulls my tank over my head and kisses along the curve of my breasts. “You’re gonna need a scarier threat than this.”

“You should be scared.” He flicks the clasp between my breasts and pushes the cups to the side.

My pussy clenches as he brushes his lips across my nipple in a way that isn’t really a kiss but feels completely like one.

“I’m barely getting started with you.” Now, he closes his mouth over it, and I arch my back into him.

“Nope,” I breathe. “Still not scared.”

He smiles against my skin and trails his mouth down my stomach. I shiver when he kisses just above my panty line, because oh my.

“How about now?” His breath coats my clit through the thin fabric.

I inhale on a huge shudder that trembles my whole body. Tingles everywhere. Heart pounding.

Oh, God. This is so cruel.

He laughs quietly then lifts my hips and grasps my panties. He slides them down my legs torturously slowly, making sure his fingertips trail down the insides of my thighs. Then he teases across my instep, which is kinda tickly, but how can I laugh when I know I am totally exposed to him?

I throw my arm over my eyes, blocking him from my view as his fingers trace paths up my legs and he parts them. I can hardly breathe, and at this rate, I’m going to be a gasping mess before he lays another finger on me.

He rubs his thumb over my clit in a circle, firm enough that my legs jerk and air fills my lungs. He laughs again, and still gently stroking it, he kisses the inside of my thigh. “Your body is your worst enemy, Noelle. You won’t say you’re mine, but look how wet you are for me.”

I don’t have a chance to respond because he replaces his thumb with his mouth, and if this is his way of trying to get the words out of me, he stands no chance. I don’t think I can breathe let alone fucking talk. I don’t think I can think except for about what he’s doing to me, how deftly he’s moving his tongue and teasing me. How his exploration is making me writhe on the sheets and arch my back and tilt my hips closer to him while trying to move away all at the same time because it feels so good.

Holy shit, what is he doing to me?

I know what he’s doing to me, but I don’t. It’s like my nerves have all come to life, sending heat flushing through my body. I’m hot but I’m shivering, and I bite my lip and moan as the tip of Drake’s tongue flicks across my clit with the whisper of release.

But he moves.

I groan in annoyance, automatically bending my legs upward and closing my legs. He laughs, and I hear the clink of a belt followed by whoosh of fabric as it pools on the floor. Then, he deftly hauls me onto my side, making me shriek.

“What are you doing?”

“You ask too many questions.” He taps my ass and lies behind me, grabbing my thigh and lifting my leg.

The end of his cock brushes against me, and I tilt my head back, my stomach tightening in anticipation. When his fingers twine in my hair instead of guide him inside me, I reach down, wrap my fingers around his hard length, and angle my hips so he eases inside me easily.

He grips my hair, pulling my head back so his mouth ghosts over my temple. My eyes flutter shut as he pulls out and thrusts back in, repeating the movement several times, each thrust harder than the last. I’m hypersensitive to everything, from his stubble on my cheek to his fingertips digging into my thigh. The rough smattering of hair on his chest, grazing my back. The twitch of his hand buried in my hair. The jerk of his foot hitting mine.

It’s like last time, except it isn’t. I remember, though, what it’s like to have him deep inside me like he belongs there, what it’s like to have him command my body so expertly that I’m virtually powerless. What it’s like to have him touch me and tug me and fuck me until there’s nothing but stars and blinding heat and utter satiation.

He’s doing it now, our bodies moving together, and I’m reaching back to his neck so I have something to grab. He presses openmouthed kisses to my neck, his breathing harsh and heavy, and I grasp his hand on my leg, too, needing to touch him in every possible place.

He lifts my leg higher, kisses my collarbone a little harder, grips my hair a little tighter, and then there is nothing but bittersweet ecstasy.

He once told me that he can make a fuck punishment as well as pleasurable.

He wasn’t lying.

It’s been half an hour and a—lone—hot shower after, and I can still feel my knees jittering even as I sit at my kitchen table and watch him figure out the coffee machine. I chew on the side of my thumb as I consider what this…is. What it means. Because I still didn’t say what he wanted me to.

Drake places a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. “Latte, cream, and half a sugar.”

I smile as I curve my hands around the mug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He turns and throws out the empty pod, grabbing another from the pot.

I mean, okay. This shouldn’t be confusing. He’s made it clear what he wants, but he’s also made it clear what he doesn’t want, and that’s me working with him. Something which truly is nonnegotiable. I just got a text from Grecia telling me that the contract is already back in the hands of Bond P.I., hand-delivered by one of the mayor’s bitches, complete with a hefty check for me to cash tomorrow.

We don’t work well together, as evidenced by the amount of times we butted heads during Lena’s murder investigation. It was like constantly running into a brick wall only to be swallowed into the center of the brick and spat back out again when you were so angry that it became unbearable.

Which, incidentally, is what led to all the kissing.

Drake takes the seat opposite me, and I look out the window to my backyard. I don’t have the greenest thumb in the world, so it’s restricted to a shed, a dirty patio area devoid of a grill and table set, and overgrown grass.

I really need to call Brody to cut it.

Goddamn, it really shouldn’t be this awkward between me and Drake right now. So we had a highly emotional discussion followed by some highly emotional sex in a very different context, and now, we’re having coffee. That’s what adults do, right? Talk, sex, coffee.

I guess it’s only awkward if they didn’t do the sexing before they finished the talking.

Dear Mom, I forgot how to adult woman right.

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, keeping my eyes off Drake. “So.”

His smirk is still damn well visible to me. “So.”

“So.”

“This ain’t so ping-pong. Spit it out.”

“What do we do now?” I look at him. “Like… What are we? This? Working…and other…stuff.”

“You’re real cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Why do you look like you’re about bolt, then? I gotta say, seein’ you runnin’ down the street in that bathrobe would be somethin’.”

I scowl. “Do you know how hard it is not to insult you right now?”

“If I answer with, ‘As hard as my cock was an hour ago’ do I get a bonus prize?”

“Good grief. You’re really about twelve years old, aren’t you?”

He winks, laughing. I roll my eyes at his easygoing manner. Although I guess it really is easy for him. He’s already flat-out declared that his fine ass is mine.

“Listen.” He leans across the table, his arms bulging from beneath his shirt. “You know where I am, babe. I’ve told you what I want. This is down to you right now. The ball is in your court entirely, but I need to know something. Whether it’s yes or no or a damn maybe—I need to know if you want this even a fraction as much as I do.”

I swallow and pick at my sleeve. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “We don’t work well together, Drake. I don’t want to throw myself into a personal relationship with you if our working one will make it suffer. And right now, we both know that the working one trumps our personal one, doesn’t it? I’m a cop dressed up as a private investigator, because that’ll always be in my blood.”

He reaches across the table, his fingers toying with mine as he lifts my hand. “Then try,” he replies simply, sliding our fingers together. “We can compartmentalize, sweetheart. The work relationship is left there. The personal one is left here.”

“We both know that won’t happen.” Yet here I am, staring at our clasped hands, at his skin, which is tanner than my natural light olive. At his fingers, long and rough, strong as they hold our palms together. “We’re both too…grudgey.”

“Grudgey, huh? Is that another word for stubborn?”

“Shut up.” I look away for a second but smile. Damn him. My eyes find their way back to his, and I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. There are hope and intensity and a glint so fucking bright that I can’t do anything but take a deep breath.

Throwing caution to the wind is risky, but sometimes, it’s the right thing to do.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll try. But I’m warning you now, compartmentalization isn’t my strong suit.”

“I know, and I am completely prepared for you to tear me a new asshole next week for my behavior this morning.”

“Which you still didn’t apologize for, by the way.”

“Nonna invited me to dinner tonight. If I come, does that count?”

Well… “Are we going together? Because if we are, then yes, because she’ll pull out the wedding scrapbook for me she’s had for the last five years and ask your opinions on various things.”

Drake leans forward, his smile lopsided but mischievous. “Can I veto it all?”

“Even the Italian three-course dinner?”

“Even that.”

I purse my lips to the side, but those butterflies are back again, and before I can do a thing, I find myself replying, “Go for it.”

“Liliana!” Mom yells, something slamming down. “One day, you will let me cook dinner for my own children!”

“No! You-a no cook-a!” Nonna fires back. “You-a give-a packet pasta! Packet pasta!”

Oh, God, she’s gone all shrill.

“There’s nothing wrong with packet pasta! You’re a food snob!”

“You cook-a Italiano, you cook-a it right-a!”

I look at Drake. “I feel like my asking this is getting old, but can you shoot me?”

He laughs. “It isn’t that bad.”

I grab the door handle. “Wait.” I push down, open the door, and wince.

“Why I ever agreed to let you live with me, I don’t know! You’re a complete pain in my backside, Liliana!”

“You dis-a-respect-a my food!”

“Oh, I don’t care about your food, just like you refuse to eat Southern meals! Why should I give a crap about yours?”

“Because it-a is-a Italiano!”

“Yeah, well, in the last lasagna you made, the mince was dry!”

Nonna gasps and screams, in Italian of course, “You take that back now!”

“No!” Mom yells, understanding but refusing to speak it.

I lean back against Drake. “Still think it isn’t that bad?”

“Holy shit. Is your family secretly the inspiration behind Jersey Shore?”

“It’s likely,” I admit, stepping into the building.

“Where’s your dad?” Drake asks as they continue to fight, Nonna yelling in rapid Italian and Mom deliberately shouting back with the most Southern accent she can muster.

“In the front room, watching television with my brothers, and pretending he can’t hear them.” I shrug and walk into the front room, where, to my incredible lack of surprise, the situation I just described is reality.

Aria, Trent’s ten-year-old daughter looks up at me. “Nonna’s sayin’ bad words again, Auntie Noelle.”

“Nonna always says bad words, baby,” Trent responds for me. “Ignore her. You know better than to use them.”

“Cazzo!” Silvio, his four-year-old, says. “Cazzo!”

“Cazzo, no!” Trent and I say at the same time.

I’m smart enough to clap my hand over my mouth and look away instantly as Alison sits up.

“Silvio! No. That’s a naughty word.”

He grins sassily. “I like it.”

“It’s bad. Say it again and I’m taking all of your stickers from today.”

He opens his dark eyes, his long lashes only extenuating his shocked gaze. “Sorry, Mama.”

Alison raises her eyebrows.

“Sorry, Daddy,” he adds, looking appropriately ashamed.

Trent’s eyebrows pull together in a guilty look.

Alison leans forward to grab his arm. “Don’t you dare,” she hisses.

“What did I miss?” Brody asks, slamming the door behind him. “Whoa—who let Mom and Nonna out on day release together?”

Dad snorts from his chair in the corner. “Satan got bored.”

“Don’t let Nonna hear you say that,” I tell him. “Last time I mentioned the s-word, she lectured me for fifteen minutes on saying the devil’s name.”

“Did she miss the point where you called her Satan?” Devin asks.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“Antonio, I’m going to kill her!” Mom storms into the living room. “Get that woman out of my kitchen right now!”

Dad focuses on the television, only the twitch of his fingers on his whisky glass giving any indication that he heard her.

“I’m sorry for this,” I mutter back to Drake. “I got this, Mom.”

She looks up, tucking hair behind her ear. “Drake! It’s lovely to see you.”

Just like that, everyone stares at us. Trent glares. Dad grins. Mom beams. Brody smirks. Devin lifts one eyebrow. Alison winks at me.

“I’m really sorry for this,” I say, amending my statement before I grab his forearm and tug him into the hallway.

Nonna is muttering about pasta and sauces and the like in Italian, stirring the spaghetti with far too much vigor. If she isn’t careful, she’s going to take her own eye out with that wooden spoon.

“Hey, Nonna. Look who accepted your invitation for dinner.”

She glances up, fire in her eyes, but it soon dissipates when she sees Drake standing behind me. Now, she looks like I told her that I’m getting married.

“Drake! Is-a lovely to see-a you!” She walks toward him, her arms wide open.

He glances at me in alarm as she wraps her arms around his waist. “Hey, Liliana.” He returns the hug with one arm.

Nonna steps back, and with her dark eyes wide and her lips turned up mischievously, she looks between us. She does it so obviously that it’s deliberate, and I lightly bite my tongue so I don’t snap at her. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’s bugging me already.

I choose to grab a bottle of water from the fridge instead of continue her little eye games.

“So,” she says to us, turning back to her cooking. “You come-a together?”

I choke on my water and thump my fist into my chest. “Excuse me?”

“Dinner. You come-a together?”

Unfortunately, I catch Drake’s eye. He’s grinning at me. Bastard.

“Yes,” he tells Nonna. Double bastard. “We came together.”

“So you-a dating? Noella! You-a dating?” She spins around quickly, the spoon still in her hand. White sauce splatters across the cupboards. “You-a really-a dating?”

“Dating is a strong word,” I hedge, shooting a fuck-you look to Drake over the top of Nonna’s head. “We are…trying not to kill each other every time we see each other.”

“So you-a dating.”

“Not every relationship has to be defined, you know.”

“So you-a admit-a it is-a a relationship?”

“Not all relationships are romantic ones. Some of them really do come with murderous tendencies.” I scowl at her, but it goes right over her head.

“Oh! Noella, you-a dating!” She drops the spoon and shuffles into the front room. “Antonio! Noella is-a dating!”

“You’re dating?” Dad and Trent ask at the same time.

“You’re taking the word of this crazy old woman? I’m already married inside her head!” Seeing her hopeful grin, I point my finger at her. “No. No. Put those wedding bells down, Nonna!”

“You’re dating?” Trent repeats, turning on the sofa so he’s facing us. “Really?”

“No!” I protest.

“We’re apparently tryin’ not to kill each other,” Drake adds. “Which is a good start, I reckon.”

“Well, if that’s what you’re callin’ it,” Mom sighs, “then no wonder she thinks you’re dating. Her whole marriage was spent trying not to kill Nonno.”

“She’s crazy,” I tell her. “Look at her. She can’t walk to the car without her cane, but she’s dancing—why is she dancing? Dad, make her stop dancing. That ain’t right.”

Nonna cackles and walks between me and Drake, humming the wedding march.

Devin looks at me sympathetically. “If you ever get married, you know you need to elope, right? Because she wasn’t even that happy when I proposed to Amelia.”

“Dev, if I ever get married, I’m eloping and I’m damn well staying there.” I snort, perching on the arm of the chair next to Trent.

“Oh, no. I’m still mad at you,” he says, shoving at me.

“Trent, get over it,” Alison sighs.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were workin’ with us?” He looks up at me.

I shrug. “Because you’d have staged an intervention. Think about it this way though—I won’t have to bug you for information because I’ll have access to it. So that’s a plus.”

He holds my gaze for a moment. “Yeah, I’m sold.”

I bat at his arm.

“How did it even happen?” Brody asks, leaning forward to see me.

I explain everything from the phone call to—

“You went for the free food,” he surmises.

I shrug again. “I was hungry.”

“What did he say to you?” Drake asks.

“He did the usual. I might have been too hungry to remain completely polite, but he said something odd when I left.”

Dad stills, but his eyes slide to me. “Odd? Odd how?”

“He told me that whoever killed Natalie needed to be found as quickly as possible but without much investigation. He said there are things about her that I won’t like. Secrets and stuff.”

“What kinds?”

“Well, if he told me, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?”

“How does the mayor know her so intimately?” Alison questions. “Isn’t that odd?”

“No.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “She was best friends with his daughter forever.”

“It’s more than that,” Drake inputs. “I did some research earlier, and it turns out that Mayor McDougall has been grooming Madison to eventually take over as mayor—or at least the mayor’s wife.”

And after he made that bullshit sexist comment to me, too. I guess the good mayor believes that his daughter is a class above the rest of the women in the world, huh?

What a pig.

“But,” he adds, “he was also teaching Natalie the same thing. I checked the council’s employment roster, and she’s on it.”

“Huh.” Brody scratches at his chin. “I didn’t think she’d ever stepped foot in the building.”

“Me either.”

I frown, looking down. What could she have possibly done for the mayor that would mean she didn’t have to go into the town hall building?

“Maybe she did online stuff she could do at home?” I suggest. “Like social media management or something?”

Drake snorts. “I don’t think the mayor knows what social media is, Noelle.”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with another idea.”