Текст книги "Tethered Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Huh.” I tap my fingers again the counter. “Did he say his name?”

“Alex… What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” I hold my hands up and step back. “Nothing.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Trent groans. “What are you doing here?”

I turn to face him. “I’m working. I’m drawing up similarities between the victims and wanted to see if you had anything about Tracey yet. Or maybe Lilly?”

“All right.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ll bite. Sheriff Bates just got off the phone with Austin PD. Lilly Paul turned up at school this morning like nothing happened, so she’s alive and safe.”

“Phew. And Tracey?”

“Nothing yet. Tim just started the autopsy. We do have a little evidence we didn’t before though.”

“Oh yeah?”

He waves me over, but Drake’s door opens and he looks out. His eyes scan the floor before they come to rest on me, hardening instantly. They go from ice to diamond in a split second.

“You. In here.”

“Er…I’m good out here, thanks.”

“Noelle.” That was a growl.

“I guess I can come in for a minute…” I pause as his eyes narrow. “Or a few. Yep. A few it is.”

I shuffle across the floor to the sound of my brother’s quiet chuckles, not missing the tension that zings between me and Drake. It’s tight and palpable, and honestly, I’m a little scared of it. Not of him—of it. Of the intensity of the feelings being passed between us. I stop right in front of him, and his eyes soften the barest amount before he steps to the side so I can move into his office.

Alex is sitting in one of the chairs. “Your friend should know she’s not the stealthiest driver in the world.”

Oh God. My cheeks flame. “Yeah, her new SUV isn’t exactly made for undercover operations. Sorry. Like… Really, really sorry.”

He grins. “Don’t worry.”

I narrow my eyes. “Wait—you’re not mad?” I glance at Drake but quickly change my mind. Oy, he’s mad.

“No.” Alex laughs. “I knew you were wary of me from the moment we met. I guess I tried to be friendly, but I just freaked you out more.” He shrugs, his lips dropping into a smirk. “You were right to be wary.”

Um, what? “I’m really confused right now.”

“Promise you won’t be mad? At anyone?”

“I’m a woman. I’ll never promise something that easy to break.”

“Fair point.” He inclines his head to me then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing his fingertips together. With his black eyes fixed on me, he takes a deep breath. “My name isn’t Alex. I don’t travel the world for six months in search of various religious memorabilia.” He reaches up and tugs on some of the black hair.

I gasp as it falls away, revealing light brown-blonde hair cut short.

“I don’t have dark hair, and these?” He points to his eyes. “They’re contacts. I’m not a traveler.”

“Then what and who the hell are you?” It comes out kind of like a shriek.

“My name is Jason Walters,” he says, the accent now dropped and the faint hint of a Midwest one filtering through. “I’m undercover with the FBI—but I really do have family in Sicily.”

“What the hell?!” I step back and look between him and Drake.

Drake still hasn’t moved, but Alex looks apologetic.

“Can you give me two minutes to explain?” Alex—Jason—asks.

“Two minutes,” I agree, holding two fingers up. “Starting right now.”

“This isn’t the first of these crimes. You just haven’t heard of them because no town wants it getting out that there are Satanists amongst them. Every string of murders has been in a town with a high population of Catholics and always where this particular group of travelers has been. I’ve been with them for six months. This is my third rodeo with the killings, but I’m no closer to finding out who’s responsible than I was when I joined them.” He sighs and rubs his hand over his lips. “It’s the same old story every time. The runes, the killings, the women… There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to them other than religion.”

Now, it makes sense why he knows so much about religion. “What do you mean this isn’t the first instance? Why haven’t we been told?”

“We have,” Drake grinds out. “We have the old case files on their way to us right now.”

“And you weren’t going to tell me,” I say quietly, looking between him and Alex. Jason. Whoever the fuck he is. He could be Big fucking Bird for all it really matters. “You weren’t, were you? You were going to let me work with you, within your department, on a case that potentially puts me and every single woman I know in danger, and you weren’t even going to give me all the facts and details, were you?”

Neither of them speaks. Alex/Jason is staring at his feet, and Drake is looking at the wall just as stonily as he was before.

“Were you?!” I repeat, my voice getting louder.

His head jerks. Just a tiny bit. But enough to confirm that he wasn’t.

I stop in front of him and stare at him. I’m still not in heels, so I have to tilt my head right back to even get a look in at his eyes, but my stare is obviously powerful enough to bother him, because his top teeth bite down on his bottom lip.

“Unreal. I don’t believe you! All of your crap this morning about protecting me. Well, thanks a lot, Detective. Thanks for giving me even half a fucking shot at protecting myself.”

He finally breaks, his hand reaching toward me. “Noelle—”

I back up, holding my arms out. “No. Don’t even… Don’t bother. I can’t even speak to you right now.” I yank his office door open and almost slam into my brother. “And you? Did you know?” I jerk my head toward Alex/Jason.

Trent’s lips turn down, and his nod is tiny.

“Am I the only one who didn’t?” I ask all three of them.

I don’t get an answer.

I don’t need an answer.

All of this information. All of this critical fucking information no one bothered to tell me—not least that I’ve been following a fucking FBI agent this morning.

“Screw you all,” I whisper, shoving past Trent. “I quit. Y’all assholes can do this shit yourself. I’m out.”

Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes as the betrayal hits, and I furiously wipe at my cheek as one escapes. I storm out onto the sidewalk and stop as the sun hits my face. If I’d hoped that the fresh air caressing my skin would make it better, I was wrong. I don’t know what I just hoped. I just know that, the last few days, I’ve been completely lied to.

While we were all at family dinner. While I was being told to keep safe. While I was cooking Drake dinner. While I was concerned about him and not sleeping—he was keeping this secret from me.

I won’t lie. I feel sick.

I thought I was a part of their team in a roundabout way.

I guess I was wrong.

So wrong.

“They know how fucked up that is, right?” Bek asks, swinging her legs into my bed and pulling the covers over.

We decided that a bottle of wine, pizza, and Netflix were the keys to tonight. After, of course, I cleared my house and office of every single file or piece of information on the case and locked every last bit into my home office. I really don’t care if that’s childish—I needed to get rid of my anger somehow, and that was the way that worked. The shoving of files and books and sheets of paper into a box was the release of annoyance I craved.

I told her everything. Of course I did. Have you ever tried to hide your tears from your best friend? No—because you can’t. It doesn’t matter if you’re fourteen and just been turned down by your first crush or you’re twenty-eight and just got brutally betrayed by people you thought you could trust with your life.

Okay. Maybe “brutally betrayed” is an exaggeration. “Seriously slighted” is perhaps a better explanation, although it seems somewhat of a contradiction.

“Yep,” I answer Bek, using my remote to scroll through the TV shows.

I’ve been fighting with myself all day. Are they really wrong—Drake and Trent and everyone? Am I overreacting?

I’ve come to the conclusion that, yes, they are wrong and, no, I’m not overreacting. I have every right to be angry with them for what they kept from me. Especially Drake and the conversation we had yesterday. He knew I wasn’t comfortable around Alex and he never thought to tell me or to clue me in at any point.

Bek takes the remote out of my hand and presses the power button. “Come on. It’s almost ten. We’ve already watched half a season of Empire. Let’s get some sleep before work tomorrow. I have an early appointment.”

I nod and wordlessly put my phone on my nightstand. I peek inside the drawer to make sure my favorite Tiffany-blue Glock is sitting pretty. Then I close it, shut the light off, and snuggle under the covers.

So my best friend isn’t much of a snuggler, but at least she doesn’t snore.

A foot smacking into mine jolts me awake.

“What—”

A hand slaps across my mouth, and the dim light of a phone illuminates Bek’s face. “Downstairs,” she breathes. “I heard something.”

Fear turns my veins ice cold.

“Maybe it’s a raccoon,” I say into her hand.

“That opened your back door?” she hisses.

All right. That’d be one smart raccoon.

A creak of a stair freezes us both.

Fuck ice cold. My veins are frozen. They’re fucking icebergs. I’m a fucking iceberg. I grab Bek’s hand from my mouth and squeeze her fingers.

“Drake?” she mouths.

I shake my head then lower her phone, glancing at the time before the screen hits the bed. Four a.m. She presses the side button that turns the light off, and in the pitch black of my bedroom, I slowly lean to the side. The low murmur of voices travels up the stairs. Male… Something recognizable but not at the same time.

I shut my eyes and squeeze them tight, willing the fear away. There’s someone in my house right now. Someone who does, undoubtedly, mean either me or Bek or both of us serious harm.

Usually, I’d look. Usually, I’d grab my gun, fearlessly run out there in my pajamas , and face them down. Tonight? Now? Not so much. I don’t feel fearless. I feel terrified. I can barely move thanks to the horrible apprehension pounding through my veins.

Holy shit.

My gun.

I inch the nightstand drawer open as one of the intruders shushes the other. It squeaks, and I wince, but the only sound is a footstep getting farther up the stairs. My fingers grapple with thin air when my hand reaches inside the drawer. It seems like I draw fucked-up scratches across the wood before I finally touch my fingertips to the handle of the gun and grasp it tight.

“Get under the sheets. Now,” I order Bek.

The footsteps are getting louder.

Fuck.

Bek tugs the covers up, and I hold it over my head, leaving just enough so that I can see. Another creak—one that sounds suspiciously close to the top of the stairs.

Fuck. Fuck, holy shit. Oh my God. My hand is shaking.

It’s now or never.

Aiming my gun, I cover the trigger with my finger and pull it.

I know that my bullet hits its target with the sound of smashing glass. My bedroom window has just exploded, likely sending shards of glass across the room, but hey. A girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Loud, hurried footsteps thunder downstairs, and for my own sick pleasure, I pull the trigger again. Yells of, “Fuck!” and “Hurry! Faster!” fill the air of my house, and I know I know the voice. Except I don’t at the same time.

“Yes, hello?” Bek’s voice trembles, and when I look at her, I see the phone pressed to her ear. “We need you. At Noelle’s. Like five minutes ago.”

I sit up, put my gun on my legs, and turn my light on. The window didn’t smash as far as I thought. If we both get out on her side, then we’ll avoid the shattered glass.

Bek’s teeth chatter, so I uncover her and take her phone. I glance at the phone before I speak.

Brody.

“Bek? Hello?” he asks frantically.

“Brodes,” I say. “I just got broken into. Two guys. Bek stayed with me tonight.”

“Fuck!” There’s a huge thud at his end. “Are y’all all right?”

“We’re fine. I shot out my bedroom window to scare them and they ran.”

“Don’t move.”

“Bek’s in shock. We might need a paramedic.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Stay where you are, yeah? We’ll be with you in minutes.”

I nod.

“Noelle. You hear me?”

“Yes. I’m okay. Just get here, will you?” I take a deep breath. “Brody?”

“What?” A door slams.

“Call Drake, okay?”

“He was my first. Going now. Don’t move.”

The line goes dead.

Bek is breathing heavily next to me.

I turn to her. “Bek, lie down,” I tell her, moving to bend her knees up.

She does as I said and breathes in deeply. I climb over her and carefully tiptoe across my bedroom floor toward the light switch. I miss a shard of glass at the last minute and flick the switch.

The light dances off hundreds of glass slices across my carpet. Fuck, that’s gonna take a serious vacuuming session to clean all of that up.

“Holy shit,” Bek breathes, rolling to her side. “Why aren’t you panicking?” Her teeth are still chattering.

“Adrenaline,” I answer softly, padding back to her. I tuck the covers around her. “The police are on their way. Stay here, okay?” I grab my gun from my side of the bed and head for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To see the damage.” I turn the landing light on, my gun held in front of me although I know that the intruders have already left.

Should have shot through the fucking door. Better yet—should have waited until they came into the room. Chances are, I’d have hit one of them.

Slowly, I take the steps down the stairs. The third-to-top one creaks, the one straight across from my bedroom door, and it hits me right now just how close they came to us.

Shit.

Right here.

If Bek hadn’t woken up…

I shudder. I refuse to think about it. I don’t want to think about what could be happening to us right now. It doesn’t bear thinking about. It’s too horrifying.

I take a deep breath and steel myself for the rest of the steps. I slowly take them one by one and lament my choice to shoot at my window. I don’t think my homeowners insurance covers shooting your own window out.

Fuck. I really need to pay more attention to the terms and conditions on that thing.

My back door is wide open, and a chill runs down my spine. Holy shit. There really was someone in my house. Again. Why is there always someone breaking into my house? Jesus. Fuck. Christ.

I think the panic is setting in. No. I know it is. I can feel the reality of it winding around me like a boa constrictor.

I set my gun on my kitchen table and grasp the edge of the table. I breathe in several times, each breath long and deep and supposedly centering. It doesn’t feel like it’s working. It feels like the panic is creeping over my skin inch by inch and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s like a parasite eating away at me as I realize we could have died.

My front door flies open. One figure charges toward me while another shadow heads for the alarm. I scream, backing up, my heart thundering against my ribcage.

“Noelle!” Drake says roughly, slamming the kitchen light on. Light fills the air, and he stops, his hands out in front of me. “It’s me.”

“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” I wheeze, holding my chest. My whole body feels like jelly.

“Are you—fuck. Fuck this.” He storms toward me once more, this time not stopping until I’m enveloped in his strong arms and my face is pressed against his chest. He lets a breath out with a shudder, squeezing me tighter.

My alarm silences, and my knees buckle.

He keeps me upright. I shake in his embrace, his touch the thing I never wanted because it grounds me, yet it’s everything I craved because it has the power to keep me safe. And safety is all I want right now.

“Where’s Bek?” he says into my hair.

“My room,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “God, Bek—” I pull away, but Drake stops me.

“I’ve got her,” Brody assures me. “So does the paramedic.” Footsteps going up are far more reassuring than his words.

Drake’s arms tighten even further around me, and I breathe him in. Right now, it’s so easy to forget that I’m mad at him.

Until now.

I push away from him and cover my face with my hands.

“Noelle,” he says softly.

“No,” I reply shakily. “I’m mad at you, Drake. I’m so fucking mad at you.”

“I know. But, right now, you need me, too.”

I meet his eyes. Icy blue. Concerned. Gorgeous. Warm. Spitting fear and anger and hopelessness and frustration.

He’s right.

I hate that.

God, I fucking hate it.

Still, I allow him to take me in his arms once again and hold me until the police are swarming my house for the second time this year and my heart is no longer doing the two-step on speed.

I give my statement. Bek does, too, in a separate part of the house. When they’re done collecting them, the front door opens once more and Sheriff Bates comes bundling into my hallway.

“All right, boys. What’s going on here? I have one hysterical ex–Detective Bond on the phone and one hysterical current Officer Bond real put out that he wasn’t called to the party. Is Agent Jason Walters here?” He looks around, and I realize his shirt is on inside out.

I touch my fingertips to my lips as his eyes focus on us.

“Put her down, Nash. She isn’t a damn teddy bear.”

I’m sure Drake’s eyes could spit fire, but he loosens his grip on me all the same.

“Jason isn’t here,” he says. “I wasn’t sure whether or not to call him.”

Sheriff Bates looks at me. “Two of them?”

I nod.

“Male?”

I nod.

“Coming to your bedroom?”

I nod for a third time.

“What are y’all waiting for? The apocalypse? Call Jason Walters!” he bellows. “Are we looking for DNA or are we cuddling, Detective Nash? If we’re cuddling, can someone make me a coffee and get me a blanket? It’s four thirty in the dang morning. Let’s act more like police and less like sissies.”

Despite myself, I laugh.

His joking is a welcome reprieve from the heaviness settling over my house.

“Noelle, darlin’,” he says, turning. “You gotta think about moving.”

I nod. “I know.” I shiver.

Drake sets me on a chair. “I’ll make coffee,” he says, releasing me finally and moving to the machine.

“Guilty?” Sheriff Bates nods his head toward him, whispering to me not so quietly.

I shrug, hooking my feet on the chair and hugging my knees to my chest. “Do you know how Bek is?”

“You mean you didn’t stay with—never mind. Of course you came down to investigate. Too much like your damn father you are, girl.”

My lips smile although there’s no happiness inside me. “He taught me well.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees, his eyes finding my gun on the table. “Where’s the other one?”

“One beneath the coffee table and the other under the seat in my car,” I say without missing a beat. “How’s Bek?”

He looks over his shoulder. “She’s fine. Nash! Where’s that coffee?”

“Here.” Drake hands me a mug, but Sheriff Bates scoops it up and delivers it to Bek in the front room.

“Back to the machine, Nash.” He chuckles, turning. “Do we have anyone on DNA here?”

“Noella!”

Oh, Jesus, no.

I grab Sheriff Bates’s arm. “Please no. This is a crime scene, right? Get the crazy, old bat out of here!”

“Brody!” Sheriff Bates hollers. “Please see to your cr—grandmother!”

Nice save there.

I also appreciate his delegation tactics. I wouldn’t deal with Nonna if I didn’t have to, especially not in this mood. I can hear it now. Brody is desperately trying to placate her, even speaking in Italian.

The last time he spoke Italian was when he was trying to seduce some chick while visiting her grandparents in Austin for his friend’s bachelor party.

A few furious words are exchanged in Italian, and I just about hear Nonna agreeing to go home and come back in a few hours.

Note to self: Do not be here in a few hours. Preferably be on another planet. In another solar system.

“Detective Nash?” Detective Johnson’s voice comes through my back door. “Oh, Sheriff, sir. We’ve got another footprint.”

I get up and move at the same time Drake and Sheriff Bates do. One ignores me and the other shoots me a glare.

Five bucks if you guess who did what.

“It seems to resemble the one found at the site of Tracey Young’s murder,” Johnson explains.

“Another!” Peters’s voice cries out. He shines a flashlight at the print. “It’s different that that one.”

“Excellent work, boys!” Sheriff Bates bellows. “Get forensics to cast these and send them to the lab for analysis. This is the best evidence we have so far.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “You get inside. You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” I argue, although I know he’s right. I can feel the tremble of my hands as the adrenaline slowly leaves my bloodstream, and I’m freezing. Wrapping my arms around my body, I frantically rub my hands against my forearms, but the actions are futile. I know that. I just want so desperately not to focus on what just happened—and what could have happened.

I lower myself onto the chair I just vacated and curl my fingers around the steaming mug on the table. It seeps through my skin and warms me in place of the dulling adrenaline.

My house was broken into.

Again.

And not because of information I may have.

But because they wanted to kill me.

Oh. My. God.