Текст книги "Tethered Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“I didn’t kill her,” he says yet again.

“Then you saw who did. Because someone entered her apartment once you’d left, didn’t they? If you didn’t kill her, you saw who did. Who are you protecting, Alistair?”

“I’m not protecting anyone. I didn’t see anyone.” He wipes his upper lip with the back of his hand.

“So Detective Nash should arrest you for the murder of Dina White, correct? If you’re not hiding anything, then you did it, didn’t you? You killed her in a violent fit of rage and stabbed her in the chest thirteen times.”

He pales. “I didn’t do it. I swear.”

I lean forward. “Then who did?”

His jaw twitches as it tightens, and he rolls his shoulders. I can almost see his battle—does he give up what he obviously knows to save himself or not?

He doesn’t strike me as completely stupid. He should know we have enough evidence to implicate him in her murder. At least, until he comes to his senses and admits otherwise.

’Cause you know what? I don’t think he did kill her. But he doesn’t know that.

“All right. So we’re not saying a word, hmm?” I lift my eyebrows in question once more. “Or do you need a little time in a room of your own with a pretty, locked door and barred windows to be honest? Right now, I see no reason to not arrest you.”

He’s trembling.

“I’m done here.” I stand and hold my hand to Mr. Goldberg. “Always a pleasure, Samuel.” I smile and turn away from the table.

“Eddie Roy,” Alistair says. “When I got back to my trailer, I saw him and Jackson leave theirs. They were fighting about something and left pretty quickly. They came back an hour later and Eddie was wearing a different shirt.”

I stop, a chill running down my spine, and look over my shoulder at him. “Thank you. Let’s lead out with the truth next time, shall we?”

He nods and looks down.

With that, I walk out of the interview room and back into the viewing room.

Jason turns to me with a giant grin on his face. “I can’t decide if that was terrifying or not. And you are one hell of a bluffer, you know that?”

I shrug and bend over to pull my heels off. “I figured it wasn’t a huge jump to assume he’d had sex with Dina the day she died. As soon as I mentioned that, he started to squeal like a choked piglet. And, as for the scenario, well, I like stories.” I smile sweetly.

“Interesting about Eddie,” he notes, looking back into the room, where Drake is finishing up the interview. “Although he adopted Jackson, I never thought they were particularly close. In fact, they’ve always had a somewhat volatile relationship. I wasn’t surprised to find out that Dina was Jackson’s birth mom and that their relationship is kind of close. From what I’ve learned, Jackson is a loner… Like Alistair, I guess.”

“Funny. That they both gravitated to the same woman.” I lean against the table and nibble the corner of my thumb. “I was so certain that Dina’s murder was related to the others, but now, I don’t know. Eddie Roy just doesn’t seem like a killer.”

“You’d be surprised.” Jason reaches up and tugs his wig off. “Fucking thing is itchy as hell.”

“I can imagine. What’s that about Eddie Roy?”

Jason scratches the side of his neck. “I’m pretty sure he has a record. I’m not sure where or for what, but most of the younger guys are terrified of him. And I mean terrified as fuck. I’ve seen a couple of people cower before him when he’s been mad. He pretty much runs the traveler’s camp.”

“Why didn’t you find this out? You have a national damn database at the click of your fingers.”

He looks sheepish. “I didn’t have a real reason. I needed some evidence.”

“Why didn’t you say this before?”

“Because, until today, he was just an asshole in charge,” Jason replies. “I’m in this to find the killer as much as you are, Noelle. You all have found more out in nine days than I have in months of living with them and going through this twice already.”

“Doesn’t it stand to reason that, if Eddie is in charge, then he knows who’s doing what at all times?”

“Not necessarily. This bunch… They’re not all family. And, now, it makes sense. A lot of the kids are adopted in and then the family joins the group. They function very strangely. It’s partially why it’s been hard for me—I’m the only single guy in his thirties. They all marry young.”

“Do you think that’s why they adopt? To keep the kids…well, not incestuous?”

“I’m not sure. But, whatever it is, I think you’re right. I think it all boils down to the way the group functions.”

“So we just get under their skin and ask a bunch of questions.”

We’re so close—I can feel it. We have real suspects based on more than just a whimsical idea now. The answers are right there, one or two questions away.

“They might not all be family, but they won’t snitch,” Jason sighs, rubbing his hand over his chin. “That’s why Alistair was so reluctant to tell you that until you threatened him with jail. They’re still a unit and will protect each other. I was surprised he even told you that.”

“I guess he’s more scared of jail than he is of Eddie Roy.” I shrug a shoulder.

The door opens and Drake comes into the room. He drops onto one of the chairs with a thud and runs his hand through his hair. The shuddery breath he lets out fills the room with the echo of the frustration he expels through it.

“I’m startin’ to think we’re gonna go around and around until we’re dizzy tryna find who’s runnin’ around killin’ people,” he mutters, pressing his face into his hands. “I’m keeping Alistair overnight. He agreed to a semen sample for us to test against Dina’s body.” He glances at me. “Nice bluff, by the way.”

I smile. “He admitted they had sex, so we’re gonna find it.”

Jason taps two fingers against his knee. “Test it against the samples pulled from the victims. If it doesn’t match, it rules him out at least.”

“Good thinking. I’ll add that to the notes when I get the sample.” He rubs at his eyes. “Now, to go find Eddie Roy.”

“I have to head back and relieve Ginger. She’s looking after the stall—I’ll find him and call you. That way, you don’t waste time,” Jason offers, standing up.

Drake nods slowly. “All right. Thanks, man.”

“No problem. See ya, Noelle.”

I wave at him then glance at the clock on the wall. Five thirty. “Maybe we should get dinner before we do anything else.”

He shakes his head. “I wanna get this sample and get it to the lab.”

“Fine, but by the time I get food and it arrives, you’ll be done.”

He sighs. “I dunno, Noelle. I can eat later. I wanna keep going while this is fresh in my mind.” He gets up and walks out of the door.

Oh, hell no. That man is eating, and I will handcuff him to a chair and feed him with a baby spoon if I have to. Neither of us has eaten since cupcakes.

I grab my purse and heels and follow him, naturally barefoot. Why not? Shoes are overrated. I follow him into his office and kick his door shut. He turns when it slams.

“We’re not fighting,” I tell him. “So don’t you even try to argue with me, Drake Nash. You need to eat or you’re going to pass out where you’re standing. Jason is finding Eddie. I’m sure you can spare ten minutes after doing what you need to do right now to eat something.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I hold my hand up and cut him off.

“I told you we’re not fighting. I’m tellin’ you you’re gonna eat, and you’re damn well gonna eat.” I wiggle my finger at him. “Comprende?”

Drake pauses, shrugs, then smiles. “Comprende. What are you feeding me, then, woman? It better be good.”

I grin and slip my shoes on. “Trust me.”

Thank God my car is still outside the station.

I walk out of the station, digging for my keys in my purse. I find them, get into my car, start it, and turn for my parents’ house.

One of the perks of being in an Italian family is that there’s no such thing as too much food. Nonna doesn’t care if she’s cooking for three people or for the whole family—she uses the same size pot and makes the same amount of food. I have several Tupperware containers full of sauces and dishes because she can’t bear to throw it out.

She’ll be all too happy to hand me over several containers of yummy food to feed everyone working their asses off on this case. In fact, it’ll be hard to stop her from coming with me, but I think I’ll be able to manage it.

Devin’s truck is in the driveway when I arrive, so I pull up behind him. My car beeps when I lock it, and I knock lightly on the door to announce myself before walking in.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Noella!” Nonna cries.

“Hot wench!” Gio screams.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus. “What’s Gio—ah.” I walk into the front room and spy a couple of scrapbooks and wedding magazines laid out on the coffee table in front of Nonna, Dev, and Amelia.

Didn’t take long for them to get fed up of Gio.

“Please tell your boyfriend he needs to sleep with one eye open,” Dev hisses.

I grin. “You’re setting a date, then.”

“Next-a January!” Nonna claps her hands. “We have-a come-a to an-a agree-a-ment.”

Amelia grimaces.

“Good for you, Nonna. I have a favor to ask.”

“Ask-a away!”

Oh, crap. She’s in a great mood.

“Do you have enough food for me to take some to the station? They’re working real hard and don’t have much time to—”

“Say-a no-a more!” She gets up quicker than a woman her age should. “Come-a.” She waves to me and scuttles into the kitchen. “I was-a making some-a to keep-a. You-a have-a it.” She waves her arms.

“It smells amazing in here,” I whisper. Am I drooling? I feel like I’m drooling. I wipe at my chin just in case.

Nonna bends over and pulls several large Tupperware containers from the cupboard. She lines them up on the kitchen counter and pulls the lids off. Then she turns her attention to filling them. After draining the spaghetti, she fills two full of her homemade strands of carb goodness. Another huge tub is filled with marinara-coated meatballs, and another is piled with her breaded parmesan chicken.

Now, I know I’m drooling.

She replaces the lids on every single tub and then goes back to the cupboard. I smile as she pulls out a pile of paper plates and a packet of plastic cutlery.

“Nonna, I had no idea you kept all those things,” I say in awe, watching as she assembles it expertly.

Once upon a time, when Nonno was in charge of the Holly Woods Police Department, this was a weekly thing. The guys he worked with when he was sheriff are probably the best fed in American police history.

Nonna shrugs and hands me a big bag. “Once-a a cop-a wife, always a cop-a wife.”

I take the bag from her and pause for a second. She smiles widely, the corners of her eyes crinkling as the warm, brown gaze that’s so familiar sparkles with happiness. This woman—she’s as mad as a box full of frogs. She’s insufferably persistent and stubborn, but I truly believe that, if everyone loved someone as fiercely as Nonna loves everyone, this world would be a much brighter place.

“Hey, Nonna?” I say softly, setting the bag down.

“Si?”

“Ti amo.” I kiss her weathered cheek, letting my lips linger there for a second.

“Ti amo, Noella,” she replies, hugging me tight. “Now, go-a feed-a those-a men! No Italiano woman lets-a her-a man be-a hungry.” She sharply claps her hands and shoves the bag back at me. “Go-a.”

“Got it. Feed man.” I wink and head out of the door.

I buckle the bag into my passenger’s seat to keep it upright once I’m in my car and start the engine. I make the drive across town in only a few minutes and pull up outside the station. I’m parked next to Drake’s truck.

A smile plays with my lips. I think I’m about to make several men very happy—and I don’t even have to be naked to do so. How about that?

After grabbing the bag, I hold it close to my body and make my way inside. I bump the door open with my hip and grab it before it swings back on me.

Charlotte stands up and drops her eyes to the bag. “Uhh, I smell food. Good food.”

I guess the officers aren’t the only ones working overtime.

“Did someone say, ‘food’?” Trent pops his head out of his office.

Even Sheriff Bates appears from his behind the reception desk. “That ain’t any food.” He sniffs and comes over to me. “That’s Italian food. She didn’t?”

I smile. “Yes, sir. You should know she’s always got enough to feed this department. She couldn’t pack it up quick enough. It’s still hot.” I set it on the counter and pull the plates and cutlery out.

“Oh, God. It’s just like when your grandfather was alive!”

I laugh. “Something about always being a cop’s wife.”

“Are you back already?” Drake asks, coming out of his office. “Why can I smell marinara sauce?”

“Because”—I pull the big carton of meatballs in the sauce out of the bag—“I raided Nonna’s kitchen. This should feed y’all.”

Drake moves faster than I’ve ever seen and grabs the tub. “Don’t count on it.”

Trent nods in agreement. “Better call her. Get her to cook more.”

“Jesus—she’s gonna pass out in excitement! Can’t you call her?”

“No. I’m hungry. You do it.”

“I’m hungry too.”

“Shut up,” Drake mutters. “Just eat.” He shoves a plate with spaghetti and meatballs on it at me. “Call her after. They can wait. We were here first.”

I take the plate and watch openmouthed as the sheriff of the Holly Woods Police Department and his two leading homicide detectives delve into the containers and pile their plates full with food.

Sheriff Bates wipes some sauce from the corner of his mouth and groans happily. Charlotte giggles from behind the counter.

“I never thought I’d say this, ever,” he says, looking at me, “but thank the Lord for Liliana Bond.”

Trent grunts his agreement. “Woman’s batshit crazy, but when she cooks like this…”

I bite into my meatball, grinning.

Drake levels me with a look. “Time to up your cooking game, Bond. I know you don’t make fresh meatballs because yours ain’t this good.”

I mock-gasp.

“And she buys the sauce,” Trent says around his spaghetti.

“I can make the sauce. I just choose not to,” I argue.

Drake nods. “Start making it. Blame Nonna. I’m gonna start getting picky.”

I grab a meatball from my plate and throw it at him. It hits him square on the cheek, leaving a trail of marinara sauce. It drips onto the collar of his shirt.

I freeze.

Oopsie.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Brody comes barreling out of his office at the other end of the station.

“I smell Nonna’s cooking!”

“Did someone say, ‘Nonna’s cooking’?” Detective Johnson appears from his doorway. “There’s only one Nonna in Holly Woo—oh shit, are those homemade meatballs?”

“Someone say, ‘homemade meatballs’?” someone else asks.

“I haven’t had meatballs in ages,” another officer says. “How much is there?”

I pull my phone from my purse and hold it up, grinning at Drake. “Better call Nonna for more meatballs.”

“I’m gonna pay you back for that,” he warns me, flicking a bit of tomato in my direction.

I sidestep the flying, red missile and give him my “I’m cute and you can’t resist this smile” smile. “I know.”

I stare at the ceiling. Drake’s ceiling is boring. It’s not all swirly like mine is. It’s just flat and plain and, well, boring.

I like my swirly ceiling. I miss my swirly ceiling.

I sigh into the quietness of the room. The rising sun is shooting bright-orange embers of light through the gap in the curtains Drake always leaves, painting one of his walls in fiery shades. I love his house, and I love sleeping over here, but I also like knowing I can go to my own house the next night. It’s now been several nights since I’ve slept at home, and despite the fact that my window has been repaired—and put a pretty dent into my savings account—I’m honoring my agreement with him.

I don’t have the energy for another fight about where I sleep. If I’ve learned anything since we started dating, it’s that compromise is real important. Sometimes in a relationship, you have to pick which battles you fight and which ones you lose. This is one, after a fight, I ultimately chose to lose.

It was always going to happen. It needed to happen. I honestly believe we needed that explosive, emotional discussion. So many things were laid out, like my past—something I never thought I’d share with anyone. Let alone Detective Drake Nash.

And our feelings.

I can still hear the echo of his words in my mind. I can still feel the simultaneous panic and delight I felt when he told me that he loves me.

Let’s be real: I’m not easy to love. I’m stubborn and hardheaded and downright infuriating a lot of the time. I know that. It’s who I am. It’s who I’ve been raised to be. Strong, independent, and fierce. I believe that’s the way all little girls should be raised. It’s far easier to let someone protect you than it is to learn to protect yourself, after all.

Despite that, he loves me. God only knows why. I think he spends far more time exasperated at my antics than he does anything else, but I’ll take it, because I’m so sure that I love the hell out of him. And hey, he’s also stubborn and hardheaded and fucking infuriating. Maybe that’s why we work. We’re cut from the same cloth yet so different at the same time.

I like it this way. The fights keep things interesting.

I smile into the silence. Funny how things change. Three months ago, I wanted to kill him. Not that I’m saying I don’t still, but now, it’s kind of sometimes instead of all the time. It’s easier to manage that way, I think.

The sex helps with that. For sure. Sex is great for repressing murderous thoughts.

If you were wondering. Probably weren’t.

Jesus, and I say Nonna is as mad as a box full of frogs. I’m hardly better. I probably get it from her.

I roll onto my side and look at the clock. After we were all fed yesterday, we made several leaps in our investigation. Well, we took several steps toward the leaps, so it’s kind of the same thing. We managed to get ahold of Annabelle Porter’s roommate, and she’s coming to see me at my office so I can ask her a couple of things. If Alistair recognized her, I’m hoping she was known to a few of the guys at the fair—by all accounts, from her photos, she’s a pretty girl—so she may have been seen with her killer. Her roommate was with her just half an hour before she died, so here’s hoping I pick up on something that was missed the first time around.

If I’ve learned anything about questioning people, it’s that shock and grief can and do influence answers. It can distort your memories and make you forget things you know you should remember.

I hope Annabelle Porter’s roommate remembers something that can help us narrow this down.

We should also get DNA back for Dina White. Judge Barnes should be providing search warrants for both Jackson’s and Alistair’s trailers, and while he’s there searching, Drake will question Eddie Roy. If he can be found.

He was conveniently missing yesterday evening. Not that I’m saying he’s a killer, but it’s all too suspicious for my liking.

The worst part about this whole case is that everything seems to be lining up for Dina White’s murder and not the others. They’re still unsolved, and I don’t feel like we’re any closer.

If we are real lucky, we’ll get a match on Alistair’s semen sample. Unfortunately, that’ll take two days to come back. Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.

We also still have nothing on Robyn Torre. She’s been missing for three days now, and there’s no body or contact from her anywhere. The longer she’s missing, the more chance we have of finding a body. Not that I doubted it’d be otherwise—and that’s so sad, but it’s true. I’m waiting for the call.

My gut tells me we’ll find her today. She’ll be drugged and raped and mutilated, and another beautiful girl will have had her life ripped unjustly from her.

Drake moves next to me. He rolls over, props his head up on one hand, and rests his other arm over my stomach. I turn my face to him and offer him a weak smile.

“What’s on your mind, bella?” he asks softly.

“Everything,” I whisper. “Dina. Alistair. Eddie. Robyn. Jackson. Toni… All of them. Everything and everyone.”

“Have I ever told you that you think way too much?”

“Only all the time.” I glance away from him and focus on the way the covers fall across his side. “We’re not going to find her alive, are we? Robyn?”

He doesn’t respond for a long moment, but when he does, he’s thankfully honest. “I think we’ll be lucky if we do, yeah. Her disappearance has all the markings of the others. I’ll have a team go out to the fields today and search them. Sheriff also has the media appearance today. Numerous news stations and Internet journalists are scheduled to attend. I’m confident we’ll get something out of it.”

I exhale slowly. “I’m glad you are. I’m not. Not at all. I’m terrified, Drake. What if we don’t find these people? We’re losing time. We all know that Robyn won’t be the last. If I’m right and we have nine victims, then we have four days left until the solstice—that’s a victim a day at best. That’s four more people who could lose their lives and four more families to be destroyed. What if we don’t find whoever’s killing people? What if we never manage to solve this case and everyone leaves town and the victims never get justice? What if their families never get what they deserve? What if all of this is in vain?”

“Noelle.” Drake covers my mouth with his hand. “Sweetheart, shush. You’re getting yourself all tied up over questions you know you can’t answer, and as much as I wish I could answer them, I can’t. Work on answering them instead of asking them. I know you. You have one of the most wonderful minds I’ve ever come across. The way you work things out is incredible.”

I tilt my head back so my mouth is free. “It’s just logic. Just apply the facts and come up with the plausible scenarios.”

“So do that,” he implores. “Now more than ever. We need your mind, darlin’. Right now. I need you to stand in the middle of the chaos and figure shit out the way you do, ’cause I’m fucked if I can do it half as well as you do.”

“I really need coffee before I get all fancypants with my thinking.”

“So I’ll get you coffee. But first…” He rolls on top of me and teases his fingertip down my neck to my collarbone.

I shiver beneath his touch.

He drops his mouth so it’s hovering just above mine. “But first, sex.”

“Do we have ti—”

He presses his lips against the pulse point on my neck. I inhale sharply when he flicks his tongue against my skin.

“We always have time for sex. Especially today—when we really don’t.”

“That makes no sense,” I breathe as he explores the curve of my neck and shoulder with his mouth.

Fuck, his mouth. It’s almost as good as a box full of Gigi’s cupcakes, but don’t tell him I said that. I’d never live it down.

“Your mind,” he murmurs against me, traveling down my body. “It’s brilliant but exhausting. I think you exhaust yourself. Sometimes, we have to make time for the things we shouldn’t.”

“Still makes no sense.”

I gasp as he moves down sharply and the covers fly off me. A burst of cold air flutters over my skin as the sheets settle, and he grabs my thighs. His fingers massage my thighs, touching them as gently as if they’d break if he squeezed too hard.

“You’re lost in your mind,” he whispers into the inside of my thigh. “I can’t, in good conscience, allow you to work in this crazed state.”

“That right?”

“So right.” He closes his mouth over my panties and presses his tongue against my clit.

Oh. Shit.

I fist the sheets as he reaches up and slides the fabric of my thong to the side.

“Shut your brain off,” he demands, yanking my feet onto his shoulders. “You’re not getting lost in your thoughts anymore. You’re gonna get lost in me, my tongue, my fingers, and my cock. You’re gonna get lost in me and what I can do to you.”

“We don’t have ti—”

He cuts me off by slowly but forcefully running his tongue over my pussy. Sparks explode in my pussy, ones that flood the rest of my body.

“There’s always time to make you scream my name, Noelle.”

Point well taken.

I guess I can start my day like this.

I reach down and twine my fingers in his hair as he works my pussy with his mouth. His tongue flicks and strokes and licks every bit of me, leaving no part of me untouched. I shiver and shudder and tremble. I moan and whimper. I arch my back and buck my hips until I can take no more and my cries are nothing more than a plea for him to be inside me.

To do what he promised: to make me lose myself.

Because he’s right. I need to get lost, and the only place I want to lose myself is in him.

Drake sees me through my orgasm. He pulls his boxers off while I’m still a gooey mess of pleasure and leans over me. I taste myself on him when he kisses me, and I’m torn between cringing and gasping because that’s exactly when he pushes inside me.

The sweet heat of his entry swamps me.

I give in. I give in to his steady rhythm of thrusts and kisses and caresses. I give in to everything that is Drake Nash. I take every twist and turn known to man and several that aren’t. I take every path and turn back from every dead end until the pleasure takes me prisoner and I forget who and where I am and all I know is him.

I get lost in the maze of pleasure and comfort only he can give me.

And I do exactly what he wanted. I get lost and cry his name like it’s a prayer.

I don’t regret a second of it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Bek hits me with a glare. “I swear, Noelle, I’m fixin’ to kick your ass. I’m fine. I just needed a couple days, but I’m ready to do this. In fact, I’m real pissed some dickhead thought he could break into your house.”

I see her reasoning.

“Also pissed you shot your window and not them.”

“Shhh.” I hold my finger against my lips. “Let’s not think about that. Let’s read up this list Father Luiz kindly handed me this morning and see if anyone we know was at the church on Sunday.”

She purses her lips but takes the list. “I have no idea who I’m looking for,” she admits after a minute of scanning it.

I roll my eyes and snatch it back. “Alistair Carpenter. Jackson Bullock. Eddie Roy. Damien Roy.”

“Why does Jackson have a different last name than Eddie if he’s his adoptive dad? Wouldn’t he have taken their name?”

I shrug. “Maybe Dina gave him his real dad’s name and it was just never changed.”

She pauses. “I guess that makes sense. Still bugs me.”

“Me too.” I glance at the clock. “Demi should be here any time. That’s Annabelle’s roommate. I’m hoping she saw Annabelle right before she disappeared.”

“What are you thinking, Noelle?” Bek asks, tucking her flaming-auburn hair behind her ear. “Who do you think did this?”

I tap one finger against my chin. “I think Alistair Carpenter is involved in the killings. I don’t think he killed Dina White, but I think he knows about the others. I think he’s one of the culprits for those. But Toni was seen with a dark-haired man—only Jackson seems to match that description, but ugh. I don’t see him as a cold-blooded killer. I think he’s more likely to be Dina’s killer. But honestly, I don’t know. It’s super hard. Until we get some kind of DNA back, we’re in limbo.”

She nods, and my phone rings. I sigh and pick it up.

“Noelle Bond.”

“Noelle,” Drake’s voice rumbles down the line. “We have Robyn Torre.”

The tone of his voice, the helpless, pitiful murmur, tells me all I need to know. My stomach sinks. It’s like the balloon full of hope I had has been tied to an anchor and is dropping faster than I can comprehend.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” I ask softly.

“She is. I’m sorry, sweetheart. We hoped she wasn’t.”

“I know.” I bite down on the inside of my lip. “She’s like the others, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Exactly the same.”

“Okay,” I reply. “Call me when you have more, yeah? I have to meet with Demi.” And then I’m going to the fair and I’m going to tear a couple of motherfuckers to pieces with my bare, desperately in-need-of-a-manicure hands.

“All right. Don’t do anything stupid, all right? And, if you’re gonna, take Dean or Mike with you, for the love of fucking God.”I love how well he knows me. “I promise to take a bodyguard with me,” I assure him.

“Noelle? We’re close to this. I know it.” His tone is warm despite the urgency tinging it. “I need you to be smart, babe. Now isn’t the time to be impulsive.”

“I know.”

“I love you,” he says softly.

I let those words fall through me and take away the latent sting of another dead girl. Somehow, it works. Knowing that, in the darkness of Robyn Torre’s body, there’s a lightness in his words.

“I love you, too,” I whisper back to him.

“Find me a killer, yeah?”

“No pressure.” I hang up and set my phone down.

Christ. Poor Robyn.

“I’m glad y’all finally L-worded each other, but what else happened? You look like you need a bottle of wine,” Bek asks, looking at me with concern.

I tell her, and she grimaces.

“Damn. We’re running out of time, aren’t we?”

I nod as my phone rings again. It flashes with Grecia’s line. “Yep?” I answer.

“Your next appointment is downstairs.”

“Send her up please.” I hang up after her agreement and replace my phone. “You stayin’?”

Bek snorts. “Hell yeah.”

Seconds later, there’s a knock at my door, and I get up to answer it. A petite girl with a pixie cut is behind it, clutching her purse to her chest.

“Demi?” I query.

She nods.

“Come in, sweetie. Take a seat. Would you like anything to drink at all?”

“Oh, no,” she says timidly. “I’m fine, thank you.” She gently lowers herself into the red tub chair.

Bek holds her hand out. “Rebekah Hough. I work with Noelle. I hope you don’t mind my being here.”

“Not at all,” Demi replies just as quietly as she did before. “It’s nice to meet y’all.”

I offer her a smile as I sit at my desk. “I’m sorry about Annabelle. I understand you were close.”

Demi nods and takes an audible deep breath. “We’ve been roommates since freshman year. It was…a shock.”

I’ll say. “I want to chat with you about the night she died. Did you see her at all?”

She nods.

“Can you talk me though it?”

“Sure.” She readjusts her purse on her lap. “She saw Billy—he was her boyfriend—for a bit. He and I don’t get along, so I headed off with some friends. We agreed to meet up since she’d driven us there, but she had a fight with Billy and wanted to head back early. I said I’d get a ride with someone else. The last time I saw her, she was chatting with some guy with blond hair and laughing.”

“Can you describe him?”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t see him real clearly. It was after she said she was leaving though. I figured she wanted to hang around and it was just innocent, but now, I realize it might not have been.”