Текст книги "Twisted Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Why does my mind keep going back to Drake?

Fuck you, brain. Fuck you ten bazillion times.

I spend the next few minutes repeating that mantra in my head as I drive back toward Melanie’s place. The realtor opposite is still bathed in light, and I park outside the coffee and bookstore while I wait for whoever is in the building to vacate.

Three raps on my window precede the door opening and my blond friend sliding in. “Suzie Carter. Single mom, twenty-six, moved to Holly Woods six months ago when her baby daddy got locked up for arson. Got a job working for Quentin and Jones almost immediately and has been seeing Barry Quentin ever since.”

“You star.” I scribble that down on my pocket-sized notepad. “How does no one who she is?”

“She’s pretty quiet. Keeps herself to herself. Apparently, she doesn’t want to bring any bad juju to the town her daughter is in love with.”

“Makes sense.” I snap my notebook shut and pull my phone out.

Mel moves to open the door and get out, but I grab her arm when the door to the realtor opens.

“Sit,” I hiss, tapping the camera con on my phone screen. I position myself in such a way that I could be texting or something.

“Smart,” Mel hums approvingly as I snap a photo of Barry with his arm tight around his assistant.

“Shh.” I angle the phone slightly to get a better lighting. Early April is the awkward time of year where it’s not quite dark and not quite light at this time. Thankfully, it’s almost always the lighter side.

Which is exactly how I get the shot of Barry Quentin planting a smacker onto Suzie Carter.

“Holy shit,” Mel breathes.

“Welcome to my world.” It’s all I need to say as I tuck my phone into my purse again, watching as Barry and Suzie get into his car for what is presumably a “late night at the office.”

Again with the originality. You’d think there’d be some better excuses than that by now.

“Thanks, Mel,” I say, smiling at her. “Any idea who Portia’s secret boyfriend is?”

“No. But one of my girlfriends goes to pottery glass with her down at Marcie’s place, and their class is tonight, so she’s gonna ask some questions since Portia won’t be there.”

“Okay. I have to go deal with Nonna’s latest date.”

“Thought you looked hot.” Mel winks teasingly, then she gets out of my car and shuts the door.

I roll my eyes as I head down the street to the restaurant. Giovanni’s is the quintessential Italian restaurant, from the one hundred percent Italian family that runs it to the Italian-style décor and totally Italian menu. It’s my favorite place to have a date, and I think Nonna books it for that reason.

“Ahhh, Signorina Bond,” my favorite server, Alonso, greets me. “You are here for Nonna, si?”

“Si,” I sigh. “Your lack of surprise astounds me, Alonso.”

He grins, switching to his native Texan accent. My twenty-five-year-old friend totally puts on the accent for the benefit of the customers, but he’s as country as they come. “I’m still askin’ for that date, Noelle. She’s a tough customer!”

I laugh. “She sure is. Maybe when you start datin’ women, she’ll let you take her precious grandbaby on a date. Until then, she’s offerin’ you Brody!”

Alonso laughs. “I assume you’re with the handsome gentleman, Giorgio.”

“So she tells me.”

“May I say you look stunning tonight?”

“You may. But I’m still not settin’ you up with Brody,” I tease him, knocking him with my elbow.

“Damn,” he shakes his head. “What I’d do to make that man gay.”

I cover my mouth with my hand to hide a very unladylike snort. “Will you show me to my table? It’s one of Nonna’s famous appuntamenti al bio.”

“Ahh. Her blind dates. She did good with this one, my friend. Very good. He is over here.” He takes my elbow and guides me to the back of the restaurant.

And, uh, yeah. Nonna did good. She clearly took my moaning seriously, because this man is hot. Like, Italian-Texan hot. “Hello I have the genes and complexion of an Italian man mixed with the hardworking sexiness of a Texan” hot. Dark hair, dark eyes, light-olive skin, plump lips…

“Signor, this is Noelle, your date for this evening,” Alonso says with a little flair, encouraging Giorgio to stand and kiss my hand.

I smile. “Giorgio, it’s lovely to meet you.”

“And you, Noelle. Your grandmother did not say you are so beautiful.” He smiles widely, sitting opposite me.

My cheeks flush slightly. “Nonna didn’t tell you a lot, I’m sure,” I reply. “But thank you.”

“Can I get you some wine?” Alonso asks, looking between us.

“House white, if that’s okay with the lady,” Giorgio says, looking to me.

“Fine.” I smile at him and Alonso. “Thank you.”

He disappears in seconds, leaving us alone.

“So,” Giorgio says to fill the awkward silence, “what do you do?”

So much for his being comfortable with my carrying a gun. Like I am right now.

“I’m a private investigator,” I respond, smiling, wishing I had a wine glass to hide behind when his eyes widen. Alonso? Hello? Now would be great. “Nonna tells me you’re a police officer.”

Giorgio recovers. “In Austin. Private investigator. That’s interesting. How did you come about that?”

“I was a police officer myself, in Dallas. Let’s just say that a case I was working went very wrong and I felt some responsibility and came home.” I look away but pull myself back. “I don’t talk about it much. I loved my job as far as finding whodunit went, so private investigating is the perfect job for me.”

He smiles, and it’s kind of dazzling. “Interesting. What do you mostly work on?”

“Infidelity.” I fight my smirk when he blinks hard. “Although we were hired to locate a missing cat earlier today, so we take on a little of everything.”

“Riveting.” His dark eyes glitter across the table.

Alonso pours us two glasses of wine, leaving the bottle in an ice bucket. When he’s gone, I sip my wine slowly and meet Giorgio’s eyes.

“What do you do?”

“I work homicide,” he says slowly. “We actually received word about the poisoning case you have here.”

Indignation filters through me. If the Austin PD has been notified, it means the mayor doesn’t think the HWPD can handle it. This has only happened twice in my lifetime—and the second time, my grandfather shot the previous mayor’s front window in and the statement was retracted.

He argued it was the window or Nonna.

I’m not one to get easily riled—I’m also a chronic liar—but when someone says my brothers can’t do their jobs, I get very pissed very easily. And this, the mayor calling Austin PD to be on guard in case they’re needed less than a mile outside their jurisdiction, makes me very damn angry.

“You look angered by that,” Giorgio notes.

Observant, this one.

“I’m actually working that case.” I smile, although it’s tight. “The husband of the first victim hired me. Then his parents after him.”

“He fired you?”

“Can I take your order?” Alonso slips in, his smooth yet fake accent cutting through the tension.

I avoid the appetizer but order my main course—the same seafood pasta I always do—and hand him my menu. Once Giorgio has ordered and handed Alonso his menu, I push my hair from my face.

“Have you seen the case particulars?” I ask, noting the tic in his jaw.

“No.”

“Then I can’t discuss it, really. But, yes, for reasons given in the case files.”

“Noelle,” he says, leaning forward, his voice softening. “You seem real perturbed about me knowing about this.”

I take a deep breath and realize I’m taking my frustration over the mayor’s actions out on my date. Awkward. “I’m sorry. My brothers are on the police force here. For y’all to know about this up in Austin… It rubs me the wrong way.”

“Oh. We aren’t called in to investigate. Just to monitor the situation in case the murders leave the HWPD’s jurisdiction. Also to keep our eyes open.”

“That’s better news.” I smile more softly. “Sorry if I snapped.”

“It’s okay.” He returns the smile, this time softly touching my hand. “You’re beautiful enough to get away with it.”

I blush and turn away. So I can shoot someone but not take a compliment. It’s a serious issue in my mind. Plus—a compliment from a hot guy Nonna approves of? Blush-worthy, I tell you.

Leaving behind talk of work, we discuss our hobbies and all of that other awkward shit people do on the first date. Which is, incidentally, one reason why I hate dating. With a passion.

I discover that Gio, as he insists I call him, loves tennis. And I, well… I can hold a racket and at least attempt to serve, so I guess we kind of have that in common. He loves animals—all of them—and I can just about stand Bekah’s eight-year-old mopey-ass cat.

Alonso brings our dinner, and we continue our discovery mission. Because isn’t that what first dates are? Discovery missions? It’s where you get out all the happy, sparkly bits about yourself and leave the blackened bullshit to be discovered when the honeymoon period of the relationship is all said and done.

Gio likes cars. I like shoes. Gio likes traveling and big cities and expensive wine. I like expensive wine, but I’m done after a flight to Vegas and can only take big cities in moderation. He likes movies over books, and despite my affinity for the Bond franchise, I’m picking a paperback over a DVD case every time. Or a Kindle over a Blu-Ray.

He detests social media aside from Facebook, and my phone buzzes with a Tinder notification.

Really, we don’t have much in common. But I like him. And if the smile on his face is anything to go by, he likes me. And who needs things in common, right?

I mean, we both like guns. And each other, apparently. That’ll do.

I’m just finishing up my dinner when my phone buzzes in my purse. I ignore it only for it to ring a second time. I smile apologetically at Gio and steal a glimpse at the screen. Drake’s name flashes up, and I tuck the Samsung back in. But it buzzes for a third time.

“Shouldn’t you get that?”

I look up at Gio. “I’m sorry. I feel so rude, but I think it could be work related. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” He gestures to my purse. “Take all the time you need.”

I grasp my purse, tugging my phone out with another apologetic smile to him. This time, it’s the HWPD number calling me, and I answer as I open the restaurant door.

“Noelle Bond.”

“Why the fuck are you ignorin’ my calls?”

Oh. Someone is on his man-monthly.

“Actually,” I say to Drake, “I’m busy.”

“Too busy to know I have a member of your staff brought in for questioning?”

Bolts of annoyance as fierce as lightning spear through my body. “Excuse me?”

“Marshall. He’s been seeing Portia Robinson for several weeks.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Do I sound like it?”

“I’m coming down. Don’t you dare question him until I’m there.” I hang up just as he protests, but I don’t care.

Marshall is her secret boyfriend?

I run back through the restaurant toward my table and stop in front of Gio. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe, “but I have to run to the station. The detective in charge has taken one of my staff members in for questioning and I’m about to wring his ass out.”

“Detective Nash?” Gio asks, standing. “Let me take you.” He motions for the check.

“It’s okay, really. I have my car in the lot. I’m just sorry I have to run out on you like this.”

“Don’t be silly. Let me take you down. Wait, please,” he tells Alonso. He opens the book and tucks in his card. “Return immediately, please.”

“Of course,” Alonso replies, dipping his head slightly.

I watch as he runs away with the bill then look at Gio. “Honestly. It’s okay. How much do I owe you for dinner? I can write you a check, or…”

“Noelle,” he says quietly, touching my upper arm. “Nothing. It is my treat and an honor to take you for dinner. Now, please allow me to escort you to the station where your staff member is.”

Clearly, he’s not going to take no for an answer. “Okay.”

Gio takes his card from Alonso, and with his hand on the small of my back, he guides me out of the restaurant into the balmy evening. He leads me toward a parked, navy-blue Chevvy truck in the corner and opens the door for me. He even gives me a hand getting in.

I don’t need it, but it’s kind of nice to see that gentlemen still exist. Even if this is Texas and gentlemen are supposedly the norm.

“You look like you’re ready to kick some ass,” Gio notes, climbing into the driver’s side. I guess, in retrospect, his one glass of wine to my two makes him safer to drive than me.

“Oh, I am.” My lips thin as I say it. “And Detective Nash knows it.”

“Where is he?” I demand of Charlotte, slamming my hands on her counter.

“Down the hall, to the right—interview room three.”

“He’s started?”

“He’s crazy, but he isn’t stupid, Noelle,” she says, her lips twitching. “Detective Nash knows that everything you have to say to him can’t be said over the phone.”

“He’s learning, then,” I snap, pushing off the counter.

Gio follows me down the hall, and I ignore the interested look from the receptionist as he does so. He touches his hand to my back just as we turn the corner toward the interview rooms, and it feels as though his fingertips burn through the material of my dress.

Well, burn is relative. They’re warm. Obvious. That’s it.

There’s no damning skin tingle. But there’s enough. I’ll take enough.

The first person I see as I approach the interview area is Trent. He stares at me for a long moment before his eyes flick knowingly to Gio.

“Detective Messina. What a surprise,” Trent drawls, his eyes falling back onto me.

I lift my eyebrows and shoot him a shut-the-fuck-up look.

“Detective Bond. Of course. I should have made the connection.” Gio’s fingers tighten on my back.

I wonder if my brother knows more about the man our grandmother decided to set me up with than she does.

“It’s a common surname,” Trent replies. His smile is tight, and it’s an obvious attempt at keeping his jaw slack. Unfortunately for him, my brother has never been very good at hiding his emotions. “You’re forgiven for your oversight.”

Tension rockets between them as Gio’s tense smile matches Trent’s.

I brush my hair away from my eyes. “Hello? Can someone please explain to me what the hell is going on here and why the ever-lovin’ fuck y’all called my tech whiz in for your dumbass questionin’?”

Gio snorts behind me, a sound cut short by my brother’s harsh look.

Huh. Something tells me that they know each other.

“Hey!” I snap, clapping my hands “Y’all are trippin’ if you think I’m standin’ here in these fuckin’ shoes for shits and giggles!”

“I should have known it would be you makin’ a scene here.” Drake’s voice drawls as he shuts a door and appears in the hallway. Tight, white shirt. Perfectly pressed, black dress pants. Shiny, black shoes. Badge attached to the pocket of his shirt.

“Well, I warned you about harrassin’ my staff on my premises—”

“And I’m not—”

“So a smart cop such as yourself should have anticipated me being a drama queen down here when you pull my guy in,” I finish, glaring at him. “I want an explanation. Now.”

“I don’t have to give you shit, Noelle, and you know it.” His glacier eyes narrow.

I step toward him, my finger pointing at his chest. “No, you don’t, but I expect a goddamned reason why he won’t be at work tomorrow morning like he should be.”

“That’s his job,” Drake hisses.

“But I’m talkin’ to you, and I’m tellin’ you to answer my damn questions before I demand to sit in there in lieu of his lawyer and advise him to tell you to shove your questions where the sun doesn’t fucking shine until his lawyer does get here,” I hiss back.

My heels make me almost as tall as he is, and we’re so close that, with each angry breath Drake takes, his chest is close to brushing mine. Close enough that I can feel the vibrations of his movements through the tense air between us. Close enough that, if I breathe in at the same time he does, my breasts brush his chest.

Our gazes battle it out for the longest, most breathtaking moment. Until his eyes skirt over my shoulder to Gio standing behind me.

“Who the hell is that?”

“My date,” I reply tightly, “which you so kindly interrupted.”

“Your date,” Drake repeats. His voice is flat, monotone, but his eyes betray the flare of anger that makes his jaw twitch.

“Yes, sir. Is that a problem? Because I can ask him to leave while we continue this conversation.”

“Please do.”

I roll my eyes and turn away, my heels clicking against the laminated flooring as I gently take Gio’s arm and pull him to the end of the hallway. “I’m so sorry. Detective Nash and I don’t particularly see eye to eye on many things. He’s also an arrogant bastard, so I could be a while, and it isn’t fair to expect you to wait for me to be done.”

“It’s okay.” Gio brushes some hair from my face. “Your brother will take you home?”

I nod. “Thank you for a lovely evening. And if we do this again, I’m paying.”

His face breaks out into that dazzling smile again. “When we do this again, I’ll hear of no such thing.” He leans forward and kisses my cheek, his lips lingering warmly against my skin for a moment. “Goodnight, Noelle.”

I smile. “Goodnight, Gio.”

He walks around the blind corner, glancing back at me before he’s entirely out of view.

The sound of fake vomiting has me turning around.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Trent says.

“Hey, Dad of Two, remember that next time you join forces with Nonna to get me married!” I walk back to him and smack his arm. “This was her idea, her date.”

“Looks like you really hated it.”

“I’ll have you know, he was the perfect gentleman.”

Trent snorts, but Drake interrupts.

“Noelle.” He says my name in a short, curt tone that makes me feel like I should have picked up the dirty glass on my coffee table before I left my house a couple of hours ago. “Are you sittin’ in on this or not?”

“You mean you’re allowing me?” I ask, slowly looking at him.

His eyes don’t soften—neither does the tight pull of his lips or his jaw. “You think I’m stupid enough to allow a non-cop to sit in on my interview with someone just because she’s his fuckin’ boss and let some big-city stiff know about it?”

“No. So, why are you?”

“He doesn’t know,” he corrects me. “And because I like my balls where they are, so get your ass in that interview room in two seconds or go home.”

I stare at him for one whole second before I do exactly as he said and tug the door open to join Marshall in the interview room.

My whiz kid is sitting at the table, wearing a faded Green Lantern tee that’s definitely seen much better days. In fact, it’s probably seen better years. His hair is wet and tangled, and his glasses slip down his nose. He looks up as I step inside, Drake hot on my heels.

“Boss.”

“Hey, kid,” I say quietly, hovering in the doorway. “How you doin’?”

“I have no idea what happened, I swear!” He digs his teeth into his bottom lip, and his hands are shaking where they’re clasped on the table.

“Hey, Marsh. No one thinks you did.” I move to the table and sit when Drake pulls out the chair next to his. Great. Interviewer side. “But you gotta understand that your relationship with Portia means Detective Nash has gotta talk to you.”

“I know. Can she stay?” he asks Drake.

“Yes. She’ll just demand the transcript of the interview after anyway, so I’m saving the whole department a week’s worth of headaches.” He ignores the look I shoot at him. “She knows the rules.”

Stay quiet. Don’t ask questions. Don’t interrupt. Don’t influence either Drake or Marshall.

Drake clicks the button on the recorder and shuffles the papers on the table. “Can you state your full name?”

“Marshall Leonard Wright.”

“Address?”

“Fifty-four Shrewsbury Avenue, Holly Woods, Texas.”

“Date of birth?”

“January seventh, nineteen ninety-three.”

“And can you confirm for the record that you’re not exercising your right to have a lawyer present?”

“That’s correct.”

I frown but quickly look down so he doesn’t see it. He must be truly certain of the answers to his questions, but I know how cops can wrap people up in knots. Marshall is the smartest guy I know—academically and technologically—but he won’t stand a chance if Drake pulls out the big guns and decides to question him until they’re both shitting armadillos.

Drake kicks me under the table, and the frown drops from my face as I look up. Whoops. Already fucked up.

“Mr. Wright, you’re here because it’s recently come to our attention that you were in a secret relationship with Ms. Portia Robinson. Ms. Robinson is currently in the hospital, recovering from hemlock poisoning she suffered approximately twenty-four hours ago. We’ve also been told that you were the last person to see her before she was poisoned.”

I bite my tongue. I want to call him out on the technicality that Marsh was the last person to see her before she ate the poisoned salad. She could have been poisoned at any time. But hey…

“I guess so,” Marshall replies quietly, looking Drake dead in the eye. “I left her house around four p.m. I was only there briefly.”

So Portia lied to me.

“What was the purpose of your visit?” Drake asks.

“To tell her I wanted to end our relationship. I-I met someone online. In Austin.”

Interesting.

“Ms. Robinson is twelve years your senior, is she not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why the attraction to an older woman?”

Marshall shrugs.

“I need you to reply so the machine can hear you, Mr. Wright.”

“Sorry.” Marsh clears his throat. “I’m not sure. It started as a one-night thing and remained strictly casual. I’m not the only person she was seeing.”

“And that didn’t bother you at all?” Drake quirks his eyebrow.

“No. Like I said, it was a casual relationship. Neither of us expected anything out of it except something physical. At least, I didn’t.”

Imagining the gangly, World of Warcraft–obsessed techie in a physical situation has me beating down giggles before they erupt and Drake throws me out.

Drake nods slowly. “Understandable. How long had you been seeing each other?”

“A few weeks.”

“How did she take your news?” Drake leans back and crosses his arms. Hello, distraction. “Was she upset? Put out? Angry? Distressed?”

“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid, Detective. She was very happy that I’d found someone who made me happy. We parted as friends, on good terms.” Marsh pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Sounds like a dream,” Drake replies, amusement riddling his tone. Silence reigns as he studies Marshall. His gaze is so powerful that I can feel it, too, and dammit, now I want to look at him.

The air is becoming more and more suffocating as they stare each other off, only blinking occasionally. It’s literally like man and house, tornado and wooden shack, bulldozer and brick wall. Drake is, naturally, far more imposing and terrifying than I suspect Marshall will ever be, but he’s holding his own despite it all.

Sure, there’s a nervous tic just below his eye, and anyone untrained wouldn’t notice the bead of sweat on his brow or the way his right hand is twitching with the urge to wipe it away. They wouldn’t know the tremble of his lower lip as he fights the urge to say something or the miniscule shift in his shoulders as he desperately wars within himself not to break the eye contact he’s so meticulously maintaining.

Son of a bitch!

Drake didn’t get me in here to support Marshall. If he had, I would have been on his side of the table. No. The bastard got me in here to read his body language.

And I know exactly what his question will be next.

“Any reason you’d want Ms. Robinson dead, Mr. Wright?”

Fucking son of a bitch.

Except, now, I’m tuned in. My eyes are so focused on Marshall that I couldn’t rip them away if I tried, and his every movement, I see it. There isn’t a tic or twitch or throb of a vein I don’t miss as his eyes widen at Drake’s question.

“Absolutely none, Detective.”

Drake pauses for a moment then turns to me. “I think we’re done here.” His gaze drifts to Marshall. “Thank you, Mr. Wright. Someone will be in shortly to discuss with you anything you may know about Ms. Robinson that may help us in our investigation.”

Marshall visibly relaxes, and that bead of sweat that was hovering just above his brow slides down the side of his face and disappears into his sideburn. “Of course. I’ll be happy to help.”

Drake clicks the recorder off and pushes his chair back. He pulls my chair back with a tiny jerk, making me squeak in surprise. I get up with a harsh glare to him then look at Marshall, softening my gaze.

“You good?” I ask him.

“I’m good, boss,” he replies, pushing his glasses up his nose again. He really needs to get those fixed.

“Ms. Bond,” Drake says sharply, stalking toward the door and yanking it open.

Oh. It’s like that, is it? Ms. Bond my left ass cheek.

Drake walks through the door before I’ve even gotten there, and I have to grab it to stop it from slamming on me. Holy shit, someone has a cactus up his ass tonight.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I call, anger tensing my muscles.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he replies equally as angrily, now drawing the attention of the other staff still working.

“You know exactly what I mean!” My heels loudly tap against the floor as I chase after him. “Pulling me in there just because you didn’t want me to bug you for the interview! That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life!”

“Didn’t realize you were a walkin’ lie detector, Noelle.”

“Oh, now I’m Noelle? You need to make your damn mind up about what you’re callin’ me, Detective.”

“Noted.”

“Dammit, Drake, I’m talkin’ to you!” I grab his arm and yank him so he faces me. “And you’re gonna damn well listen to me!”

His eyes narrow into slits, his anger burning through that tiny glimpse, and his eyes are hard, cold, unfeeling. If I gave a shit, I’d be scared of him right now.

“Noelle,” Brody says. “Take it to his office.”

“I am not your personal fuckin’ body language expert!” I jab my finger into Drake’s chest, ignoring my brother. “You cannot drag me into your damned interviews just because this two-bit police station can’t train someone! You do not have the right to abuse the fuck out of me and my abilities as it pleases you. Do you get that? You want my help, you ask for it. You don’t fuckin’ manipulate me just because you think you can.”

“Oh, I can manipulate you, sweetheart, because I just did.” He steps closer, his voice low, and the warning in his tone, the spine-tingling threat, does nothing but anger me. “And you’ll watch your language when you speak to me. In your building, you do what you want. In mine, you do what I say, when I say. Got that?”

“Like you do what I say when you’re in my office, yeah? I forgot how well you listen to others!” I step back, bringing back the sliver of space between us. “I’m no longer working with you on this case. Bond P.I. will no longer be working with you. You want information, you get your ass a warrant. Until then, you can kiss my sweet ass.”

“You sure you wanna play that game?”

“Game? No. I’m not playing. I never have been. So take the game, set, and match, Detective, because I’m out. Lives are at risk, including mine, and I’m not going to waste my time pandering to the most insufferable, arrogant, pigheaded fuckwankingdouchebag I’ve ever had to—”

He slams his body against mine and fists my hair, his mouth forcing itself onto mine and cutting off my tirade. It’s short and harsh and hot, the kiss almost bruising in its intensity, and it’s like everything has stopped, the world stilling on its axis. No more ticking clocks, no more wondering about tomorrow or next week or next year. Just now. Here, now. This second. This very moment.

This very touch that is equal parts thrilling and terrifying, because no one should ever be able to make someone feel like there is nothing left in existence but one simple kiss.

Drake releases me as quickly and harshly as he grabbed me. My heart thunders in my chest as he storms down the hallway and makes the turn to his office. The sound of his door slamming ricochets through the silent police station, and it’s only now that I realize what he’s done.

He just kissed me. In front of everyone. Including at least one of my brothers.

Oh, hell.

I touch my thumb to my mouth and take a deep breath, knowing that one pair of eyes on me is stronger than the others. And the person they belong to is grinning like he just stepped out of Wonderland.

“Well,” Brody says through his smile. “About time that happened. Maybe y’all will finally figure your shit out.”

“Don’t count on it,” I murmur, grabbing my clutch from him. “I need a ride home.”

“Sure.” His grin widens.

“A silent ride home.”

“Damn.”