Текст книги "Twisted Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“You’re fucking crazy,” Brody declares, slamming his coffee cup down. Dark liquid sloshes out onto the table.

“How am I?” I protest, putting mine down and grabbing a cloth to wipe up his mess. It’s a rare moment when all four siblings can get together outside family dinner, and I’m embracing it. “I’m not getting anywhere looking for the killer, so maybe the killer needs to come to me.”

“Noelle,” Trent says, “do you realize how fuckin’ dangerous this is? What if you’re in the shower or some shit and you can’t protect yourself?”

“I’ll carry my gun everywhere.”

“Dammit, you’re so fuckin’ naïve!” Dev slams his chair across the kitchen as he stands. “You think he’s gonna bring a bucket and a spade to a gunfight, huh? He doesn’t hafta be there to see you die, you fuckin’ idiot. He just had to stand at the end of your damned large yard and wait.”

“I’m not eating salad,” I reply calmly. “So, how can he kill me if his choice is poisoned leaves?”

“And that makes it okay?” Brody explodes. “Jesus, Noelle. Did Drake kiss the ever-lovin’ fuckin’ sense out of you, huh?”

“Leave him the hell outta this!” I stand, my gun burning into my hip and my muscles tensing. “He’s got fuck all to do with this.”

“So, where’d my sister go?” Trent thunders, far too loud for nine in the morning. “Where’d my smart, levelheaded, theoretical sister go, Noelle?”

“She grew up!” I yell. “She grew up into an independent person who can handle all the guns y’all got better than you can and you know it. Your baby sister grew up into the kind of woman y’all wish your wives and daughters could be, because she’s the woman who takes no shit without givin’ it first. And she’s the woman who can solve this damn case, if only y’all would trust her with her theory.”

“Sis,” Brody reasons, “I get it, yeah? The only girl in four kids, the only one to step out of the police force, you have somethin’ to prove—”

“My leaving Dallas has nothin’ to do with this!” I snap, leaning against my kitchen counter. “That was a whole different situation, and one I don’t wanna think about. I don’t wanna think about how my two words killed two people and potentially destroyed the lives of hundreds. Y’all get that, huh? Y’all know how I fucked up! Leave it!”

“Noelle,” Dev says slowly, coming toward me. “Noellie Bellie, forget it,” he whispers, his fingertips brushing my arms.

I’m shaking inconsolably. All I can think of are the lives I lost and the memories I said goodbye to and the families I destroyed.

“Noelle!” he snaps, clasping my face. “You don’t get to go back there. We need you, yeah? Fuck Drake. Fuck the sheriff. We need you—the three of us.”

“You’re the one who’s gonna solve this,” Brody says softly. “I don’t know why or how or when, but you will. You’ve got somethin’ we don’t, Noelle. You’ve got more a desire for the truth than the whole department has. But that doesn’t mean you can be stupid about it.”

I sniff, hugging myself. “You know that the mayor has contacted the Austin department, right? He’s ready to call them in if y’all can’t solve this case.”

“Which is why we need you!” Trent thunders, his eyes falling on mine. “Dammit, Noelle. We need you safe, not in danger.”

“I don’t work with the HWPD anymore.”

“But you work with me,” he argues. “Drake might be my boss, but I’d take my stapler to his fuckin’ face as easily as I’d shoot a man who’d point his gun at you. Noelle, it doesn’t matter, bella. La famiglia e tutto. Family is everything. I can get another job. Can’t get another sister if this goes wrong.”

“You don’t even know what my plan is yet.”

“Do you have one?”

“Aside from make the killer come to me?” I pause. “That’ll be a no. But I figured it was a damn good start, right?”

“Great,” Brody mutters. “Not only is her idea dangerous, she has nothing to back it up.”

I poke my tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

“Well, it’s true!”

“Don’t start fightin’,” Trent groans, rubbing his temple. “Fine, Noelle. For now, we’ll go along with your dumb plan. But if you figure out who our killer is before he finds you, you call me. Right away. I’ll have some guys step up patrols in the street and around your office building. Write it off as standard protective measures.”

“That’s hardly going to make a killer—”

“I don’t care if it scares them off. I just care that it’ll keep you safe for long enough to come up with something to back up your idea.”

“And what if it doesn’t? What if the killer finds me before I find them?”

The look he gives me is so solemn that a lump forms in my throat. “Then it’s your funeral, kid.”

Excellent.

I swipe the brush against the wall with a little too much vigor, and paint splashes onto the dust cover beneath my feet. Perhaps painting my office on a spur-of-the-moment decision and moving heavy furniture alone isn’t the smartest idea I’ve had, but I don’t seem to getting many of those lately, so I figured why not?

What I did think of is that, if I won’t be left alone in peace, I need to keep busy. So busy that anyone who disturbs me will be instantly thrown out.

Which is precisely how I’ve ended up in an old Backstreet Boys concert tee and tiny, floral shorts, painting my office a delightful shade of duck-egg blue. At eight in the morning, no less.

I dip the brush into the can and hum “Clarity” by Zedd as I continue my redecoration mission. Who knows? If I still haven’t figured this out by the time my office is painted, maybe everyone else’s space will get a lick of new color, too.

Lord knows this place needs it. The cream walls were great in theory, at first. But now, they’re just damn boring. It’s a miracle no one has said, “Hey, Noelle, brighten this place the hell up, will ya?”

Although this building is rather on the large side. Maybe I’ll enlist the help of the others, or if I do solve this case, I’ll get a decorating company in. I know that Jason Marshall has one.

Maybe I should call him for quotes.

Or maybe I should stop procrastinating and actually think about the case.

It would be a lot easier if I hadn’t already thought everything through around ten million times—and that’s just from this morning.

That said, I really, really need to come up with a theory of how to bring the killer to me. It’s incredibly hard without knowing their motive for having killed twice and attempted a third. I know that the police are following the Ryan-and-Penny trail, but it just doesn’t add up for me. The only connection I could find between Lena and Portia is that Portia used to babysit her when she was a teen. Hardly something worthy of killing for.

But according to Brody, Drake is dead set that that’s the right angle.

I think Drake is a damned fool. But what I think doesn’t matter to that righteous shit.

I huff and dip my brush into the paint again. One passing thought of him and I’m mad. It’s like I have a little switch where he’s concerned. One side is happy and the other is miserable. The only time it doesn’t move is when he’s doing something idiotic like kissing me. Then the switch is balanced in the middle.

And this is not solving this case.

“You know, boss, we can hear you singing downstairs. Grecia sent me up to make sure you weren’t being murdered.” Marshall grins, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“You need to get them fixed,” I remind him. “And Grecia should speak for herself. She ain’t winnin’ American Idol any time soon.”

He laughs. “A roller would get that done much quicker.”

I look at the brush, look at him, and shrug. “I know. But it’s therapeutic this way. A little arm-achy but therapeutic.”

“You’re not bringing any of that color crap into my office, are you?”

Slyly, I smile. “Oh, yeah. I was gonna call the local kindergarten and invite them in with their crayons.”

He widens his eyes, and I’m pretty sure he pales a little.

“Kidding!” I laugh, unable to hold it in any longer. “I’m just kidding. I found a gorgeous scarlet red for you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Work with one eye open, kid.”

He pauses for a moment then relaxes when he sees that I’m grinning. “I need a new boss.”

“Nah. They’d never pay you to play World of Warcraft the way I do.”

“Too true.”

“Was there somethin’ you needed?” I ask when he hovers in the doorway.

“Mallory bought the store.”

“Lena’s?” I pause, holding my brush away from the wall. A drop of paint falls onto my foot.

“Yes, ma’am. And the first thing she did was fire Penny.” He shrugs when I open my mouth. “Store records say that Penny was only ever on a temporary contract despite being the assistant manager. Her employment was able to be terminated at any point. And Mallory did it.”

When I pull up to my parents’ house and see Drake’s truck parked at the side of the street, I want to turn around and go home. I wasn’t aware he was becoming a permanent staple in family dinner.

It’s been two days since our fight at the station, and aside from when he handed me a warrant the morning after, I haven’t seen him since. If not for the constant buzzing inside my head, I’d say that the last two days have been rather peaceful.

I wanted to share the information Marshall gave me earlier with my brothers, but I’m sure as hell not saying a thing when he’s around. I don’t believe that this will impact the investigation anymore; it’s more just gossip. Something interesting. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get Mallory on the phone this afternoon to verify it, so I’m stuck with the speculation borne from the results of Marshall’s spying.

Maybe he plays less video games than I thought.

I wait in my car for a long moment, apprehension coiling in my stomach. Do I really want to go in there? No. Do I have to? Not really. Will Nonna tear out my ovaries and force-feed me them if I don’t?

Yes. Just as soon as I’ve gotten married and given her some more great-grandbabies.

I have a few years of safety, so it might be worth the risk…

After a deep breath, I get out of my car and walk down the path to the house. Mom’s flowers are coming out in full force now that it’s a lot warmer, and the brightness and inevitable work makes me ever more thankful that I was the kid born with black fingers instead of green ones.

I can’t even grow a dandelion in my backyard.

“Her eggs-a getting older!” Nonna exclaims, waving a wooden spoon ferociously in the air. “She needs-a babies!”

“Nope.” I turn around and open the front door. Which I just closed a second ago.

“She’s talking about Amelia,” Drake says, his voice traveling across the living room to my right.

I look at him, wishing my heart wouldn’t do that fairytale pitter-patter bullshit. “Well, I can get on board with that.”

“She needs-a them soon!” Nonna continues. “You men, you-a okay! You always work. Women? Pah! Tick-a tock-a, Devin!”

I grin, leaning against the fridge. “Ahh. I see you told her you have a ring.”

“She keeps insisting I go to her work and propose to her! She’s damn crazy!”

“No!” Nonna cries, brandishing her spoon again and sending hot water flinging across the room. “You-a crazy! You need-a babies, too! You need to grow up!”

“You know, Nonna, you’re sayin’ this to me, but at least I’m planning on marriage.” Dev looks at me slyly, taking a few steps away from me. “Noelle is still single!”

“Pah! She-a dating though, si?” She looks to me. “Gio is nice, no?” She waggles her eyebrows.

Oh, Jesus. No. “Never, ever wiggle your eyebrows at me like that again,” I warn her, shuddering. “And si, Nonna. Gio is very nice.”

“She’s only sayin’ that so you’ll be happy!” Dev protests.

“Actually, douchebag, we’re going on a second date! So ha!”

“Si, si!” Nonna claps excitedly. “When? A-where?”

“Uh, next week some time, and I’m not sure. He’s going to call me again.”

She smiles, her whole face lighting up like I just told her that I’m marrying him and getting pregnant with triplets on my honeymoon. And it isn’t a lie. We are having a second date. Email is a wonderful thing.

I nibble on my thumbnail as she turns back to the stove, no longer splashing boiling water or harassing anyone about their relationship status. I feel eyes on me though, and when I glance toward the doorway, I see Drake standing there, his arms folded, his gaze intense beneath the messy hair on his forehead.

I don’t know how he pulls off that surfer-esque hairstyle. I just know that he does. It looks good slicked back for work and looks good all scruffy like it is now. Maybe it’s his jaw, too. Maybe it works because of how delightfully messy his stubble is.

He really is so much prettier when he doesn’t talk.

Mind you, so is Nonna.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask Mom at the exact second a shot rings out.

Devin and Drake both stand to full attention, alert, and Drake’s hand goes to his hip, where he’s no doubt hiding a gun.

Mom smiles and looks at me. “Where do you think?”

“Does he have the targets out?”

She gives me her “of course he has the damn targets out” look.

“He has targets in the yard?” Drake asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Mom replies nonchalantly. “Good luck trying to take them away. Sheriff Bates is around more often than not. Somethin’ about not having the time to go into Austin and those fancy places with all their rules.” Her eyes glitter as Drake gets more and more confused.

“I’m goin’ out there,” I say, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge.

“Girls don’t-a shoot guns for fun!” Nonna shrieks, the spoon coming out again.

“Guess I should get myself a penis, then,” I reply, grinning at the look of horror on her face. I close the back door behind me and almost get attacked by one of mom’s shrubs. I can’t decide whether it’s overgrown or just a lethal weapon I’m pretty sure she could be arrested for.

One of the best things about living in a small town is the ability to shoot guns in your backyard. Okay, so I’m not positive it’s legal, per se, but like Mom said, the sheriff is a regular staple in our yard, and none of the other cops are gonna say a thing to him. I’m pretty sure most of the force has been here at some point or another.

Gio would have a fit if he knew that this happened.

“Nice shot,” I say appreciatively as Dad hits the center of the target.

He looks around, smiling. “Thanks. Joinin’ me?”

“Sure.” I hand him a bottle of water once he’s put his rifle down and he takes a long drink. “You got another target in the shed?”

“Human one. Just for you.” He smiles, walking into the brick building that’s really an outhouse but claimed by him for all of his things. Except the guns. They stay in the actual house. He sets up the target next to his and walks back. “There you go, Noelle.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” I bend and pull my gun from my boot. I’m gonna really miss this hiding spot when it gets too hot for my boots.

Dad chuckles and kisses the side of my head, making me smile. “Been a while since we did this,” he remarks when I put on my protection, then lock my arms in place, remove the safety, and shoot.

Straight to the head.

He waves to get my attention. “And I’m guessin’ you need a chat,” he finishes.

I shoot once more, in the shoulder, then again in the thigh before I replace the safety and set my gun on the table next to Dad’s. I hang the ear defenders around my neck. He picks his favorite Glock up, and I sigh.

“Can I ask your opinion?”

“Sure.”

I explain about Lena’s store. “Why would she do that? Take over the store and fire Penny?”

“Was Penny really instrumental to the day-to-day running?”

“I don’t know. That’s the thing.”

“Did Lena know about Ryan and Penny?”

“Yes. Apparently, she was okay with it.”

Dad pauses, relaxing without shooting, and sets his gun down in its case. “Maybe it’s not a case of Mallory doing it out of spite. Maybe Lena hired Penny and kept her on after the end of her contract as her assistant manager to keep an eye on her. Maybe Lena wasn’t as okay as she pretended to be.”

“Even though she was sleeping with Daniel?”

“Noelle, I’ve never met anyone with as many lives as Lena had. So yes. Even though she was sleepin’ with Daniel.” He rubs his chin. “You know what they say, honey. Keep your friends close…”

“And your enemies closer.” I finish the old saying and look out at the target I just shot at. “I guess. That makes total sense. I never really got the picture that they were friends with Penny. Lena and Mallory, that is.”

“Then Mallory has no reason to keep her on. Penny obviously isn’t a threat to her.”

“But she was to Lena?”

“She was sleeping with her husband.” He stands and raises his eyebrows. “Of course she was a threat. By all accounts, Daniel’s life wasn’t very stable. He still lived at home with his mom. He worked odd jobs. Ryan has a steady job, a nice apartment in a good area of town, and enough money for little vacations every couple of months. Which life would you rather live publicly?”

With that last question, he walks back to the house, his words ringing out in the silence.

The answer, of course, is easy.

I’d rather live the life married to Ryan. The stability his lifestyle provided meant Lena didn’t need to prop anybody up. They were independent within their relationship—literally. She made enough money to live alone—ignoring her debts—but not if she had Daniel needing her financially. Her marriage to Ryan stopped that avenue from opening up for her.

Smart, really. Deceitful and bullshit, but smart. I’ll give her that.

Gotta give her something, after all.

I take a deep breath and push off from the table I’m perching on, replacing my protective equipment I grab my gun once again and reload it, carrying it over to my human target. A few head shots always makes me feel better. I lock my arms and shoot. Shots ring out as I do my best to keep relaxed against the constant recoil of the gun.

When I’m done and I’ve shot every bullet in my baby into the head of the paper man several feet away, I drop my gun to my side and turn to the table to reload.

“Remind me never to let you stand in front of me with a gun pointed.”

I glance up, pushing the magazine back into the gun. “Remind me to put that on my bucket list.”

Drake’s lips twitch to one side as I reposition in front of the target. “You know, there ain’t much headspace left for you to shoot.”

“You want it to be your head I’m shooting at?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Shut the fuck up, then.”

I ignore the buzz of his laughter through the air and aim. And shoot.

This time, when I’m done, there’s nearly straight line of bullet holes through my paper man. Including one where his cock should be.

The temptation to laugh is almost too much, especially when I turn and raise my eyebrows at Drake. “Why are you here?”

He pulls his ear defenders down. “Out here?”

“Here.” I yank off my ear defenders. “At my parents’ for family dinner. Out here, bugging me. Take your pick. I’ll take a reason for either.”

“Your nonna appears to have taken a real good likin’ to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s tryna set us up.”

“Clearly, she’s losin’ her mind,” I snap, reloading my gun again before tucking it back into my boot. I fold my arms and meet his eyes. “And out here? Why are you here?”

Nothing. Just silence. Just those goddamned beautiful eyes boring into mine.

“No? Okay.” I walk past him, pushing hair from my face.

“Don’t go out with him again.” His arm shoots out to stop me, and his words hit me hard. “Gio.”

“Since when has it been any of your business what I do?” I face him, narrowing my eyes as our gazes collide. “Last I checked, I’m a single, grown woman, and if I want to go out with someone, I will.”

“He’s not the kind of guy you need.”

“Neither are you,” I reply, running my eyes down his white shirt, which is untucked over his dark-blue jeans. The bottom of his shirt is gaping, allowing me a view of a triangle of tan skin with a smattering of dark hair. I linger there for a moment before pulling my gaze back up. “Yet here we are, having this conversation, you thinkin’ you know what’s best for me.”

“I don’t. But I know he ain’t it. He won’t get you, cupcake.”

“Screw your ‘cupcake,’” I whisper, my voice harsh. I shove his arm down and away from me, walking past him. “I don’t care if he gets me or not. Maybe I’m not supposed to be gotten. I’m not a fucking puzzle waiting to be figured out.”

“You say that,” he says to my back when I look away, “but you are. You just got a couple pieces missing.”

“Then it’s a damn good thing you aren’t my missing pieces, ain’t it?” The words are shot over my shoulder, and I swallow, my stomach twisting as I yank the back door open and every face of my family stares at me. “Sorry, Nonna,” I say to her. “But I gotta go.”

“Noelle?” Trent reaches for me, but I step out of his reach.

“I cannot be around him,” I explain—like that won’t bring a whole new barrage of questions. I ignore the worried look from Mom and dart out of the front door before I get commandeered into staying and explaining.

I slam my car door shut and rest my head against the steering wheel. My heart is thumping, and I wish I could say that I don’t know why. It’s beating scarily fast because I’m mad but thrilled. The feelings mix up into the kind of emotional tornado that rips through your veins without care.

And maybe that’s what he is.

Drake Nash is my tornado.

He’s roaring through my life, ripping apart my days without care or thought, obliterating any control I think I have and twisting it until I’m so out of control that all I can do is get caught up in his whirlwind.

The fucking bastard.

My passenger’s door opens.

“Talk,” Alison demands, shutting it after sitting in the seat.

“Drive,” I mutter back, jamming my key in the ignition and turning so the little TT starts with a roar.

I pull away from the house and take the turns to my house, not speaking a word to Alison as I drive. She doesn’t push me though. She stays quiet as I fume and breathe and sigh and clench my hands around the steering wheel over and over.

I pull into my driveway far too quickly, angrily slamming on the breaks at the last minute. Bekah opens my front door, and it’s now that I notice her car parked in front of my house. Shows how observant I am.

“There’s cupcakes and wine,” Bek offers, opening the door wide.

I storm through, grab a glass of wine, and drink it in a handful of gulps. “Who the fuckin’ hell does that total douchecock think he is?”

“Drake,” she replies, shrugging.

“What did he do?” Alison asks.

I recap our brief conversation. “Like he thinks he gets to do that! Like he thinks it’s fucking okay to tell me what to do when he can’t even respect me as a person, let alone a woman with a mind of her own!” My voice cracks halfway through my rant, and I clear my throat.

I am a fucking strong woman, dammit. I won’t cry.

“Y’all are so screwed up you don’t even know it,” Bek says. “You’re like gunpowder and a match. You don’t even notice it, but it’s suffocatin’ to be around you both. You just bounce off each other, and when you start fightin’, sweet Jesus! It’s like there’s nothing else other than you two.”

“That is not a good thing!” I raise my voice. “I don’t even like him, okay? He pisses me off all the time. I wish he would literally disappear from my life and leave me the heck alone.”

Alison smiles. “Ah, I remember hating Trent once, too.”

“Don’t,” I warn her, pointing my finger at her face. “I like Gio, okay? He’s sweet and thoughtful and easy to talk to.”

“You say the same thing about your niece,” Alison snorts.

“And Drake is arrogant and pigheaded and stubborn!”

“From the woman who makes backing down and admitting she’s wrong a habit.” Bek grins. “You don’t like him because he challenges you, babe. And that’s okay. But for reals, when you two start arguing, I feel like I’m intruding on some freaky foreplay. Then I think I should look away, but it is literal word porn, and hell, if that’s voyeurism, I have a new hobby.”

Alison bursts into giggles. “It’s true. Even you standing there in the kitchen just now… You had that turned-on kind of anger. You know? Where you’re so angry you want to shoot them but fuck them at the same time.”

“Hey, you should just fuck him,” Bek suggests. “You know, angrily. Bed-shakin’ kind of angry.”

And isn’t that the problem? I really, really hate Drake Nash, but I want to jump his bones. In the bed-shakin’, headboard-breakin’, body-rockin’ kinda way.

And that’s rather annoying.

“I’m not sleeping with him,” I say in a softer tone. “I really do wish he’d leave me alone. He doesn’t have a right to tell me who I can and can’t see. He doesn’t have a right for anything. He’s just a guy whose path I happen to cross on a regular basis.”

“Yep. And in my next life, I’m a two-headed, three-tailed armadillo,” Alison replies.

I inhale deeply through my nose and drop to my sofa.

I am a strong fucking woman. I will not cry.

I am a strong fucking woman. I will not cry.

I sniff, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. “Why do I let him get to me, huh? All the time. He’s like a goddamned stink bomb in a basement.”

Bek trembles next to me, and I hear a tiny giggle from Alison.

“Stink bomb in a basement,” Bek mutters, her voice wobbling with her laughter. “That’s it? That’s the best you have?”

My lips twitch, but I fight it. “Shut up. I’m in a crisis here.”

“Denial isn’t a crisis. Comparing a man to a stink bomb in a basement is!” Alison laughs her way through it, and when she sits next to me, I’m sandwiched by my two closest friends, who are laughing like crazy, and it’s too infectious.

I wipe the angry, frustrated tears from my eyes and let my own laughter break through. It wins out over my emotions, and I rest my head on Bek’s shoulder, letting the amusement run free.

Alison leans forward and pours me another glass of wine. She hands it to me, passes Bek hers, and then grabs her own. “To douchebags.”

“Even Trent,” Bek adds, lifting her glass.

I want to argue that, but, eh… “To douchebags. They’re a great excuse for wine.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Go away,” I mumble, rolling over and burying my head beneath my quilt.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Screw you!” I yell, shoving my head beneath the pillow.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“What?” I snap into the phone.

“Noelle?” Trent asks. “Your office was broken into.”