Текст книги "Twisted Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

In all seriousness, can people just stop fucking breaking into my buildings?

Is it really that much for a woman to ask? That people just don’t infiltrate her privacy? I’m not a fucking Kardashian. I don’t want my ass across the Internet. I just want to wake up, eat cupcakes, do my job, and sleep.

That’s literally it.

“It’s six a.m., and I’m hungover as fuck. This better be a goddamned jewel heist,” I tell Grecia when she meets me at the office door.

Yeah, did I mention we cleared out two bottles of wine and a bottle of sangria last night?

Apparently, emotion makes me do dumb shit.

“No jewel heist,” Drake says, sitting on Grecia’s office chair.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

“This is relevant to my investigation.”

I look at my feet and then pinch the inside of my arm. “Fuck me, I’m not a ghost. Again, what are you doing here?”

“Like I said, this is relevant to my investigation,” he repeats, standing up.

“Whatever. Can I get coffee or have your rookie bitches ripped my kitchen apart?”

His lips curve up into a highly dangerously sexy smirk. “You can get your coffee, cupcake.”

I’ll cupcake his ass pretty soon.

I storm downstairs and into the kitchen, which has clearly been ripped apart. “Y’all gotta teach your bitches how to tidy the hell up!” I shout out the door, slamming it behind me as I turn back into the room.

I put all the plates and bowls back in their places in the cupboard above my head and pull the clean dishes from the rack on the draining board. Mugs, plates, cutlery—they all have their place here. And I put them all back exactly where they belong. Then I pull down the “boss” mug Marshall bought me as a joke for Christmas and turn the coffee machine on.

I rifle through the box of pods and pull a latte one out. It’s full of freakin’ mochas and cappuccinos and whatever the hell other kinds of coffee you can get. I just drink lattes. Dad calls them a coffee milkshake, but it’s coffee. And I can have it strong still. And it’s coffee. Who the hell cares what else is in it?

After filling the hot water, I press the on button and lean against the counter as the machine hums to life. The door opens, but I refuse to turn because I know that it’s Drake.

The emotion in the room has changed. It’s gone from flat with anger to buzzing with tension and conflict and a myriad of feelings I can’t decipher while my head is pounding this way.

I’m never drinking sangria again. Or wine. Or alcohol.

I am a dreadful liar.

When the coffee machine stops, I stir in some milk and throw the spoon into the sink behind me. My lips are twitching with the desire to ask what’s happened this time. Why I’ve been hit again. Why people can’t just leave me alone.

But I don’t. I grasp my mug like it’s a lifeline, ignoring the plainclothes detective standing merely feet away from me.

“Your cameras cut out about ten p.m. last night.”

“They were hoping I was here,” I whisper into my mug.

“Yeah,” Drake answers. “Came back on around ten thirty when it was obvious you weren’t.”

“Any ideas who?”

“From the grainy picture of someone in head-to-toe black? A male. Tall. Lean. Beyond that, no?”

“Sounds like you’re coming along fabulously,” I reply dryly before sipping on my coffee.

“Trent told me about your idea,” he says, stepping closer.

I move away, and he bangs his fist on the counter.

“Dammit, how can you be so fuckin’ stupid, huh? Invitin’ a killer to come and get you?”

I meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t answer to you.”

“No, but your dead body does.”

“Just as well there won’t be one, isn’t it?” I set the mug down and look at him. “Y’all pullin’ some DNA from here or what? Don’t tell me there’s still nothing after all this time.”

“Forensics is on it.”

“And if they don’t find anything, you should look at replacing your department,” I snap, folding my arms. “Are you done here?”

Drake shakes his head. “Noelle, think about what you’re doin’. Think about the ramifications of your actions if your plan backfires.”

“It won’t,” I bluff, ignoring the fact that my plan, right now, is actually to wing it. “I’m not like the rookie shits you send into my places to look for shit. I know what I’m doing!”

“Clearly you don’t if you think you can trap this killer without a plan!”

“And what does that have to do with you, huh?” I shove his shoulder. “Nothin’. That’s what. I’m not a damn kid or a graduate from the police force. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Then you know how stupid you’re being!”

“God, you are infuriating!”

“And so are you!”

“Get out!” I yell, my voice hoarse.

“I’m sorry?” Drake recoils.

“Get out. Of my building,” I add, moving toward him as he walks backward. “If you don’t have a warrant in your ass pocket, get the fuck out. Now.”

He grabs my wrist and pulls me into him. “Listen to me, cupcake. Someone got real lucky last night, and that someone was you. You weren’t here when your killer wanted you to be. Yeah, I said yours. They know you’re waitin’ for ’em. Most nights, you’d be here, right? But last night, because I pissed your ass off, you weren’t. Know what that tells me?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” I manage through gritted teeth.

“It tells me this killer is watching you. You ain’t safe. They’re waiting to strike, and it’s gonna be the second you’re alone. We’re close. I can feel it. You’re their target now. And this killer? They want to kill you.”

“No shit,” I whisper, looking away from him. “I won’t back down. I don’t care what you say. They can try to kill me. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Stop being a pain in my ass.” He grabs my chin and forces me to look into his eyes and all of their devastatingly icy glory. “Someone. Wants. To. Kill. You.”

“I know.”

“Yet you don’t care.”

“I care,” I whisper, holding his gaze. “But did you ever think that I’m your best bet at catching this person? If they’re watching me, if they want to kill me, they’re there. Waitin’, like you said. And that means they’re gonna come to me. Not you. Not anyone else. Me.”

“Yeah, I thought it. But I don’t like it.”

“Ain’t your job to like it, Detective. It’s your job to deal with it.”

“You’re right. It ain’t my job to like it, but I ain’t exactly dealing with it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means—” He leans in, his touch relaxing just a smidge. “It means that I don’t like it. I’m not dealin’ with it. And the thought of you bein’ in the kinda danger you are scares the ever-lovin’ fuckin’ shit out of me.”

My inhale is sharp and harsh and loud. “I’m no wimp,” I reply, trying to ignore the proximity of his lips to mine. “I’m not afraid. They want to come for me? They can. They’re gonna get a real surprise when they look down the barrel of my gun instead of into my eyes. Don’t be afraid of havin’ another dead body on your hands, Detective, ’cause you ain’t gonna get one.”

“Ain’t just any dead body on my hands I’m worried about, cupcake. It’s yours.”

“Yeah, well, in the highly unlikely situation this moron succeeds, you’ll find my body in your hands and my ghost haunting your ass until you join me in Hell,” I breathe. “And then I’ll never leave you alone, so keep on wishin’ for me to stay alive.”

“Oh, I am,” he replies, his voice soft and gentle and honest. “And when you don’t die, we’re talkin’ about your deluded idea to date Giorgio Messina.”

“Deluded?” I move back, making him drop his hand. “We’ve discussed this. No delusion necessary, thank you.”

“We’ll see.” He releases me entirely, his eyes intense and his presence suffocating and everything about him consuming and disastrously sexy.

I cough, pushing everything away. “You’re right. We will.”

The office front door busts open and my entire staff comes bursting through it. Bekah looks as rough as I do, her hair mussed, her mascara smudged with purple circles beneath her circles. Dean and Mike look as though someone just threatened their unit or battalion, and Marshall looks somewhat dumbstruck. I’m assuming this staff rally was a last-minute, emergency gathering.

“What the hell happened?” Dean demands, his arms tense, looking like the toned giant he is. “Miss Noelle?”

“Another break-in,” I reply with a sigh.

“Was anything taken?” Mike asks.

“Nothing,” Trent replies, coming up next to me and touching his hand to my back. He faces me. “It was a straight in-and-out job, sis. I’m sorry. We’ll hopefully know more when forensics gets some results back. They pulled some fingerprints from the windowsill.”

I sigh, knowing that every member of staff will have prints on that thing. I guess it excludes them though, right?

“Thanks, Trent. Sorry y’all had to come out so early.”

“Apologize to Alison,” he grins. “She was ready to attack me with the kettle when I left.”

“Don’t,” Bekah groans, sinking into Grecia’s now-empty receptionist chair. “Just don’t.”

Drake’s eyebrows go up. “I’m guessin’ y’all had some fun last night.”

“Well, pretentious detectives bring it out in me.” I smile and motion pointedly toward the door. “Aren’t you done here now?”

“Here?” he asks. “Yes. With you? No.”

I hold his gaze as his words circle me, and once again, I motion toward the door. “Goodbye, Detective. You can see yourself out.”

His eyes hold mine for a long moment before he finally, slowly, makes his way to the door. He places his hand on the handle and stops, looking at my staff. “She’s not to be alone in this building. Do you understand? A patrol car is outside of her house as of now, and deputies will switch shifts. She’ll be escorted between here and there and everywhere else.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No,” he agrees, still not looking at me. “But someone is trying to kill you.”

My nostrils flare in anger as he walks through the door, making all of my staff and friends look at me.

“Wanna clue me in?” Trent asks quietly.

“Ask your boss,” I grind out, “And get the HWPD the fuck outta my office.”

“They’re not done—”

“If there were a part of me that gave a single fuck, you could have it. Get. Them. Out. Now.”

“Noelle…”

“Warrant,” I reply.

“Don’t pull that crap with me.”

“Then get out.” I turn from him to Mike, Dean, Marshall, Bekah, and Grecia. “Y’all get to work. You can leave early tonight.”

“Noelle,” Trent says.

“No.” I look at my eldest brother. “This is my building. Mine. If I want you out, you get out. Got it?”

He takes a deep breath and touches my arm. “I sure hope you know what you’re doin’.”

For once, I do.

The board in front of me is covered in Post-it notes. I have a color for Dr. Gentry, one for Ryan, one for Penny, and one for miscellaneous suspects. Simple.

Each one is connected by a relationship timeline, which has been scribbled onto the whiteboard with different-colored dry-erase markers. To anyone else, it looks like a muddle of lines and crisscrosses, but to me, it makes total sense.

On the board next to me, I have a timeline of every victims’ last few hours equaled out with the whereabouts of my suspects.

For the first time since this started, I feel like I’m looking at some definitive evidence.

Well, I say evidence.

It’s hard to have that when you’re basing theories upon Post-its and dry-erase markers.

Still—better than nothing.

I lean back in my chair and tap my foot against the floor. My heels sink into the deep carpet, and I chew the end of my pen. If only figuring this out were as simple as the others.

And why did someone smudge my paint on my wall?

Inconsiderate little rookie-cop assholes.

“Yellow?” Bek pokes her head in my door. “Can you sign off this case? Mrs. Gonzalez wants her daughter-in-law followed. Thinks she’s sleeping with her boss.”

I wave her in, my eyes on the board still, and grab my pen to sign the bottom of the sheet.

“Thank you.” She walks out as quickly as she came in, closing the door behind her.

Relationships are funny things, aren’t they? Always twisting and turning… Honest yet so deceitful… Real yet so fake at the same time.

How do you know what’s real? How can you separate the illusion from the clear picture? How is it possible to look at someone and know they’re being entirely truthful? How can you look at someone and know they are when you’re not being truthful?

“Miss Noelle,” Dean says, knocking and pushing my door open. “Ms. Oliver wants her boyfriend Lucas investigated.”

I wave him toward me the way I just did with Bek and sign the bottom of the sheet.

Today is busy.

I pull the cupcake from my drawer once he shuts the door and dip my finger into the frosting. Mmm, chocolate. With sprinkles. And extra chocolate.

God bless whoever put this one there.

Sneaky people…

I drop it as quickly as I picked it up.

Eating a cupcake I didn’t know existed? Am I insane? Paranoid? Yes. Insane? Yes. Still yes.

Good grief.

Thank God I only swallowed one mouthful of frosting.

I swallow it down with a wash of water from my bottle and revisit my boards. I know I’m missing something, however small it is. However big or small or shiny or dull. There’s this tiny little dot in the image that is my investigation that just won’t be filled in.

“Yo, boss.”

I wave Marshall in, not looking at him. Squares. Bright squares. Relationships. Connected oddly. Yet connected. Somehow. Secondarily. Enough? Maybe.

“Here’s the latest on Mallory and the store.”

“Thanks.” I put my hand on the file when he drops it on the desk and slide it toward me. “You good?”

“Yeah. Are…you? Do you need anything?”

I shake my head. “Not right now.”

“Okay.”

I breathe in slowly but deeply when he moves away and lean even farther back in my chair. He pauses, something I see in the corner of my eye, but I don’t pay attention until he moves again and he opens my office door.

I conference-call everyone. “Y’all can leave now,” I say into my speaker. “Thanks for stayin’ earlier.”

“You sure?” Dean asks. “Detective Nash said—”

“I know what he said. My brother is on speed dial. Don’t worry.”

“If you’re sure, Miss Noelle.”

“Positive. I’ll call now and they can send someone over if they feel I need it,” I lie smoothly. “Y’all take a few hours for yourselves.”

“Okay,” Bek says slowly. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna finish printing out the Delaney and O’Connor cases then head off. I won’t be ten minutes after you.”

“I’d feel comfortable stayin’, ma’am,” Dean says.

“And I have my gun. I’m fine. I promise. Detective Nash is a giant worry-worm. Don’t y’all worry now.”

“You sure?” he asks, his voice more hesitant than Mike’s.

“I’m sure as sure can be, doll. You go on.” I hang up before they pester me even more. I reach down, hidden by the camera angle, and put my black-and-pink 9mm into the ankle holster I slipped on not long ago. Then I sit back up, brandishing a pen. “Damn things get everywhere,” I murmur, putting it into my holder.

Bek opens my door and meets my eyes. Her gaze is screaming worry, and I feel bad for a moment. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smile, holding up my Tiffany-blue Glock. “Just gotta pick it up and I’m shootin’ someone. I’m good.”

She looks from the gun to me. “Yeah, you’re good. Call me later.”

I smile and agree. Everyone pokes their heads into my office as they leave, and I tell Dean to leave the office door open just a little. As the last man, he does, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I click my security camera off and dial Drake’s number.

My heart is in my throat as I do, but the danger I face right here, right now, is worse than what I could face from him.

“Detective Nash.”

“It’s Marshall,” I whisper.

“Noelle.”

“Yes. It’s Marshall,” I repeat, still whispering. “The killer.”

“I’m comin’ down.”

“No!” I protest, keeping my eye on the security feed on my laptop. “He won’t come in.”

“You’re tellin’ me you’re bringin’ a fuckin’ killer into your office, in front of you, and it’s okay?”

“No,” I reply, still watching. “But I can get your confession. Just trust me, okay? Please. Y’all can hack my security feed. I’ll send you the login thingymabobs I’ve never found. Just…trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“Then learn to.”

A door closes somewhere in the building, and I freeze, fear flooding my body.

“He’s here,” I say basically into the speaker, a tremor running through me.

Jesus, I’m scared.

“Don’t hang up!” Drake yells down the line, slamming and banging and yelling happening at his end. “Leave this motherfuckin’ line on! You got your gun?”

“Three.” Overkill? Eh, maybe.

“Do not hang up,” he orders.

“’Kay,” I say into the air, setting the phone face down into my open desk drawer.

My door handle squeaks. It’s somehow closed since everyone left, but the two-second delay allows me to turn my camera back on, pull my gun from the drawer and stand.

“Put it down, Noelle.” Marshall’s voice is cold, and his void eyes show nothing of the college graduate I hired a few months ago. They show nothing of the guy I asked to answer a million and one questions and teased about playing video games.

“You don’t want to do this, Marsh,” I warn softly. I feel sick—my gut feeling just hours ago was right.

His lips curl evilly. He looks different. Cold, calculating. Like a stranger. “I have no choice. By the time your boyfriend gets here, you’ll be dead, and he’ll wish he fucked you when he was makin’ out with you on your desk.”

“Well, for one, I severely dislike Detective Nash, so he sure as hell ain’t my boyfriend,” I respond, “And I won’t ask how the hell you know about the desk thing.”

“I couldn’t let you get too close.” He flicks the safety on his gun, the barrel pointed at my face. One shot on target and I’m Sunday lunch for maggots at the Holly Woods Graveyard. “I changed all the records before you asked for them. You’re not as smart as you think you are.”

“Clever,” I soothe him. “And the files that went missing? That was you, too?”

He nods.

“You deleted the files—Lena, Daniel—and then left the false trail. You knew I’d made copies because you reactivated my camera, but you didn’t know where I’d hidden them,” I guess. “You hacked my alarm system at home, broke in, but I woke up before you found the flash sticks.”

Another nod.

“Dr. Gentry. He’s your father, isn’t he? Your relationship broke down when he met Lena. He married her, this girl only a few years older than you, and you couldn’t stand it.”

“She ruined my family!” he hisses, his jaw tightening, his fingers clenching around the gun he’s holding up. “Put it down!” he shrieks.

I gently place my Glock on the desk.

“Good. Now, stand still. Hands out.”

“Doll, don’t do this,” I whisper.

His hold on the gun wavers, and I take my chance.

“You’re scarin’ me, Marsh.”

“I hate it when you’re scared! It makes it hard!”

“Is that why you used hemlock? You didn’t have to deal with them begging. They were paralyzed. They couldn’t fight you.”

“Yes! Lena was easy. Her stupid split personalities made her easy! She was three people. One with my dad, one with Daniel, one with Ryan.” His hands shake.

I drop my eyes to the barrel of his Beretta, which is trembling with his unsteady hold. “And Daniel?”

“He was in the way! He recognized me when I attacked him for her salad. It was unfortunate. But necessary. He was just like her. A life-ruiner.”

I can barely breathe, the adrenaline pounding through my body the only thing stopping me from fainting.

“Portia was unfortunate, too. But a cheater. All the same. And you! You let them carry on! Those cases keep your business running. You live off cheaters and liars.” Marshall’s voice takes on an animalistic tone. “They all died. Except Portia. She realized what was happening before I could burn her like I did Daniel and my dear old stepmother. Dirty whore.”

“Marshall, I’m not those people. I do my job, just like you do.” I swallow. “Put down the gun.”

Where the fuck is Drake?

“No.” He tightens his grip on the weapon and moves his finger to the trigger.

Anyone else would miss the tremble on his finger, but I don’t.

“If you’re gonna shoot me, shoot me,” I taunt him. “I won’t beg you not to.”

His expression morphs, and his finger presses the trigger in what seems like slow motion, the barrel facing right at my chest.

I drop, pull the gun from my ankle, aim, and shoot.

My door bangs open just as my gun recoils. The bang of the door and the loud boom of my shot ring out through my ears, and I curl into a ball behind my desk. I squeeze my eyes shut as footsteps thunder through my office, deafeningly loud to my ear that’s pressed against the floor.

“Noelle!”

“Here,” I call back to Drake, sitting up.

There’s no pain or aching or stinging, and a quick rubdown of my body with my hands proves that I’m definitely not bleeding.

“Did I hit him?” I ask, using my desk to stand up. I look around, seeing that Marshall is cuffed and has a large, white bandage being held to his shoulder.

Two strong arms wrap around me. My face is buried in a solid, warm chest, one that smells like freshly burned logs and hot apple cider tinted with gunpowder.

“Hey,” I say into Drake’s chest. “I hit him, right?”

His hold on me relaxes just the tiniest bit. “Yeah, you hit him. In the shoulder.”

“Oh. Cool.” I want to hug him, but instead, I rest my hands at his trim waist. “Now what?”

“Now, the paramedics come, he gets checked out and arrested,” he sighs, letting me go just enough that he can turn and bark orders to someone on the other side of the room. Then, with his hands on my upper arms, he looks at me. “And I need a statement, ma’am.”

“Sexy.” I roll my eyes. “I have his confession on video, you know. And your unexpected hug.”

He pulls me back against him and brushes his lips over mine once.

“And now your unexpected kiss,” I mutter. “Thought we were fighting.”

“We are. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be glad you’re all right, cupcake.” He brushes his thumb down the side of my face. “And swallow my pride ’cause you were right.”

“I’m a woman. There was never any doubt about the accuracy of my theory.” I sniff in mock affection and look away.

The adrenaline is subsiding from my body now, the recent thundering pound of fear giving way to the dreaded chill of reality. I wrap my arms tight around myself as a shudder rocks me.

“You okay?” Drake asks, his eyes on mine.

I nod. “Just, you know. Coming back down from my heroic high.”

“Badass gene strikes again.” He lets out a small laugh and shrugs his leather jacket off, swinging it around my shoulders and pushing me down into my chair.

I wobble as I sit down, and my heart sinks. “Aw, man.”

“What?”

I lift my foot onto my other knee and stare at the shiny, black shoe, less half a stiletto heel. “My shoe’s broken.”

“You just shot a man and you’re worried about your shoe?” Drake deadpans.

My eyes meet his. “What? He’s still alive, and he’s arrested, and since I have his confession on camera”—I cock my thumb toward the camera in the corner—“I’m taking five seconds to lament my broken shoe. I’m traumatized. I just shot a man who was my employee. I’m coping with this in my own way.”

Drake closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Hell if I know why I worried you were dead. The man upstairs would never inflict that kind of pain on himself,” he finishes on a mutter, his eyes opening. “Come on, cupcake.” He takes my hands and heaves me up. “I’m taking you in so we can close this case.”

“Are you going to handcuff me, too?”

“You make me sick,” Brody gags as I walk past.

I grin at my little brother then glance back at Drake as I hobble across my hallway and down the stairs. “Well?”

Drake takes another deep breath and all but pushes me outside just after the medics rush in. “I usually like to get past five dates before I handcuff a woman. Unless she’s a criminal.”

“I did just shoot someone.”

“Get in the car, Bond.”

“We’re still fightin’.”

“Noelle, we could get married and we’d still fight mid vow.”

“You sayin’ you wanna marry me, Detective?” I flirtatiously bat my eyelashes.

He scowls. “Move your ass before I spank it.”

“Are you allowed to threaten that?”

“Move!”

“Yes, sir.”

I hit send on the message to Gio, telling him I won’t be able to make our date next week. No excuses—just that I won’t be able to.

After Marshall was carted out of my office, I realized that life is short. Cliché as hell, I know. But I didn’t. All it would have taken for my life to be over in a blink was for him to gather the courage to pull the trigger all the way.

Luckily for me, he was too chicken for that.

Unluckily for him, I wasn’t.

I’ve seen guns before, sure, but I’ve never looked at one and thought, Oh shit. I could die. That sounds totally dumb, but I’ve never had one pointed at me as brutally as the way he did, despite his reservations. Despite the fact that I knew, deep down, he wouldn’t actually pull the trigger and shoot me.

At least, I’d like to think he wouldn’t.

I handed Holly Woods PD my security footage with his confession as soon as I was released from questioning. There was nothing I could tell them that my tape couldn’t show them. I told them that—several times—but I’m sure Drake was just being a giant pain in the ass by keeping me there and asking me the same shit over and over.

He’s lucky I didn’t shoot him. My trigger finger was hella twitchy last night.

Now, it’s Sunday, and Nonna has successfully convinced me to come to church with her and thank God for having spared me.

I’m still torn on the whole “big guy in the sky” thing, but I’ll go and worship in my own way. I’ll thank whoever is out there that saved my ass.

“Gio is-a not for you,” Nonna muses, clasping my hand as we get out of my car. “But I like-a the car.”

I smile. “I thought you would.”

“Is-a sleek. Sexy. Will make-a man fall-a in love!” She twirls, her cane nearly taking somebody’s legs out.

“Nonna, control that thing.” I grasp the cane and straighten it. “You will behave in here, won’t you?”

“I-a always do.” She grins at me, which tells me that she’s the one who causes any trouble Father Luiz might deal with.

I shake my head and follow her into the church. She sits us in a pew close to the back and closes her eyes. The urge to do the same is tempting, almost overwhelming. Just to breathe in the serenity of this building, one I forgot even existed until just a couple of days ago.

One I want to bathe in, whether or not I believe the stories behind its existence. I don’t think you have to believe to respect or appreciate things. I think you just have to accept that there’s something other than your own desires out there.

The church fills rapidly, and Nonna pulls me to the side as an imposing figure takes a seat next to me.

I want to groan. I bet this is another one of her matchmaking efforts.

And it is.

So I groan. Because the guy is Drake.

I glare at Nonna. She grins and turns away, making conversation with the woman next to her.

Dammit.

“All right, cupcake?”

“Screw you.”

“Can we talk? After?” Drake asks me in a whisper, smiling.

“About?”

“The case.”

“Sure.” I beat the hint of disappointment down. “Not for long though. I have to take Nonna home.”

“Nah, you don’t. Trent, Alison, and the kids are on the other side of the church.”

“Scheming little…”

“Be nice,” Drake teases, knocking my elbow.

I slice my eyes to him, but I have to look away as my lips curve and Father Luiz steps up to start the service.

I’m not sure I listen to a thing he says. Not out of disrespect or disinterest, but because I’m still thinking over the last twenty-four hours and how quickly things escalated. I still don’t know all the ins and outs or the connections, but I assume that that’s what Drake’s going to tell me after this is done. I sure hope it is. I might have come to the conclusion that Marshall was the killer because of the blue paint spot on his back—something that would have had to have happened while my wall was wet, around ten p.m. that night—but I still don’t know the details like I want to.

So I sit, praying and singing and listening, until the service is over and people are leaving. I turn to my right to see Nonna, but she’s gone, having disappeared into the crowd deliberately, no doubt.

“Come on.” Drake takes my hand and pulls me up, leading me into the crowd walking through the door.

We break through the shuffle of people into the bright spring day, the temperature just creeping up high enough that I’d dare to call it summer.

“Slow down,” I say, hobbling across the parking lot behind him in my heels. Thankfully, the broken ones weren’t my favorite black, Prada, snakeskin ones, so I celebrated this morning by pairing them with my cream dress with the flared skirt.

Drake smirks, glancing at my feet. “No Chucks in your purse?”

I hold the large clutch up. “It’s big, but not Chucks kinda big. They’re in my car, but they wouldn’t match the dress anyway.”

His laugh is infectious and tickles across my skin in the best kind of way. One that makes my hairs stand on end with goose bumps and sends tingles down my spine.

“Here. Now, you can sit,” he says, opening the door to his truck and holding my elbow as I precariously climb into it.

“Thank you. What did you want to talk about?”

“When we get to your place.” He slams the door behind me, and a chill rolls over my skin. He gets in on his side and puts his key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life before he’s even closed his door.

One of the perks of Holly Woods being a small town is that it takes barely any time to get from your location to your destination. The church to my house is no different. Unfortunately, you don’t have to be crammed in a small space with someone you simultaneously hate and want to sleep with for a long time to get real uncomfortable real quick.

By the time he parks in my driveway, my stomach has twisted with the tension tightening between us and I can barely hear anything aside from my pulse pounding in my ears.

I open the door and swing my legs out, tactfully using the little step at the side to ease myself down onto the driveway. I dig my keys from my purse, ignoring the way his eyes are burning into the back of my head, and insert the right one into the lock. My alarm beeps, so I turn to disable it then walk into the kitchen, dropping my purse on the table.

“Well?” I ask Drake, turning with my hands on my hips.

He loosens the tie around his neck and pops the first button open. “Marshall severely restricted the records you received. He hid the fact that Lena suffered from multiple personality disorder, thus allowing her to compartmentalize the separate parts of her life.”