Текст книги "Twisted Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Bekah talks a mile a minute, ending with a shout of, “Why the fuck didn’t you call me, you dumb bitch?”

I laugh and extract myself from her arms and, more regrettably, from Drake’s warm, large hands at my waist. My arms for once empty of files, I sink into the seat at the head of the table. Drake hovers behind me like a security guard, and it’s kind of annoying. Mostly because I’m pretty sure he can see down my tank top, and I accidentally packed my date-only push-up bra in my hurry yesterday, so I have a badass cleavage right now.

Everyone asks me questions at the same time, the noise cutting through my thoughts, and I whistle sharply to cut through the noise. It works, because everyone falls silent pretty swiftly.

“What y’all are askin’, I can’t answer. I don’t have the details, and it ain’t gonna do you any good starin’ at Detective Pain-In-The-Ass behind me. He doesn’t know either, and he’s already told me he ain’t gonna tell me.” I get a prod between my shoulder blades for that.

“When I know the identity of the victim, I’ll run it by Noelle and see if there’s a connection with Lena Perkins. We’ll take any necessary steps from there, but what she shares with y’all will be on a strictly need-to-know basis, so don’t expect the information you have for Lena. If there’s a connection, Judge Barnes is ready to sign an order to ban any member of the public from hiring you to work the case.”

“Excuse me?” I stand so quickly that my chair falls over. Annoyance threads through my body as I stare Drake down. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“The detective in charge of both cases,” Drake responds, his voice even but his gaze hard. “That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

“Well, break it to me gently, Detective.” I turn around and look at my team, my hands hitting the table hard. “Hit me with what you’re working on today.”

Mike starts. “Two infidelity cases. Surveillance and report writing. Should have one wrapped up tomorrow, and I have a meeting scheduled for three p.m. with another prospective client.”

“Good. Dean?”

“Much of the same, except my case is up in Austin. I’ll be there all day, tracking some businessman. His wife thinks he’s hiring hookers.”

“Any evidence yet?”

“Nope. The strip clubs are some of the better surveillance I’ve carried out though.” He grins.

I shake my head, smiling, and turn to Bekah. “Bekah?”

“Kickin’ your sorry ass and finding out more about both Mallory and Penny.”

“Can’t wait. Sounds good. Marsh?”

“Doin’ whatever everyone else tells me to. Other than that, World of Warcraft.”

“And to think that’s what I pay you for.” I roll my eyes as everyone laughs. “Grecia, did you get Lena’s family yet?”

“No. I did find their last known addresses though. They’re in Austin.”

“Perfect. Dean, could you swing by and see if they’re in? If not, post my card through the letterbox with a note. This is bugging me.”

He nods to agree.

I run my fingers through my hair. “I’m going to spend my morning with my best friend here behind me then get a cab up to Austin to buy myself a shiny, new car. I’m not into having a coffin for a vehicle.”

Dean and Mike snort, and Drake coughs behind me. Marshall and Bekah look at me oddly.

Cop humor.

Need it to stay sane sometimes. Now is one of those damn times.

“And for the love of God, if anyone sees my nonna shouting about Italian men, no matter where you are, please promise her that I’m going to confession tomorrow and I’ll apologize to God for having a dangerous job that will mean I’m a zitella for the rest of my life.”

Bekah giggles in the corner. “No one in their right mind is stupid enough to do that.”

I pause in the doorway then incline my head in agreement. “Get to work, y’all, or I’m cutting your wages.”

“Ruthless,” Drake laughs from behind me.

“Dog-eat-dog world,” I mutter. “Lemme grab my purse.”

I dart up the stairs and grab my purse from the desk. Then I lock the door behind me. Pausing when I notice some scratches by the lock, I frown, but I shake it off pretty quickly. It’s more common for me to hit the handle with the key than it is the lock the first time, especially after a sugar high.

Speaking of a sugar high…

“Y’all owe me cupcakes!” I shout, leaving the building. I stop and shove the door open again. “Without charging for gas money, you goddamned cheapskates!”

Laughter follows me down the path to Drake’s cruiser. Assholes. They should know better.

Good news is I’ll be in Austin later, which means I can buy Gigi’s. And so is Dean. Which means he can buy Gigi’s, too.

I really need to get ahold of someone there and get them to open a small store in Holly Woods simply for my convenience. I’d probably keep them in business single-handedly.

Lies. I’d probably quit and work there instead.

Mmm.

“You’re drooling.”

I snap back to reality and wipe at my mouth. No drool there. “Ass—this isn’t the turn for the station.”

“Someone’s observant this morning.”

“Why are you taking me on the road to Austin?”

“Because all three of your brothers spent thirty minutes this morning arguing over who was going to take you to Austin to buy a new car. Since I have to question you anyway, I thought I’d save everyone the headache and do it myself.”

“Aw, are you being nice to me, Drake?” I grin, shifting in the seat slightly.

His eyes quickly cut to mine. “You had a rough night. Just doin’ my job.”

“In that case, I wanna stop by Gigi’s because—”

“They forgot your cupcakes. Yeah, Noelle, I heard. The whole fuckin’ block heard you.”

“I could fire them for that,” I say seriously.

“Is it in their contracts?”

I pause. “I need to update their contracts.”

Drake shakes his head, but his lips twitch. He has a really bad poker face. But his biceps make up for it.

Sweet hell, what is my obsession with this man’s biceps?

The curving bulge… The vein that trails along the inside of his arms…

Jesus. I’m making out with his biceps in my mind.

What is wrong with me? People are dying and I’m thinking about licking his arm.

I snap my eyes away from his very delicious-looking arms, mentally slap myself around a little, and wriggle my foot in my boot. The gun gets a little uncomfortable after a while, and it’s kind of a tight squeeze.

“You can take the gun out, you know. I have two on my belt.”

Involuntarily, my eyes flick to his pants. His belt. Shit, no, that’s his crotch.

Why can’t belts be around necks?

Why the fuck am I even thinking about this?

Self-preservation, you wonderful thing, you. Not.

I pull the gun out of my boot, but I leave it on the floor by my feet. Call me paranoid, but it’s the floor or down my bra. Gotta be able to grab it in a pinch, after all.

Drake glances at me but doesn’t say anything. Maybe he gets it—I don’t know. It’s cop instinct to have a gun nearby. At least, for me, third-generation cop, it is. My granddaddy never went anywhere without his, Dad still doesn’t, and all three of my brothers have them permanently attached to their sides. It’s practically in my DNA.

“Get on with it, then,” I demand. If I’m going to be stuck in a car with Drake Nash for forty-five minutes, we better actually talk. I don’t want to spend more time with him than I absolutely have to.

“Your alibi has been confirmed.” Drake scratches at his temple and rests his hand on the gear stick. “Honestly, there isn’t much I can ask you until we get the results back from Tim and toxicology.”

“And even then, all I can know is the name of the victim.” I look away. “Great.”

“I can’t give you the autopsy report when we have it,” he says slowly and quietly. “But I can tell you that preliminary findings show that we’re looking at the same killer for both Lena and our John Doe. Their bodies were mutilated in…similar…ways.”

My hand covers my mouth. I don’t have to be Albert Einstein to figure out that what Drake means is that the victim’s genitalia has been ripped to shreds. In this case, his penis.

Jesus, I feel sick.

Tension threads through the silence, tightening the atmosphere in the car. It wraps its way around my body, squeezing my neck until I can’t breathe. Every word Drake says confirms my suspicions that I have something to do with this.

“So, he was poisoned, too?”

“We’re assumin’ so, yeah.”

I lick my lips again. My chest is so damn tight that it’s burning, and there’s a big-ass lump in my throat that won’t seem to go down. Or, indeed, come up. I’d take vomiting right now over this horribly sickened feeling. I honestly feel like I’m about to vomit anyway. My stomach is churning ferociously, and I shift in my seat.

My foot moves closer to my gun. Again, I know he notices, but in typical Drake fashion, he says nothing. Just quirks his eyebrow.

We’re thinking the same thing. I know we are. There’s a reason there’s an elephant on the back seat. It may as well be bright pink with green and yellow polka dots, singing the national anthem for how obvious it is.

Drake clears his throat. “You got any enemies, Noelle?”

“I piss people off a lot, but they ask for it.” Ain’t that the truth. If you hire me to find out if your spouse is cheating on you, don’t be mad at me when I give you an answer you don’t like.

“Anyone hate you enough that they’d want to try to frame you in this? Involve you at the very least?”

“Apart from you?” My tone is dry. “Not that I can think of.”

“Not that you can think of?”

“Ask Grecia. She fields all the pissed-off calls because there’s a slim chance I have a bit of a temper.”

Drake coughs to cover a laugh. “A slim chance, huh? Can’t imagine why you’re not allowed to talk to angry clients.”

“Oh, I can deal with clients. It’s their spouses that piss me off. If you don’t do the dirty, I can’t catch you. It’s their own damn fault.”

“Can’t argue with that kind of logic, I guess.” This time, he lets his laugh go.

I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh properly before. It’s low and rich, the deep sound rumbling through the air between us until all the hairs on my arms are standing on end.

“What?” I half smile, glancing at him through a curtain of hair. I push it from my face and sweep it around my neck. “It’s true. If you don’t cheat, you won’t get caught. The problem with the guys I bust is that they’re not sorry they did it—they’re sorry they got caught.”

“Have you ever been caught tailin’ someone?”

“Once. I got my heel stuck in a drain and she came out of the restaurant. That was awkward.” I screw up my face. “I should probably wear my boots more.”

“Is that why you carry a pair of Converse in your purse?”

“You know about my Converse?”

“It’s a running joke with your brothers.”

Bastards. “They’re just jealous because they never learned to walk in Mom’s heels. Or got the ass to.”

Drake’s laugh rumbles again. “They wore her heels?”

“We played princesses and knights, but we were all princesses.” I sigh. “They’re good brothers. Sometimes.”

“They look out for you.” He prods my thigh just as his phone rings. “If I didn’t respect Trent so much, we’d have given each other a few black eyes by now. Can you get the Bluetooth device from the glove box?”

I shoot him a confused look. What did he mean about Trent?

“Bluetooth piece, Noelle!” Drake snaps.

“Shit.” I pull it out and hand it to him.

He fits it to his ear and taps the green accept circle on his phone. “Detective Nash… You have? … Do you know? … Fuck… Okay, thanks… Yeah, it helps. I need to read it though. Can you get it e-mailed to me? … Thanks, Trent… No, not yet. Later… All right. Thanks.” Drake hangs up and removes the earpiece.

I stare at him as he drops it into my hand. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes have hardened, and his normally curved, pale-pink lips are in a thin, straight line.

“Put it back.” His words are sharp, and his jaw snaps shut as soon as he’s said the last word.

Doing as I was told, I gently place the small device back into the box. The tension is back, this time stronger and tighter. Pure frustration is radiating from the tautness of Drake’s body, and when I focus my gaze on him, I see a vein bulging in the side of his neck.

He flexes his wrists on the steering wheel. “Stop lookin’ at me like that, Noelle.”

“I’m not stupid. I know why you didn’t let me listen.”

“It’s confidential. You know that.”

“Bullshit!” I bang my hand against the dashboard and twist. “You got the autopsy report. You know who the victim is.”

He nods—barely.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“It’s not a conversation we can have in public. We’ll talk when you have a car and are back at your office.”

I’m the connecting factor. I know it.

“Fuck the car! Turn off now and turn the fuck around!”

He swerves onto the shoulder and jams on the breaks. The seat belt stops me moving forward, but the shock comes from when Drake turns around. He clasps my jaw in his hand and forces me to look at into his eyes. They’re full of anger, and they’re glaring at me with the force of that.

“Noelle, for once in your fuckin’ life, listen to me. You can’t do your job without a car. So you’re gonna get a car. Then we’re gonna go to your office, and we’re gonna talk. Do you get that, cupcake?”

I curl my fingers around his wrist as my own anger flares to life inside me. “The term of endearment does nothing to soften your big dominating act,” I bite out, tugging his hand from my face. “But you’re right. I can’t do my job without a car. So we’ll get the car and go back. But we get cupcakes, too.”

Drake’s nostrils flare, and he pulls back onto the road. “Fine.”

“From Gigi’s.”

“Fine.”

“And you’re buyin’ ’em.”

His jaw twitches. “Fine.”

I get out of his cruiser in the parking lot, the proud owner of a brand-new, silver Audi TT to be delivered tomorrow morning and the even prouder owner of a half-empty box of Gigi’s.

I slam the door shut, holding my cupcake box tight, and storm to the building. The whole way back from Austin, I tried to convince Drake to tell me, at the very least, who the victim is, but he refused. He said that, if the guy is connected to me, he couldn’t deal with a freak-out in the middle of a road while he was driving.

Naturally, I completely disputed that I would have freaked out. I might have let out a long stream of curse words, possibly some in Italian, but I wouldn’t have freaked out.

He maintained that he didn’t want to scare me.

I argued that two dead bodies on my properties in a week is enough to freak out a fucking abominable snowman in a blizzard.

“Noelle,” Drake calls after me, narrowly avoiding the main door slamming in his face.

“Hold them,” I order when Grecia holds my messages out.

She freezes as I storm past her and up the stairs.

“Noelle—”

“Later!” I yell at Mike, jamming my key into the hole and turning it violently.

“Noelle!” Drake finally growls.

I shove the door open so harshly that it slams into the wall behind it and then fix him with my gaze. “In there. Now.”

His chest heaves, and a long moment passes between us as he stares at me, both Mike and Bekah staring at us from their office doors.

“Did I not make that clear, Detective?” I tilt my head to the side. “Now means now, not in five fucking minutes.”

Drake’s in front of me in two long strides. “Watch your damn attitude, Noelle,” he warns me quietly, his breath skating across my cheek. “You might get away with sassin’ your family, but you won’t with me.”

“When you’re on my property, I’ll do whatever the hell I want.” I lower my voice. “And you might not realize it, but I’ve been shitting myself ever since I saw that body yesterday, so unless you want me to rip out a pair of stilettos and tear you a new asshole until you’re forced to tell me what I need to know, you’ll drag your ass into my office.”

“Another threat.” He whips his handcuffs out and dangles them in my face. “Want me to use ’em, ma’am?”

I step closer to him, moving the cupcake box out of the way of our bodies, and fix him with a stare that I know is as potent as his. “I dare you to try, sir.”

We stand off against each other, barely a few inches separating our bodies. My heart is thumping in my chest, and hell, I’m turned on. My lower stomach is burning, and the heat is seeping between my legs because all I can think about is Detective Drake Nash putting me in handcuffs.

He lowers the restraints and attaches them to his belt again. Then he nudges me away from the door and slams it shut with his foot. I open my mouth to speak, but he grabs my arm and spins me against the solid wood surface. I gasp and drop the cupcake box as my back collides with the door and his chest presses against mine.

“Don’t ever dare me, Noelle,” he whispers, his tone thick with a seduction that crawls over my skin and joins the heat between my legs. “Because if I get you in cuffs, there’ll be no trying about it. You’ll be beggin’ for it, babe. Keep getting up close and personal and that’ll be sooner rather than later.”

“You wish,” I breathe. Yes. I do. I damn well do.

He dips his head so his mouth is hovering above mine, and every breath coats my lips. “I couldn’t give a fuck if we’re smack-damn in the middle of a murder investigation. You keep pushin’ me the way you are and I will take you. I’m not afraid to give you a real reason to shout my name.”

“You give me a hundred reasons every day.”

“’Bout time I gave you a good one, don’t you think?”

Good logic. Bad execution. “No. I don’t. I think you should tell me what I need to know.”

“I just did,” he murmurs.

“Drake!” I shove at his chest and slide out from between him and the door. My heart is going freakin’ crazy, and I can’t hear a damn thing except for the thundering of my pulse in my ears. Turned on is not what I need to be right now.

I run my fingers through my hair and pick my cupcake box up off the floor. The frosting of the lemon one is smudged on the inside of the lid, and I groan. Dammit. Now I’m mad and turned on.

I carefully set the box on my desk and grab the lemon cupcake. It’s smudged, so I may as well eat it. “Well. Talk.”

Drake puts his hands on hips, and with his legs slightly parted, he looks…powerful. In fact, the simple movement means he’s filling the room simply with his presence, and as his mood changes, so does the atmosphere.

His eyes meet mine, and the heat is still there, but it’s masked by a seriousness that makes my stomach clench. Not in a good way.

“Noelle… Does the name Daniel Westwood mean anything to you?”

I draw in a sharp breath and drop the cupcake.

Drake steps forward. “Noelle,” he says softer.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I need to know how,” he says slowly, coming toward me.

I close my eyes. “He was under surveillance three months ago. Claire Santiago was cheating on her husband with Daniel.”

I hold my hands up as Drake approaches me, holding the pose for a second as I catch my breath and push my hair from my face. My fingers fall through to the ends, and I take a deep breath then turn quickly.

“Marshall!” I push his door open without knocking.

He looks up instantly. “Boss.”

“I need the Santiago-Westwood file. If it’s gone, recover it. Run background checks on both Lena Perkins and Daniel Westwood. Credit records, school records, driver records, medical and dental records—everything, kid. I want to know when Lena started her period and how many inches Daniel Westwood’s cock was when you’re done. Got it?”

Marshall’s eyes flick to Drake, who’s standing behind me.

“Don’t,” I warn him. “I don’t care and I don’t want to know. What HWPD doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Pretend I didn’t hear that,” Drake mutters.

I ignore him. “Just get that information for me. I want their fucking life stories on my desk within the hour.”

My tech kid meets my gaze and nods once. “You’ll have it.”

“I better.” After spinning on my heel, I push Mike’s door open. “Mike!”

His head snaps up. “Yeah?”

“You worked some of the Santiago-Westwood case with me, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You got your notes still?”

“They’re at home, but I sure do.”

“Go. Get them and leave them on my desk,” I order, turning before he can reply.

“Need me?” Bekah appears in her door seconds before I’m about to shout her name.

“Bekah.” I focus on her. “Find Penny Prescott and Mallory Chandler. I want to know if Lena and Daniel Westwood are connected. I want to know if they so much as pissed in the same goddamned sandbox when they were four years old. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“From now on, all other cases are on the back burner until this is solved.” I reach behind me and grab Drake’s shirt. “You. Come with me.”

“Kinky.”

“Bite me.”

“Still kinky.”

Without turning, I snatch his handcuffs and storm toward the basement. Drake simply laughs and turns the light on when we reach the top of the stairs.

I’m glad he can laugh.

I’m still stuck on the fact that I have two dead people who were once under my watch.

Drake takes his handcuffs back before I unlock the drawer the Santiago-Westwood file should be stored in and flick through each brown envelope, my heart stuttering each time I read a name that isn’t the one I’m desperate for.

The drawer clangs when I slam it shut. I fall against the filing cabinet, dropping my forehead to it. The metal is cold against my skin, but the feeling doesn’t last long as my emotions take over.

I feel exposed. Frustrated. Violated.

And real fucking mad.

I slam my foot into the bottom drawer, denting it, and shove off it. “Fuck! It’s gone!”

My fingers sink into my hair, and I tug hard, as if the sting on my scalp can take away the cluster of clashing sensations fighting for dominance in my body. Unbidden tears burn the backs of my eyes.

Drake starts to say my name, but I shake my head and take the basement steps two by two. Thank God for my boots.

“Grecia.” I stop in her doorway. “I need you to check the January-to-March flash sticks for the Santiago-Westwood file.”

She has the drawer open before I’ve turned around.

That’s why I pay her.

When I get up to my office, there are records for both Lena and Daniel sitting there plus Mike’s notes on the case. He covered enough pivotal surveillance ops for me that I know there’s good stuff in his notes. Attached to the top of Marshall’s findings is a note saying the Santiago-Westwood case is missing from the database, but he’s doing his best to recover it.

Right now, I’m not holding out much hope.

“How did Daniel die?” I ask Drake, perched on the edge of my desk.

“Same way as Lena. He ingested hemlock leaves and was tortured as the poison took hold. Again, no idea where the torture took place or where he was kept till he was dumped in your car, but a salad was found at his apartment laced with the leaves.” Drake picks up Marsh’s findings on Daniel with one eyebrow arched high. “Do I wanna know how he got all this?”

“If you have to ask me that, then the answer is probably no.” I skim Mike’s notes. Finding nothing, I switch it for Lena’s records. “Okay.”

I walk to my standing whiteboard. I grab a pen and draw a line down the middle. On one side, I write “LENA” and, the on other, “DANIEL.”

“What are you doing?”

“Similarities. I’m a visual person.” I glance over my shoulder. “I’m going to read out parts I think are important for Lena and tell me if they match with Daniel. All right?”

“I’ll read Daniel and you tell me if they match. My case.”

“Fine. Okay. Whatever. Go.” I sigh and uncap my pen.

“School. Daniel stayed in town his whole life.”

“Elementary, middle, and high?”

“Yep.”

“Lena, too.” So they grew up together. “College?”

“Austin.”

“Lena went to Houston,” I muse.

Together, we run through every place they could have coincided until my phone rings.

“Hold on. Noelle Bond,” I say, lifting the receiver to my ear.

“Lena’s mom is on the other line,” Grecia babbles. “No files on the hard drives.”

“Shit. Okay. Switch her over.” I cover the receiver and relay the information to Drake.

He frowns as Lena’s mom comes on the line.

“Ms. Bond?” a hesitant voice says.

“Mrs. Young. I’m so glad you called,” I say honestly.

“I’m sorry for the delay. My husband and I went to stay with friends for a couple of days after, you know.” Her breath hitches. “How can I help you, my dear?”

“Your daughter’s husband came to see me the day after Lena’s body was found and hired me to find the person who did this—”

“Ryan! Ha! That no-good asshole. Excuse my language.”

My eyes widen at Drake. “Please don’t worry, ma’am. I was hoping you could tell me how their relationship was. It’s always beneficial to hear an outsider’s point of view.”

“It was…shaky at best. Lena was worried about how stable their marriage was given how their relationship started.”

“Understandable.”

“Ryan didn’t like how social she was. She dedicated her life to her store, and he hated that she spent a lot of time there. He also accused her of cheating on him more than once, which only added to her suspicions.”

“Really? Mr. Perkins unfortunately didn’t relay that information to me. Please don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am, but was there any truth to the accusations?”

Drake’s eyes narrow, and he moves to sit on my desk.

“Ryan’s? Of course not!” She gasps. “It was darn ridiculous. Lena and Daniel have been best friends since they were five.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say Daniel?” I scramble for a piece of paper, and Drake leans in. I hit the speaker button.

“I did, dear.”

“Daniel who?”

“Westwood. He must be devastated.”

I draw in a sharp breath and stare at Drake.

“Ms. Bond, are you there?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m sorry, ma’am. What were you saying?”

“Just that Daniel must be hurting right now. Do you know how I could contact him?”

“Mrs. Young?” Drake takes over as I lean back in my seat and cover my mouth with my hand. “This is Detective Drake Nash. I’m the lead detective on your daughter’s case, and I’m working with Ms. Bond on some aspects.”

“Oh, Detective. It’s nice to finally speak to you.”

Apparently, I’m not the only one who hasn’t spoken to her family.

“And you, ma’am. I’m afraid I have some news about Daniel.”

“Oh no,” she whispers through the line.

“I’m afraid Daniel’s body was found yesterday, and I have reason to believe that the murders are connected.” He pauses as she cries out. “I understand this is a real hard time for you, but it would help me and, indeed, Ms. Bond if you could come into the Holly Woods PD tomorrow morning so we can talk.”

“Of…of course,” she sobs. “I can be there at ten. Th-thank you for your call, Ms. Bond.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Young. Both times,” I reply softly as Drake hangs up. “Well, shit.”

“Shit indeed.” Drake looks out the window at the spring sunshine breaking through the trees then back to me. “I think I need to have a word with Ryan Perkins.”

Sometimes, the obvious things are ignored because the finer details get in the way.

Like a much-needed girls’ night with my best friend and sister-in-law has been ignored because of the whole “dead body” thing.

Tonight, we’re at my place, which means copious amounts of sugar and swooning over Sean Connery in Goldfinger.

Yes, yes, I still pretend I’m Pussy Galore. Don’t freakin’ judge me.

She had great hair.

Alison, my sister-in-law, snaps her fingers in front of my face. “I have enough of this case from my husband. I don’t want it from you when I’m shaking up margaritas.” She wiggles the cocktail shaker in front of my face to make her point.

I hold my hands up. “All right, all right. I’ll try to stop thinking about it. Besides, I have my alarm system now.”

Why I didn’t have one before, I don’t know. Maybe because the most notorious murder in Holly Woods’ history was when Bert Stanfield was killed over a barrel of beer and a cow.

Plot twist: he wasn’t. He shot himself after mixing up the moonshine bottle and the vodka bottle.

So, yeah. I never felt the need for a full alarm system in my house. There’s always been one in the Bond P.I. offices for obvious reasons, but who in their right mind would break into a cop-turned-PI’s house?

Precisely.

I wouldn’t.

My phone rings, and I groan when I see Nonna’s name flash up. The woman is seventy-five. She shouldn’t have a damn cell phone.

“You should answer that,” Bekah says.

Alison glances at the screen. “God yeah. She knows I’m here tonight. She’ll just call me and interrogate me about finding you a husband.”

“Freakin’ hell,” I mutter before answering. “Hi, Nonna.”

“Noella! You having fun-a at-a girl’s night?”

“Yes…” I answer slowly. And suspiciously.

“Buono! I want to tell-a you something.”

“Oh no.”

“Sì! I canceled Friday night-a dinner with-a Christofordo!”

“The date you set me up with?” What a name, my friends.

“Sì!”

“Well, grazie, Nonna. I appreciate it.”

“I promise-a him you go out-a with him after you solve-a the murder!” she reels off excitedly. “Sì?”

I clench my teeth in a pained expression. “We’ll see, okay?”

“Sì!” she shrieks. “Ciao!”

“Bye,” I mutter, all but throwing my phone down the back of my sofa. I summarize the conversation, much to Bekah and Alison’s amusement, and hold my cocktail glass out for a refill of margarita.

Girls’ night is just about the only time you’ll get me drinking something other than Jack Daniel’s, and even then, it’s because of peer pressure.

And I’m simply too lazy to make margs for one.

“I want to be her,” Bekah groans as Sean flips Pussy over his shoulder onto the hay bales.

I sigh. “Me, too. Damn my lack of actin’ skills.”

“I auditioned for a Bond movie once,” Alison says. “Then I got there and realized I was too darn Texas to be a Bond girl.”

“So jealous,” I mutter. “Really, Daniel Craig doesn’t hold a candle to Sean Connery, but I definitely wouldn’t mind getting shot by his gun.”

We three stare at each other for a second before we collapse into giggles. I spill a little cocktail. I’ve never pretended to be balanced, especially when giggles ensue.

We laugh and laugh, fueled by the alcohol swirling through our systems. Every time I think we should stop, Bekah makes a shooting motion with her fingers and we laugh all over again.

You know you have the best girlfriends when you’re all knocking on thirty’s door but feel like you’re eighteen when you’re together.

Bekah’s phone pings on the coffee table, and she leans forward to grab it. Seconds after swiping the screen, she groans. Alison and I share a look.

“Uh…” Alison’s eyes flick to her.

Bekah sighs. “I joined Tinder. You know, the dating app?”