Текст книги "Twisted Bond"

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“I will drive,” Silvio, my four-year-old nephew offers, holding his arms out like he’s holding a steering wheel.

I look over at my olive-skinned, tiny nephew. “It’s okay, cutie. Uncle Brody will take me home.”

“I got it,” Drake offers, pushing his chair back. “Mrs. Bond, your Bolognese was to die for, but I’m afraid I can’t eat another darn thing. So I’ll make sure your daughter gets herself home safe.”

Mom blushes. What the hell? “That’s very kind of you, Drake. Thank you.”

“Yeah. Kind.” I roll my eyes and stand. Focusing on my niece and nephew, I give them my weekly warning about being good, and they agree wholeheartedly. Little shits. Good thing they got my cute.

Nonna eyes me speculatively as I shrug my jacket on, and I stare at her, daring her to say anything. Anything at all. Just even goodbye.

When nothing happens and Drake passes me my purse, I give her one final glance.

“Drake,” she calls.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Sei italiano?”

Oh, fuck no. “We’re going. Caio!” I shove him out of the house and slam the door shut behind us. I’ve had more than enough abuse from my family tonight. Drake Nash does not need to be subjected to such a horror.

I take a deep breath and climb into his truck, dumping my purse at my feet. I get the feeling that that was a very narrow escape. It’s one thing for Nonna to invite him to dinner, but it’s another entirely for him to be even one-hundredth Italian.

If the woman sniffs Italian on his breath, she’ll hound his ass until, in this case, we either marry or I kill him.

The latter is the more likely option. Let’s be honest—we can’t be together five minutes without jumping down each other’s throats. And sadly, it’s not a physical jump.

Sadly? This wine is going to my head.

“Your grandmother is…something,” Drake notes, his voice hesitant.

Oh, good. He understood her last question.

“Oh, she’s a lot of freakin’ somethings. Not many of them good.” I push my hair from my face and let out a long sigh. “Did she invite you tonight?”

He nods. “After her performance in the station the other day, it was obvious why she invited me. Trent said I should come just to get her off my back. Yet there she is asking me if I’m Italian.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s like a bloodhound. As soon as she sniffs potential husbands, she’s asking the guys to run background checks and research their family trees.” I shake my head. “She’s fucking crazy.”

Drake’s lips curl into a smirk, and he glances at me. “Good thing she hasn’t researched my family tree. I wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

“If you have Italian blood, stop the car. I’ll walk home. Screw that.”

He laughs, deep and goose bump inducing. I fight my shiver.

“I won’t tell you then,” he says through his laughter. “And I certainly won’t tell your nonna.”

I shift in my seat as he pulls onto my street and parks behind my car on my driveway. “Save yourself, Drake. Leave town. I’m already fucked. I won’t drag you down with me.”

Another laugh. He unclips his seat belt and turns to me. My front porch light is on, and the dim glow casts shadows over his face, making his eyes seem brighter than should be possible. I swallow when he leans forward.

“She’s wasting her time,” he murmurs, his eyes hot on mine. “I might be a quarter Italian, but you and I would be locked up on attempted murder charges by the end of the first date.”

“You clearly have a different idea of wasting time than she does. She and Nonno fought every day. And when I say fought, I mean she threw plates and he screamed that he was divorcing her ‘crazy fuckin’ ass’ because she would give him a heart attack before he was fifty.”

“Did he?”

I smile at the thought of my late grandfather. “Never. They hated each other for at least two hours a day, but the way they loved each other for the other twenty-two canceled that out.” I shrug. “Even if she did give him that heart attack. Never quite managed to kill him, though.”

“Sounds like a pretty fucked-up marriage.”

“You’re familiar with my family, aren’t you?” My lips twitch as I meet his eyes again. “Nonna thinks the best kind of love is the one where you hate each other at least once a day. Something about caring enough to get pissed off.”

“Touché.” His smirk mirrors mine. “Don’t worry, Noelle. I’ll keep my heritage under lock and key, just in case.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I’d hate to have to shoot you again.”

The glint in his eye… It’s almost like he wants me to. Challenging and daring and heated.

“I’d have to arrest you if you did,” he says in a low voice that flows over me like ice-cold water on a red-hot summer’s day. “Speaking of shooting… How many guns do you have with you right now?”

I reach down and grab my purse, then sit up to unclip my belt and open the door. Swinging my legs out, I glance back at him. “Two. I knew you were coming for dinner.” I grin and jump out.

Drake roves his eyes down my body. “Where is it? The one not in your boot.”

I run my fingers through my hair, smiling. “Somewhere you’ll never find it.” Then, with one last look, I tug up my tank top to cover my cleavage and turn toward my house. My hand is diving into my purse to find my keys when Drake calls my name. When I turn, he’s leaning out of his window, looking at me seriously. “Yeah?”

“Make sure you set your alarm system tonight,” he says, a darkness I don’t like in his tone. “And lock every door.”

“Should I ask my neighbor if I can borrow his guard dog, too?” I joke.

Drake’s answering silence lets me know that he thinks that might not be too much of a bad idea.

I swallow. Hard. He knows something I don’t. Something about me.

“Thanks for the ride home.”

“You’re welcome.” He waits until I’m inside before he pulls away.

I set the alarm system and yank the deadbolt on the front door. After checking that my back door is locked, too, I kick my shoes off, remove my gun from the ankle holster, and grab my phone. It’s only eight p.m., so I dial Ryan’s number as I pull the bottle of wine out of my fridge.

“Noelle? Is everything okay?” he answers.

“Yes. I have a couple of questions. Are you free?”

“Sure.”

I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pull a glass down. “Do you know if Lena bought her salad from Rosie’s the day she was killed?”

“She did. She called me when she was there. I didn’t think that was important.”

“Neither did I,” I say under my breath. “So, she picked it up, right?”

“She went in to order it and had it delivered since she’s just down the street. She did that a lot.”

“Why didn’t she just call?”

“You already know we’d been fighting all day. She called me to tell me she was staying at the shop because there was stuff to do and didn’t want to have the conversation with the girls around.”

That makes sense. “Okay. Thanks. This helps fill in some blanks.”

“Is everything okay?” he repeats.

“Yes. I’m just trying to get a solid timeline together is all. Sorry to bother you on a Friday night.”

“No worries, Noelle. You can call any time.”

Nice to have permission for something I already plan to do, I guess. “Thanks, Ryan. Have a good evening.” I hang up and carry my wine to my front room. After turning the TV on for background noise, I curl up on the sofa and pull my little Tiffany Glock from my chest. I set it on the side table next to me and sip my wine.

Just before Lena was killed, she’d gone to Rosie’s to call Ryan and order dinner. That would have taken ten minutes at most, so when she got back, she told Mallory and Penny to go. Rosie’s salads are all fresh, so it would have taken fifteen minutes to prepare, and around three minutes to deliver down 21st to the boutique.

Which means the salad was somehow poisoned during its delivery. And taken from Rosie’s salad container and put into another. Otherwise, HWPD would know exactly where Lena ordered her salad.

Why was the container changed? How did the salad get tampered with? Who delivered it? Why has no one come forward to say that something happened that night? Who was watching Lena to know that? Was it planned or was it simply an opportunistic moment to kill her?

And how the hell did Daniel Westwood, her best friend and fellow cheatee, get poisoned?

I saunter into Rosie’s Café before the morning rush and set my purse on the counter. Rosie Martinez, plump with slightly greying hair, turns and shoots me a big smile that’s reflected in her hazel eyes.

“Well, good morning, Miss Noelle. How are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you, ma’am,” I reply, my eyes dropping to the pastries. “How are you?”

“I’m just fine, thank you.” She wipes her hands on her apron. “What can I get you?”

“I actually hoped you could answer a couple of questions for me if you have time.”

She waves her arms around the café. “No one here but you and me, sugar. What’s botherin’ you?”

“I found out last night that Lena stopped by and ordered her food the day she died,” I say softly, bringing my eyes to Rosie’s. “I’m trying to piece together how your salad got the poisoned leaves in. I can’t work it out.”

Rosie sighs and pushes a few loose strands of hair from her face. “Miss Noelle, I wish I could answer you. Daniel took a few salads out, only he never came back. Never answered his phone or nothin’.”

“Daniel?” I frown. “Westwood?”

“Yes. He helped me out here on some evenin’s. My back ain’t what it used to be,” she chuckles. “He was around for deliveries¸ sortin’ that there stockroom out the back, and little bits of handy work. Touchin’ up paint spots, puttin’ up a picture—you know the type? He was a good boy,” she finishes on a soft tone. “Of course, he never answered his phone.”

I reach over the counter and gently tap her hand. “He was a darlin’, for sure.” Except for the part where he fucked another man’s wife. “Have you found some extra help again?”

“No, ma’am. I just haven’t had the time.”

“I know someone who would be willing to help. Marshall isn’t the strongest, but he’ll do until you can find a replacement. I’ll talk to him when I get back to the office.”

Her face brightens. “Oh, you’re a good girl, Noelle. No wonder your grandmother is fixin’ to get you married. You’ll be a good wife.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

“I’m waiting until she can find a man who can handle me, ma’am.” I grin. “She’s not doing too well on that.”

The bell over the door rings, and I turn just in time to see Detective Nash and Detective Bond The Eldest walk into the café.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here, Ms. Bond?” Drake drawls, his hands on his hips, his eyes burning into me.

“Because you’re following me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “How on Earth am I supposed to know that, Detective? I was just about to order coffee for all my staff. They’re workin’ real hard right now.”

“I’m sure you were,” he replies, disbelief thick in his tone. “Are you meddling in my investigation?”

“No, but you sure are meddling in my morning coffee consumption.” I sniff and turn back to Rosie. Shit. Now I have to pay for six cups of coffee. Sigh.

“I’ll be right with you, Detectives,” Rosie says, acknowledging them. “What can I get you, Miss Noelle?” She winks.

“A regular latte, a large cappuccino, a double espresso, and three large vanilla lattes, two of them skinny. Please.” I tick the orders off in my mind to make sure I have enough coffee for everyone. Yep. Nailed it.

“Of course there’s one full-fat vanilla latte,” Trent notes.

“Oh, bite me.” I roll my eyes and step to the side as Rosie turns to make my order. My eyes flit to the pastry cabinet.

“You’ll regret it tomorrow,” my brother warns, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, I already regret it,” I mutter. I should have known that these buffoons would turn up first thing this morning to talk to Rosie. But I figure I have at least an hour on them to figure out what the hell happened to Daniel Westwood.

God, it would be so much easier with his autopsy report.

“Get much out of Rosie?” Drake asks, his eyes telling me that he’s got my number.

“I don’t know what you mean, Detective. All I’ve said is that I’ll send Marshall around to help her with her deliveries now that Daniel isn’t with us.”

Drake’s eyes go cold, and I swear he gets an inch taller when he straightens. “Daniel?”

“Do you need a hearing test?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Noelle.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, a sassy smile on my face as Rosie puts my coffees in front of me. I grab a large cup holder tray and say to her, “Could I get one of those chocolate croissants, too? And two of the hot bacon-and-cheese braids?”

“Of course.” Rosie bags them all up separately and gives me my total.

I hand her my card, fully aware of the two men staring at me—one with a lot more anger than the other. Rosie hands me the receipt, and I scribble my name on the signature line before handing it back to her.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say to Rosie then turn to Drake and Trent. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”

Trent simply shakes his head as I pick my pastries and coffees up. Drake, however, pins his eyes on me. His gaze follows me as I walk to the glass doors of the café and lean back against them to open it. I pause just before stepping out to shoot him a wide, I’ve-got-your-number smile with a touch of smugness.

His jaw tightens, and the angry glint in his eye only serves to make me laugh. Hot damn, it is just too easy to wind that man up. And way, way too fun.

I walk down the street and take the turn that’ll lead me to my office. My visit to Rosie’s, for all the questions it answered about Lena, has done nothing but give me another hundred and one more questions about Daniel. Holly Woods is a small town—surely, if he had been missing for a few days, someone would have known? Then again, his best friend was just killed. It would have been easy to assume he was hiding out as he coped with that.

I just can’t help but think that something is missing.

Why them? Why steal my files? If the files hadn’t been stolen, with Daniel’s still floating around somewhere in the universe, it would be much simpler.

What the hell is my connection to these murders? Aside from the obvious, which is far too obvious to even be a possibility.

I open the door to my building and walk into Grecia’s office. It’s empty, so I put her croissant and coffee on her desk before heading into Dean’s office down the hall. He takes his coffee with a kiss to my cheek and a promise to do the next Gigi’s run for free. Bingo.

“Oh, hey,” I say to Marsh, walking into his office and handing him his espresso. “Rosie needs a little help a few evenings a week running deliveries and helping her sort stock since Daniel died. I told her you might step in for a couple weeks until she can find someone to replace him.”

“Sure,” Marsh replies without looking up from his computer. His fingers are flying across the keyboard, his eyes flicking back and forth behind his glasses. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Are you playing World of Warcraft again?”

“No, boss. I think I could be close to recovering the Santiago file.”

I blink. “Oh. Well. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks.”

I shoot one last glance at him before pulling his door closed some. The kid is some kind of technological genius, I swear. I can just about work my cell phone—there’s no way I can search for files in the netherworld of the Internet.

“Breakfast.” I drop Bek’s pastry and coffee on her desk in front of her.

She looks up from the file she’s reading and wipes fake drool from the corner of her mouth. “You went to Rosie’s? You’re the best boss ever.”

I laugh. “So you say. I was coerced into buying them when my brother and Detective Nash showed up.”

She narrows her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Let me give Mike his coffee.” I put my drink and pastry on her desk, too, and back out. Mike’s door is partially open, and as I approach, I hear a high-pitched giggle.

“Wouldn’t go in there,” Marsh warns, glancing up at me through the gap in his door.

“Why?” I turn and frown at him.

“Actually, you probably should. And remind them that I can see it.”

Can see what?

I pause for just a second. Then I knock twice on Mike’s door before pushing it open.

Holy shit.

My mouth goes dry as I take in the scene before me. Grecia. Sitting on his lap. Kissing. Quite feverishly if her hair is any indication.

She gasps and jumps up, frantically reaching up to smooth her hair out, and Mike stands, straightening out his shirt collar.

“Explain. Now,” I demand, staring at them both. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks,” Grecia mumbles.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Most workplaces don’t allow it,” Mike reasons. “We thought you might be…the same.”

I put his coffee down and rub my temples. Why did I never make this policy a thing? “Okay. One, if I were like that, you’d both be fired right now. Two, y’all hidin’ this shit is not okay, especially not when you’re makin’ out like a couple of teenagers on my damn time. I pay you to do your jobs, not get each other excited. Not to mention Marshall can see this on the security cameras.”

Blood rushes to Grecia’s face, and she covers her mouth with her hand. I guess she forgot that little gem.

Something niggles at the back of my mind, and I narrow my eyes. “I knew you were lying about your alibis. You were together the night Lena was killed, weren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mike mutters.

I run my hand through my hair. “Okay. I cannot deal with this right now. Mike, your coffee is there. Grecia.” I look at her. “Yours is on your desk with a pastry. I want you in that room for the rest of the day unless it’s absolutely necessary to leave. And absolutely no more fucking make-out sessions when you’re at work. Y’all do what the hell you want at home, but not here. Keep it separate. And if I ever, ever find out you’re breakin’ my rule, you’re both fired. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mike repeats.

“Yes, ma’am,” Grecia echoes.

I look at Grecia pointedly and point at the door. “Downstairs.”

When she’s gone, I turn to Mike. To his credit, he looks fully ashamed.

“Noelle—”

“Now, don’t be givin’ me your excuses, Mike. I ain’t interested. What I am interested in is you recreating the last few days of Daniel Westwood’s life. Turns out Rosie sent him to deliver Lena’s salad the night she died and never saw him again. Find out who the very last person to see him was. Keep your mouth busy talkin’ instead of kissin’.” I glance at his mouth, which is smeared with a little lipstick. “Just make sure you wash your face before you leave your office. You look like you got in a fight with a makeup counter.”

He nods and rubs at his lips. I turn on my heel and stalk toward Bekah’s office, stopping at Marshall’s and telling him to keep an eye on those two. He agrees with a grunt. At least, I’m assuming he’s agreeing.

He better actually be looking for that file and not playing his dumb video game or I will cover his office in pretty potted plants.

“Did you know that Grecia and Mike were bumping uglies?” I ask Bek, closing her door.

“Fuck off!” She claps her hand over her mouth. “I mean. No.”

I fight my laughter. “Yeah. I just walked in on them kissing in his office.”

“No!”

“Yep.”

“What did you do?”

“Tore them new assholes and told them that, if they make out at work again, they’re fired.” I shrug and sit down. “Marshall is on perve-duty.”

Bekah laughs. “Right. Oh, wait! Were you right about them lying about their alibis?”

I grimace and nod. “It’s a shame my spidey-senses didn’t pick up on their secret relationship. More to the point, how did they keep it secret?”

“Yeah. Everyone knows everything here. It’s already halfway around town that Detective Nash had dinner at your parents’ last night and drove you home. I dropped by the store before work and was cornered, like, six times and questioned.” She rolls her eyes.

“Wait, what?” I frown. Quick enough, realization sinks in. “Oh my God. Does everyone think we’re dating?”

“Nonna’s going into the station and yelling about Italian cops and his going for dinner look kinda suspect.”

“I cannot catch a break, can I?” I sigh heavily and tear off a piece of my pastry. I chew it angrily, thinking about my nonna and her meddling ways.

Great—let’s add some romantic rumors into the mess that is my life right now. That’s what I need.

“And you know Nonna will hear those rumors and not consider where they started,” Bek continues.

“Oh God,” I moan, sinking down in my seat. “I’m debating my mental health at the time I decided to come back to this damn town.”

She grins. “Look on the bright side. Drake isn’t in here, yelling at you for obviously beating him to the punch in the investigation.”

“Yet.” I point another torn bit of bacon-and-cheese goodness at her. “Let’s not jump the gun on that one.”

My best friend laughs. “Why were you at Rosie’s, by the way?”

Oh, of course. The real point of my being in her office. I tell her everything we learned last night at dinner and what I found out this morning at the café. Obviously, that ends that part of our conversation. Because there pretty much is no more information about anything at all that means we can make sense of what we found out.

“Why didn’t we know that Daniel was working for Rosie?” Bek muses, twisting her lips to one side in a thoughtful pout. “Wouldn’t it have come up on the background check you had Marsh do?”

“I don’t think it was anything official.” I get up and walk to her window. Her office looks out over the trees behind the building and onto the park behind it. “I think he just helped her out a few nights a week and she gave him some cash at the end of each evening.”

“Isn’t he a little old for a job like that?”

“Yeah. But Rosie is close friends with his mom, so maybe he felt obligated to.” I shrug. “I don’t know, Bek. The only real suspects we have are Penny and Ryan. They are literally the only people I can think of who would have a motive to kill both Lena and Daniel.”

Bek chews on her thumbnail. “Did anyone see Daniel after he disappeared on the delivery run?”

“I have Mike looking into that. But if not, this investigation is so full of dead ends it’s unreal.”

Two quick knocks bang at Bek’s door.

“Yeah?” I call, craning my neck around to see who’s interrupting me.

Dean steps in. “Miss Noelle. Miss Bekah.”

“What’s up?” Hopefully not another dead body.

“I’ve been looking into Lena’s life like you asked, to see if she had any enemies.” He pauses, and after a moment, I nod for him to continue. The man has the manners of an angel. “It turns out she was married in her senior year of college.”

“She was married in college?” I frown, turning fully in the seat. “She didn’t stay in Houston long after her graduation. They must have been granted a quickie divorce, right?” I glance at Bek, and she shrugs.

“Well…” Dean coughs. “That’s the thing, Miss Noelle. She never was divorced.”

I put the phone down and sigh. No, the lady at the record office said. Unless I’m a police officer with a warrant, I have to wait for marriage records like everyone else and pay the rush fee that isn’t actually a rush fee.

More like a rip-off fee.

The thought makes me groan, and it sinks in that I may have to go to HWPD with this information. Dean only knows because he dug deeper than he normally does, which makes me think the police don’t know that Lena was married before. Which means I’m potentially in possession of case-altering information.

I drum my fingers against the table and stare at the park beyond my window. It’s as busy as you’d expect for midafternoon on a Saturday—dog-walkers, elderly couples, moms and dads with little kids, a few groups of teens.

I lift my phone back up and dial Marshall’s code.

“Yo,” he answers sharply.

“Can you see if there’s any record online of Lena Perkins being married when she was in Houston?”

“You askin’ me to hack?”

“No. I’m asking you to see if there’s an online record. It’s not my business how you do that.”

“’Kay.” He clicks off, and I shake his mood off.

The kid has had a stick up his backside all damn day, but he’s working desperately to recover the information we need, so I’m trying not to be mad. But still—he talks to me like trash again and he’s gonna know about it.

My phone rings, and instead of picking it up, I hit the speaker button. “Noelle Bond.”

Brody’s voice fills my office. “Drake is mad at you.”

“You say that like I should be surprised.” I laugh. “Drake is always mad at me.”

“Yeah, well, he found out you weren’t at Rosie’s for coffee this morning.”

“Really? He believed that?”

“No. He’s just real pissed you lied to him.”

I shrug a shoulder. “And it’s taken you…seven hours to call me and tell me he’s mad.”

“Yeah. I’m only tellin’ you because he’s on his way to your office.”

“What the hell for?”

“Presumably to threaten you yet again about ‘meddling’ in his investigation.”

I roll my eyes. “Noted. Thanks, Brodes. I’m ready for the bear when he shows up.”

“And by ‘I’m,’ you mean you and not your gun, right?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Noelle!”

I grin and hang up before he can give me his inevitable warning. Oh, come on. I wouldn’t actually shoot Drake Nash.

Would I?

Well. Maybe.

Depends on the mood he catches me in. Luckily for him, I’m pretty amused right now.

My phone rings. Yet again.

“Noelle Bond,” I sigh.

“Heads-up: Drake’s cruiser is outside,” Bek says. “And he looks pissed. Hot but pissed.”

“Fifty bucks on him threatening to arrest me.”

“Fifty bucks on him actually doing it,” she retorts. “You’re on.”

“Have you not heard of appointments?” Grecia yells in the hall, and I put the phone down. “Or manners?”

“Is Ms. Bond here, Ms. Gonzalez? Yes or no.”

“Yes! But you must have an appointment to see her!”

My door slams open, my wall only saved from certain destruction by the handle by the angle it opens at. It bounces back immediately, and the only reason Grecia isn’t whacked in the face is because she steps back.

I look up straight at the powerhouse that is Detective Drake Nash. His hair is curled and falling across his forehead, and those glacier-blue eyes are so angrily intense that I can physically feel his emotion radiating from his body. The force is so strong that shivers cascade down my spine one after another, a cascade of mixing emotions that make absolutely no sense to me.

“Come on in, Detective Nash, by all means.”