These are pictures of Natalie...and the mayor.
Bile rises up my throat, and it’s only stopped from being vomited out by the lump that’s formed and refuses to be swallowed. This... Oh my God.
This is the something.
I turn back to the note and lift it to my eyes. Handwritten again. Whoever sent me this isn’t afraid to be found out. They must know that even the HWPD has access to someone who can recognize the handwriting.
There are more. Lots more. And it doesn’t stop in the photos. It doesn’t stop with you. He isn’t as safe as he thinks he is.
Oh my God.
It doesn’t stop in the photos.
The something, the one thing we’ve been searching for, Vince was probably killed for is a sex tape.
My very first instinct.
“Oh, shit.”
“Miss Noelle?” Dean pokes his head around my office door. “Is everythin’ all right?”
“Fine.” I gather the photos and stuff them into the envelope. “Hey, can you call the station and find out if Detective Nash is there? And Trent?”
“No problem.” He disappears as suddenly as he appeared.
I make my way into Carlton’s office without knocking and slap the envelope down on his desk. “Scan these images onto the computer and save them. Copy them to a flash drive, too, and give the drive to Grecia for safekeeping. Mark it ‘Owens photos.’ Wear these.” I throw gloves at him, all too aware that I didn’t take the same safety measures.
“What are the pictures?” he asks, picking up a glove and looking at it skeptically.
“At the risk of shattering your innocence... Sex photos.”
One light-brown eyebrow rises. “Excuse me?”
“Not mine,” I add hurriedly. “Trust me. If anyone ever made those, I’d be burning them, not requiring copies. I’m gonna tell you not to look too hard because it’s, uh, interesting.”
“Uh, okay.” He pulls the gloves on, then takes the envelopes and moves to the three-in-one printer in the corner. “Are these the something you’ve been mumbling about for a few days?”
“Kinda. God, this case is a nightmare. What time is it?”
He glances at his watch. “Eleven.”
“Okay. Are they done?”
“Almost.”
“Be right back.” I run back into my office and pull an empty USB stick from my drawer. Then I go back to Carlton. “Here. Don’t forget to label it or Grecia will have a coronary when I ask her to file them all next month.”
“Is that all? Just saving them and making copies?” He brings me the stack of photos back. “And you’re right. They are interesting.”
“Thank you. And no. It’s not everything.” I slide them back into the envelope and hug it to my chest. “These were hand-delivered yesterday. I have a suspicion I know who sent them, but I need you to find me something. It’s probably going to be hard, if not impossible.”
“Sure,” he asks. “What is it?”
“They’re both at the station, Miss Noelle. They’re waiting for you and requested Rosie’s coffee,” Dean interrupts. “Sorry. Excuse me.”
“No, you’re fine. Thanks, Dean.” I smile at him then turn back to Carlton. “I need you to find me the sex tape these images belong to. There may even be more than one.”
“I’ll try. Who’s in them?”
“Natalie Owens and Mayor McDougall.”
“Oh, fucking hell.”
“Sums it up pretty good, kid.” I tap his desk and turn. “You can get me on my cell. I’m out.”
I grab my purse from my office and run down the stairs, thankful that I’m actually wearing sneakers for once. This way, I can at least pretend that running all over town today will be a workout.
I go out to my car and get in. Drake and Trent have a point. Rosie’s coffee will definitely help. So will her pie. And cupcakes.
Cupcakes in yoga pants. Sounds like a perfect combination to me.
I pull up outside the little cafe and make sure the photos are well hidden in my purse before getting out and taking them with me. No way am I leaving these babies unattended.
“Noelle!” Rosie says, wiping her hands on a cloth. The bell over the door is still ringing as I approach the counter. “How are you? And Brody? How is he?”
“He’ll be okay. He has a couple of weeks of recovery ahead of him, but he won’t be kept down. Thank you for asking.” I smile.
“Oh, good.” She presses her hand against her chest. “I was real worried when I heard. I’ll get a batch of his favorite peanut butter cookies made up and sent to your mama for him.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Miss Rosie. Thank you.” My heart is full right now. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”
“Not a problem. Now, what can I get you? I can see that you’re on some kind of mission by the look in your eye.” She winks, and I have to laugh.
“Sure am. Can I get two coffees for Drake and Trent and a vanilla latte for me, please? Oh, and a slice of cherry pie, a torte cupcake, and a peanut butter cupcake.”
“No problem.” Another wink, and she turns and gets to work. She has the coffees made masterfully in minutes and sets the three steaming cups in a holder.
I purse my lips as she pulls a piece of cherry pie from the new pie. “Actually, make that two. In, er, seperate boxes.” I smile sweetly as a smile of her own touches her lips.
“You got it, sugar.”
She serves another piece into a box then sees to the cupcakes. When that’s done, she stacks the boxes expertly. No idea how I’m gonna carry all of this. This is what happens when I get greedy and want pie and cake.
God. I’d say I’m gonna have to eat salads for the next week, but I like pasta and pizza too much to even think about torturing myself that way. Maybe I’ll have a salad with them. That’s much more preferable than instead of.
I hand Rosie thirty dollars and instruct her to keep the change. She raises her eyebrows, because she’s always hated getting tips, but I awkwardly grab my things and turn before she can even think of giving it back.
Just as I step out the door, I hear her drop it into her charity box.
That woman.
Now, with the goodies and coffee nestled onto my passenger’s seat, I drive to the station. The parking lot is almost full, and I drive for a moment before I find a spot on the other side of it. Ugh. I text Drake and tell him to come get his coffee because I can’t carry everything.
He comes out two minutes later and opens my passenger’s door. “That’s a lot of boxes for coffee. Wait. Do I smell chocolate?”
I slap his hand as he reaches for the box with our cupcakes. “No. Coffee. I carry the cake.”
“Possessive.”
I give him the finger then take the boxes and my purse. Then I kick my door shut, awkwardly hit the fob to lock it, and follow Drake into the building.
“What are you doing here today? I thought you were sleeping in. And you’re in yoga pants. Did you actually work out? Doesn’t your cupcake cancel that out?”
“How about you kiss my ass, you dick?” I mutter. “My brain had a workout and I’m rewarding her with sugar, okay?”
“The ass-kissing can be arranged.” He shoots me a sexy grin.
“Is that all you think about?”
“And guns. And food. And sports. Oh, and murderers.”
“You sounded like the typical guy until you added the murderers,” I sigh.
“Well, what do you think about?” he counters, his eyebrow raised as he opens his office door.
“Shoes. And clothes. And cake.” I pause. “And guns and murderers.”
“You sounded like the typical chick until you added the murderers—and the guns.”
“Oh, shut up.” I flounce past him, put the boxes on the desk, and then text Trent.
I have coffee and pie.
He appears in record time. “I read pie?” He holds his phone up, my message displayed on the screen.
“Cherry pie,” I tell him, sitting down and pulling my cupcake from the box.
“You’re my favorite sister,” he groans, grabbing for the box and attacking the slice like a rabid animal.
“I’m your only sister, idiot. And I’m not here for pie and coffee, you know. I actually have something very important to tell you.” I lick some frosting off my pinkie finger.