And that’s something that needs to be stressed. He hasn’t be arrested.
Yet.
Although it’s only a matter of time with the way Drake is tearing him apart.
“Where were you on the night of the eighth?”
“I already told you,” Nick snaps, “I was tattooing a client.”
“Yet you can’t provide me with anything that’ll prove it.”
“Because I don’t have security cameras. I don’t need them.”
“Every business needs security cameras, Mr. Lucas.” Drake taps his pen against his papers. “Were you stalking Ms. Owens? She seemed very insistent to Ms. Bond that you were the person behind her plight. The messages, the phone calls...”
“Believe me, Detective Nash”—Nick all but spits his name—“I’d rather go to fuckin’ hell than stalk that crazy bitch. I wanted nothin’ to do with her freaky ass when she was alive, and I sure as shit don’t want it now.”
I run my tongue over my lips. “Tell me again where you were the night Natalie’s house was almost broken into.”
He slides his eyes from Drake to me. “My studio. With a client.” Sweat beads on his upper lip.
“What were you tattooing?”
“A back piece. A pheonix.”
“Not a dragon, then?”
“What are you insinuating?”
I walk across the small room from where I’ve been leaning against the wall and clasp the back of both Drake’s and Trent’s chairs. “I’m insinuating that, when you told me this information only a couple of days ago, you were tattooing a back piece, except it was a dragon. Now, it’s a pheonix. Not creatures you can mix up. So, while I fully believe you were at your studio, I’m insinuating, Mr. Lucas, that you weren’t tattooing at all. So, who were you with?”
His eyes narrow until they’re barely slits. “I thought you weren’t a cop?”
“I’m not. But as long as the mayor’s signature is on my contract, I can interrogate you until you lose your voice. And believe me when I say I will. So, who were you with? Why won’t you tell me? What’s the big issue with honesty?”
“You don’t have to answer anything,” his lawyer instructs.
“Correct. He doesn’t,” Trent adds. “But there’s more than enough circumstancial evidence against him that, if he doesn’t tell us the truth, we’re going to arrest him on stalking charges and he’ll be in the dock tomorrow morning, explaining himself to Judge Barnes.”
“Circumstancial evidence?” Nick looks at both of the guys in front of me before his eyes rest on me. “What do you mean circumstancial evidence?”
“There are several payments to an account in your name from Randy McDougall’s private account,” I explain. “We have reason to believe that he hired you to harrass Natalie Owens and issued you a payment every time you reported back to him. Unless you tell us the truth, we’re assuming that’s the case.”
“He didn’t pay me a damn penny. You can check my bank details with his right now.”
“That’d be great, thanks,” Drake says. “Here. Write down your bank details and turn over your card for photocopying and I’ll get someone on that right now.”
He does it.
Because he isn’t lying about being paid. He’s lying about what he was doing the night before Natalie called me out about the attempted break in, but this? No. He never saw a penny from Randy McDougall except for the initial payment.
“The eighth,” Trent continues after Nick’s card has been handed to Drake, despite his lawyer motioning for him not to. Ugh, what a dick. “That night. Was it a pheonix or a dragon? A tiger? A fairy, Mr. Lucas?”
He doesn’t say a word.
“Perhaps you had an adult coloring book and don’t want everyone to know you have a penchant for coloring in pretty pictures,” my brother continues. “Or you really were at Natalie Owens’s house, a brick in your hand, ready to smash her window in.”
“I was with Madison!” Nick snarls. “Okay? I was with her. We went for dinner in Austin then came back to my apartment. We spent the night together, and she left the next morning.”
Bingo.
Drake fights his smile as he slides his chair back. “Thank you, Mr. Lucas. I’ll get these bank details checked out and inform you of our next move as soon as possible. Someone will be in soon to escort you and Mr. Jenkins to a more comfortable waiting area.”
Trent calls the end of the interview and hits the button on the recorder before pulling the tape out. He slips it into his pocket, and I open the door and slip out first.
“Well?” Drake asks me. “What was he lyin’ about?”
“Apart from the tattoo? Nothing. I’d bet my next purchase of Louboutins that those account numbers won’t match up with the ones on the payment records.” I shrug a shoulder. “Do y’all have coffee in this place? My brain is about to give up.”
“Hey.” Drake grabs Dev as he walks into the station. “I need you to check something for me.”
When Dev replies in the affirmitive, Drake hands him the card and scribbled details.
“Check these against the payments that were made to Nick Lucas. He swears he didn’t see a cent after the first one.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, and get your sister some damn coffee before she kills me,” he adds, pushing his office door open.
I punch his arm.
Yeah. I might have just validated his statement. Fuck it.
“Like coffee will stop me.” I follow him into the room.
“I know,” he replies, “but it’ll buy me some time at least, and I’ll use that time to convince you why you shouldn’t kill me.”
I shut the door behind me. “Seriously? Two of my brothers are right out there. They don’t need to hear that.”
“I was talking about cooking you dinner...” Drake pauses, his eyes belying his innocent answer. “What were you thinking about?”
“Shut up.” I drop onto a chair in front of his desk, and he laughs.
“You’re cute when you pout.”
“I don’t pout.”
“I beg to differ.” He flicks his thumb over my bottom lip. “Pouty lips.”
“You’re really not doing well with your time-buying. In case you were wondering.” I fold my arms. “Hey, isn’t it almost time for the mayor to get his tapes? Who’s there?”
“You’re still not going,” he insists, stepping back as the door opens. “Sheriff Bates is there with a few other guys. They’re not looking to arrest him, before you get excited. Just to see if it’s true.”
Dev hands me coffee before I can protest. “I got a message that they’re all in place and a black Range Rover is parked up outside the old gas station.”
“Please, can I go? Please?”
“No,” Drake repeats. “That’s the end of it.”
“You’re not my boss,” I argue.
“I can be.” His eyes spark.
Devin gags, leaving the room.
“I’d like to see you try,” I counter, ignoring my brother’s childishness. “What would you do if I walked out that door right now?”
“I’d sling you over my fucking shoulder and carry you down to the cells.”
Well, that wasn’t nearly as sexy as I thought it would be. So much for that train of thought.
“And here I thought you’d bring out the handcuffs.”
“You want me to cuff you?” Drake quirks an eyebrow. “That can be arranged. Within seconds.”
“Uh, are you gonna take me home before you cuff me?” I scoot out of the chair and skirt around it to the door. “’Cause, if not, I’d prefer to keep my hands free.”
His lips match the amusement in his eyes. “Well, my work is done here, and I do think you need supervisin’ tonight to make sure you don’t run off down to the sheriff’s stakeout.”
“I didn’t mean right now. And don’t you have to tell Nick what happens with his card?”
Drake slowly approaches me, and I walk backward until I’m against the wall, my hands flattened on either side of me.
“No,” he says quietly. “My shift ended thirty minutes ago. Trent’s here until one. He’ll deal with him.”
“So, you’re taking me home?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. “To my house.”