In fact, I think this whole thing reeks of evil.
Another two hours pass. One hour ago, Sheriff Bates left to see the Thompsons and the Samuels. He returned five minutes ago, right before the bodies were carted into the ambulances, ready for Tim to get into his car to lead them to the police station. I expect he’ll be up most of the night, preparing and doing the autopsies.
Darkness has fallen, the usually star-filled sky drowned out by the bright lights of the fair. A few people have tried to get information on the reason for the cops crawling around everywhere, but the roads were blocked right before the news was passed on to the families and rumors could start.
Now, I can hear Sheriff Bates ordering all of his homicide team to go home and leave forensics to finish up. Something about sleep making for sharp minds. He’s right, and several annoyed men make their way to their respective vehicles.
I brace myself for Drake’s annoyance as he yanks the driver’s side door open. He gets in, runs his fingers through his hair, dislodging a piece of grass, and leans back in his seat.
“You’re still here.”
I nod slowly and reach forward, pulling another piece of grass off him.
He turns his face to me. He looks exhausted, but his eyes are as bright as they always are. To anyone else, the anger and frustration in his gaze would be terrifying, but I know that it isn’t at me. At least, I fucking hope it isn’t.
“Why did you stay?”
“I figured you’d kick my ass if I left and if I stayed, so I thought, at least if I stayed, it might be the lesser ass-kicking.”
He runs his tongue across his top lip. “Stay with me tonight.”
I bite down on my lower lip. He notices, and his gaze becomes unwaveringly intense.
“That wasn’t a request, Noelle. I’m telling you to stay with me tonight.”
I try not to sigh. “I have nothing with me and a ton of work to do.”
“So you should have left and done it.”
I turn in my seat. “Don’t turn this around on me. If I left, you would have come storming to my house, woke up half my neighbors, and demanded to know why the fuck I didn’t wait for you in your truck.”
“Damn right I would have,” he growls, reaching for me and grabbing my chin. He pulls me in close to him. “And now, I’m telling you we’re stopping by your place, you’re getting your work and whatever you need, and then you’re staying with me.” He releases me as quickly as he touched me and jams his belt into place. “Belt up. Now.”
I hesitate a second too long as he starts the engine and slams his foot down on the accelerator. I grunt as I steady my hands on the dashboard to stop myself from flying completely forward and drop back. My seat belt is jammed, so I release it just to pull it over myself.
I hate it when he gets in this mood. Me man, you woman. Me tell you what to do, you do it. Fucking hate it. He should know better than to pull this shit with me, but apparently, he hasn’t learned how well it doesn’t go down.
He pulls into my driveway since my car is still in the fucking field-slash-parking-lot. I get out, grabbing my keys from my purse, and storm toward my front door. I’m inside and have disabled the alarm before he’s even out of the truck.
Then, for good measure, I slam the door behind me.
Childish but surprisingly cathartic.
The way my feet stomp against the stairs as I go upstairs is also a great release for annoyance. I grab an overnight bag from my closet and shove some clothes for tomorrow in, as well as some shoes. In my bathroom, I snatch up my toothbrush and hairbrush and throw them into the bag, too. I’ve barely added my makeup bag when my front door opens and shuts with a bang.
I get the distinct feeling I’m in trouble. Ah, fuck it. I’m always in trouble.
Drake thunders up my stairs. I count his steps, and he’s taking two at a time. Then he pounces on me the second his foot touches the top stair. I drop my bag as he wrestles me onto my bed.
My heart pounds as he seals his lips over mine, kissing me roughly and setting my blood on fire.
I know he’s trying to make a point. Sometimes, I’d really rather he’d make it with words. I don’t speak Neanderthal, after all.
He gets up as swiftly as he pushed me down and turns away. I touch my thumb to my lower lip and sit up gently, my eyes on him. His fingers dive into his hair, and he drops his head.
“Please,” he says huskily. “Stay with me tonight.”
“We’re just gonna fight,” I mutter.
“Noelle, two girls have been killed. Tortured.” He turns slowly. “Looks like they were raped, too. In my town. I couldn’t protect them. I couldn’t find them before this happened to them.”
It’s still pounding, but my heart clenches at his words. Holy shit. Those girls.
“Drake,” I whisper.
“You? I can protect you. I need to know that you’re safe tonight.”
All of my fight leaves me. Guilt and frustration seep from him, tainting my bedroom with their ugliness, and the only thing I can do is get up and wrap my arms around his waist. Quick as lightning, I’m encased in his strong arms and his nose is buried deep in my hair. He takes several long breaths, and I hear his exhaustion in each exhale.
“Come on,” I mutter, pushing away from him after a long moment and grabbing my bag.
He follows me downstairs with a triumphant smirk on his face and sets my alarm for me.
Damn male. Damn him for playing that fucking irresistible guilt card that makes me go gooey then playing the protective one.
“You’re makin’ me soft,” I huff, throwing him my keys so he can lock my front door.
He inserts the key, turns it with a click, then faces me. “The day your soul turns a little gray is the day I believe that statement.”
“You’re more likely to turn my damn hair gray first, Detective.”
“Heard that. Get in the fuckin’ truck, Bond.”
I’ve been awake ten minutes and my ass has been bundled into Drake’s truck once more. I’m starting to wonder if someone swapped me with a rag doll in the last forty-eight hours. I haven’t even changed my damn underwear and I feel gross. It feels kind of…swampy down there. I’m not gonna lie, I wonder if I’m gonna give birth to a baby crocodile.
More to the point: Where is my coffee? I will hurt someone if I don’t get coffee. Being thrown into a truck at six a.m., by a hot detective or not, is not conducive to me hiding my bitchiness.
Worst of all? I can’t even get an explanation why. I just get a grunt.
Honestly, people say that I need coffee to be a human, but Drake is positively a demon without it. He gives a new meaning to the word zombie. I half expect Daryl from The Walking Dead to explode out from behind a building and shoot his ass.
The radio changes to an upbeat song, and Drake slams his hand into the switch. The volume goes right up.
“Fuck!” He hits it again and turns it off.
I wiggle my finger in my ear. “Could have been avoided if you’d just touched it like a normal person. You know. One who has coffee and clean underwear before they leave the house.”
“You should have woken up earlier,” he grumbles.
“It’s six in the morning! If I wake up any earlier, it’ll be the middle of the night!” I shuffle down in my seat, declining to mention that six a.m.? Totally the middle of the night, and a time I have seen way too much this week.
Dear six a.m., we’re gonna need to break up. I’m not even sure how we got into this relationship, but it is, quite frankly, ridiculous. I just don’t feel the same about you.
Drake pulls up outside the station and looks at me. “You were muttering about parrots in your sleep.”
I avoid making eye contact.
“And they were carrying panties. And bras. I think.” His lips twitch, and I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye. “One maybe had a garter belt. Care to explain?”
“No,” I say simply, getting out and walking toward the glass doors that will take me inside the station. I lean against the door and push it open with a moan. I almost walk right into a floating mug of coffee. When I stop, I see that a hand is attached to the mug, and that hand belongs to Charlotte. “Oh. My. God. I love you.” I take the cup from her hand and gulp down two mouthfuls.