Dammit. Now, I want pizza. And I wonder why my fucking pants don’t fit.
Ten minutes later, a distraught Amelia has confirmed tomorrow night for girls’ night and Bek and Alison are on board. Drake is also storming into his office like his ass is on fire.
“I need you.”
A girl could get used to those words. “Judging by the look on your face, you don’t mean naked or on my knees. Or bent over the desk.”
“Trust me,” he mutters tightly, his jaw clenching, “Bent over the desk sounds fuckin’ awesome, but I need you to question this asshole and see if he’s lying.”
“What? You mean to say you still don’t have a body language expert in this department?” I lift my eyebrows, knowing full well they don’t.
Drake has always tended to…ahem…rely on me for that. By rely, I mean trick me or drag me kicking and screaming until I’m inside the interview room and have no choice.
“Don’t fuck with me, Noelle.” He slams his hands flat on the desk in front of me, and his eyes pierce mine with their anger. “Get your ass in there and question him.”
My skin prickles at his demanding tone, and indignant defiance races up and down my spine, making me sit bolt upright. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were my boss.”
“Noelle.”
I slip my feet into my flats and push back before I stand. Then, with my palms pressed against his desk, I lean forward, tilting my head back so my gaze collides with his. “I am not your bitch, Detective Nash. I’m not your goddamn newbie officer you get to push around because you’re in charge of the investigation. I was hired by the department, which makes me your fucking equal. Don’t even think about spinning me this protection bullshit. You know I should have been in there anyway. Now, I’m gonna go speak to him because I want to, because your department is so fucking useless that you can’t question an eighteen-year-old kid without me. And you’re gonna drop that superior-bitch-ass attitude before you say another word to me or the only thing bending over your desk for the next six months is gonna be a fuckin’ blow-up sex doll. Are we clear?”
He says nothing. He just stares at me, even angrier. I didn’t think it was possible, but it is, and like normal, I’ve successfully pushed every one of his buttons without releasing the one before it.
I sit back down and grab my purse. I kick off the shoes I just put on and pull a pair of heels from my purse. Then I throw them down and, gritting my teeth, put them on. Drake’s jaw ticks, his lips thinning until I can’t see them anymore, but I guess he senses that my bullshit-o-meter is about to ding-ding, because he doesn’t fight, despite the fact that I just got this injury.
It’s a cut. I have a job to do. And heels are power.
He can kiss my sweet Texan-Italian ass and swivel on that shit.
I stroll out of his office, doing my best to ignore the sting of my foot. It doesn’t hurt—not really. It’s just an annoying niggle on a sensitive part of my body. Plus, I may or may not have snuck these heels into my purse when he took me by my house earlier.
It’s his fault for having left me unattended. He knows how stealthy I am.
Sneaky. Stealthy. Same difference.
Drake follows behind me until I reach the interview room where Brook Meyers is being held. Detective Johnson is standing guard outside, discussing something with Trent, and I walk up to them. They stop talking when they see me, and I put my hands on my hips, straightening my spine until I’m drawn up to my full height. I’m level with Johnson and only an inch shorter than my brother.
“You’re wearing heels?” Trent asks, looking at my feet and then my face, concern flashing in his eyes.
“What do you want me to find out?” I ask, ignoring him.
“He didn’t tell you?” He jerks his head toward Drake.
“What do you want me to find out?”
Trent’s shoulders heave with his deep breath, understanding etching across his features. “That he had sex with Toni Thompson within twenty-four hours of her death. He’s telling us he didn’t regardless of the DNA evidence, that he didn’t see her except for school. Also, if you can verify his alibi with him for the time of her disappearance, it would help. And Melissa’s.”
“Next time, just ask me to do the damn interview myself,” I snap, pushing past him to the door. I open it and walk into the dimly lit room.
There’s nothing but a table, chairs, and a recorder—if you don’t count the forlorn-looking teenager and the lawyer who rushed to his side.
Mr. Goldberg, one of Austin’s finest, used statewide. It’s not the first time I’ve come up against him, but I sure hoped the day I left the Dallas PD I’d never deal with his ass again.
“Ms. Bond,” he drawls, standing. “Returned to police work?”
“Save it, Samuel,” I respond, pulling my chair out.
The door shuts behind me, and when I look, I see Drake standing by it with his arms folded across his chest.
Excellent. I love an audience.
“Brook Meyers?” I ask, looking at him.
Brook glances up, his face expressionless but pale. “Yeah?”
“Noelle Bond.” I hold my hand out toward him. When he clasps it weakly and shakes, I say, “I’m working with the Holly Woods Police Department on this case. Can I ask you a few questions?”
With typical teenage attitude, Brook shrugs. “You’re gonna anyway.”
I sit down and study him. He looks entirely unaffected by what’s been happening in town, and although he never really disappeared, it feels like it. To me, it feels like an age has passed since we first found Toni’s body.
“Why’d you go to the fair tonight?” I ask, clasping my hands and resting them on my lap.
“Am I not allowed?”
“Of course. I’m just interested because you knew that the police were looking for you to ask you some questions. You must have known you’d been seen and it’d be reported.”
He shrugs.
“How do you feel about your girlfriend dying? You were supposed to pick her up, right?”
“Melissa?”
“Got another girlfriend I don’t know about, Mr. Meyers?”
The look he gives me is steely. “No, ma’am.”
I usually hate being called ma’am, but here, I’ll take it. “You were supposed to pick her up from the airport, right? Talk me through that day.”
He rolls his shoulders but sits up a little straighter and meets my eyes. “She called me before boarding. Her flight was delayed by twenty minutes, but I said it was okay. I’d still get her. She wanted to grab dinner before heading back home. Her parents have been fighting. She didn’t go home if she could help it. I hung out at home until I had to go pick her up, but that crash on the highway delayed me. I left her a couple messages when I was stuck in traffic, but I don’t think she ever got them. When I got to the airport, her flight was in, the baggage carousel holdin’ her flight was empty, and she was nowhere to be seen. Couldn’t call her or anythin’. Her phone was off.” He shrugs, but a flitter of sadness crosses his face. “That… That’s it. I stayed for half an hour then left. Figured she’d found another way home but didn’t call.”
His eyes haven’t left mine once. He’s not sweating, he’s not shaking, and he doesn’t have any nervous twitches. On this, he’s telling the truth.
“Talk to me about Toni Thompson.”
“Dated a couple times. Nothin’ serious. Her parents hated me.”
“Your reputation preceded you, if the rumors are true.”
His lips twitch into a tiny smirk. “Happens a lot, yeah?”
“I’ll bet,” I say dryly. “When was the last time you saw her? Toni?”
He glances at his lawyer. “Friday. In school. Passed her a couple times, but we didn’t talk.”
Liar.
“Are you sure about that, Mr. Meyers?” I lean back in my chair and fold my arms.
His eye twitches. “Yes, ma’am.”
I study him for a moment more then turn to Samuel Goldberg. My lips tug up to one side as our eyes meet. “Why, Mr. Goldberg, didn’t you advise your client it’s unwise to lie to a body language expert? Especially since you know I can smell one a state away?”