Despite myself, I laugh.
His joking is a welcome reprieve from the heaviness settling over my house.
“Noelle, darlin’,” he says, turning. “You gotta think about moving.”
I nod. “I know.” I shiver.
Drake sets me on a chair. “I’ll make coffee,” he says, releasing me finally and moving to the machine.
“Guilty?” Sheriff Bates nods his head toward him, whispering to me not so quietly.
I shrug, hooking my feet on the chair and hugging my knees to my chest. “Do you know how Bek is?”
“You mean you didn’t stay with—never mind. Of course you came down to investigate. Too much like your damn father you are, girl.”
My lips smile although there’s no happiness inside me. “He taught me well.”
“Mhmm,” he agrees, his eyes finding my gun on the table. “Where’s the other one?”
“One beneath the coffee table and the other under the seat in my car,” I say without missing a beat. “How’s Bek?”
He looks over his shoulder. “She’s fine. Nash! Where’s that coffee?”
“Here.” Drake hands me a mug, but Sheriff Bates scoops it up and delivers it to Bek in the front room.
“Back to the machine, Nash.” He chuckles, turning. “Do we have anyone on DNA here?”
“Noella!”
Oh, Jesus, no.
I grab Sheriff Bates’s arm. “Please no. This is a crime scene, right? Get the crazy, old bat out of here!”
“Brody!” Sheriff Bates hollers. “Please see to your cr—grandmother!”
Nice save there.
I also appreciate his delegation tactics. I wouldn’t deal with Nonna if I didn’t have to, especially not in this mood. I can hear it now. Brody is desperately trying to placate her, even speaking in Italian.
The last time he spoke Italian was when he was trying to seduce some chick while visiting her grandparents in Austin for his friend’s bachelor party.
A few furious words are exchanged in Italian, and I just about hear Nonna agreeing to go home and come back in a few hours.
Note to self: Do not be here in a few hours. Preferably be on another planet. In another solar system.
“Detective Nash?” Detective Johnson’s voice comes through my back door. “Oh, Sheriff, sir. We’ve got another footprint.”
I get up and move at the same time Drake and Sheriff Bates do. One ignores me and the other shoots me a glare.
Five bucks if you guess who did what.
“It seems to resemble the one found at the site of Tracey Young’s murder,” Johnson explains.
“Another!” Peters’s voice cries out. He shines a flashlight at the print. “It’s different that that one.”
“Excellent work, boys!” Sheriff Bates bellows. “Get forensics to cast these and send them to the lab for analysis. This is the best evidence we have so far.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “You get inside. You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I argue, although I know he’s right. I can feel the tremble of my hands as the adrenaline slowly leaves my bloodstream, and I’m freezing. Wrapping my arms around my body, I frantically rub my hands against my forearms, but the actions are futile. I know that. I just want so desperately not to focus on what just happened—and what could have happened.
I lower myself onto the chair I just vacated and curl my fingers around the steaming mug on the table. It seeps through my skin and warms me in place of the dulling adrenaline.
My house was broken into.
Again.
And not because of information I may have.
But because they wanted to kill me.
Oh. My. God.
“Are you all right?” Drake bends in front of me, his T-shirt stretching across his shoulders. It’s an old one—this much I know.
I swallow harshly. “I’m okay,” I say softly, my eyes going to the back door. “Are the shoe prints all done?”
“They’re dusting for fingerprints now. Unless they were wearing gloves—and we’re assuming they were—then we should get something.”
“They… They wanted to kill us. Didn’t they?” Bek’s voice travels hesitantly from my kitchen door.
Brody has his arm around her back, and it looks like he’s holding her up. My own fear minimizes in the face of my best friend’s.
“Possibly,” I reply, my voice quiet. “Are you okay?” I go to stand up, but my legs shake, and Drake pushes me straight back down.
“Yeah. I’m okay. Are you?”
I nod, lying just as she did.
“Sheriff?” Brody turns to the graying man holding on to his cup of coffee as though it’s another body part. “Can I take her home? She needs to sleep this off.” He glances at me.
“Don’t worry about work,” I reassure Bek, meeting her green eyes. “Take today off, tomorrow if you need, yeah? I’ll make sure you get paid.”
“You don’t—”
“Extenuating circumstances,” I cite. “Don’t argue with me. I’m the boss, and I’m telling you to take two days paid. This’ll be around town by lunchtime. Hide out, and if you need anything, text me. I don’t wanna argue with you, Bek.”
She takes a deep breath, forming a small smile. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Take her home, Bond,” Sheriff Bates orders. “You, Bond,” he clarifies unnecessarily, pointing at Brody. “Not you, Bond,” he adds, pointing at me. “You… Well, do what you want. You’re gonna do it anyway.”
“Please don’t encourage her,” Drake mutters, rubbing his face and standing up. “She’s bad enough as it is.”
“Hey,” I snap. “Still mad at you.”
Sheriff Bates does a strange imitation of a duck face and focuses on me. “We’re gonna be here for a while. I can call your father to come and take you home if you’d like.”
I smack my lips and grimace. Go there? Now? When I’m still in a space between scared and not scared, undecided on how I actually feel? No.
My mom and my nonna’s fussing over me is the very last thing I need right this second.
“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just wait until y’all are done.” I smile in what I hope is a reassuring way.
“I’ll take you to my place,” Drake offers, leaning against the counter opposite me. “You want me to get you some things?”
Uh, what part of I’m mad at him isn’t he understanding?
“No, no. I’m good. I’ll wait.”
“Noelle,” he bites out.
“Drake,” I mimic.
“Good Lord,” Sheriff Bates grumbles. “Noelle, let the man take you home. I’d feel better if you were there opposed to somewhere your cr—grandmother could get to you.”
I take a deep breath and stare at Drake. “Fine.”
The spark in his eyes is anything but triumphant. “Thank you.”
Oh my fucking God.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. The pounding of my heart is only just quieter than the squeaking opening of the door.
This bed doesn’t smell like me. It’s coffee and chocolate and gunpowder peppered with cinnamon and cookies. It’s Drake.
That revelation calms the beat of my heart if only by a little.
The bed creaks, and the clink of a mug on the nightstand by my head has me forcing my eyes open. I find Drake’s strong silhouette almost immediately. His eyes are full of worry and concern, his lips drawn into a thin line, and he’s no longer wearing the white shirt he was in the early hours. He’s now wearing sweatpants and his favorite, faded Cowboys T-shirt.
“You feel any better?” he asks, resting his elbows on his knees and keeping his eyes focused on me.
I shift so I’m sitting up and cast a glance down. Oh goodie. I’m still in my old penguin pajamas. My level of hotness must be off the charts right now. Planet Mercury’s got nothin’ on me.
I nod. “What time is it?”
“Almost lunchtime. You passed out in the truck. I think the shock got to you.”