Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (32 page)

“Gotcha.”

I shake my head and meander back to my office, Drake at my heels.

“Well?” he asks.

“Wally’s the holder and the beneficiary, but it’s a much lower amount. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” I hand it to him over my shoulder and walk around my desk. “So I wonder if she did raise his amount without him knowing.”

“It doesn’t make much sense for Wally’s policy to be that much higher than hers, given that, when he died, she was the majority owner in the company.”

I sit down in my chair and lean back with a heavy sigh. “Exactly.” I close my eyes for a moment and then sit up straight. “Wanna go see your ex-stepsister?”

Drake raises his eyes from the policy to mine. Hesitation glimmers back at me from their icy depths, but he sighs in resignation.

“I don’t suppose I have much of a choice,” he says.

Getting back up, a smile on my lips, I shake my head then skip around my desk once more. I put my hand on his hand and reach up to my tiptoes, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “Isn’t it so nice when we cooperate?”

He looks down at me, his lips twisting wryly. “Mmm.”

“You’re way too chirpy for this,” he whispers in my ear as we reach the porch.

“Oh... Okay. I’ll act appropriately somber.” I fake a pout.

He shakes his head. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Except to bed.”

“Or the table, or the wall, or the sofa, or the kitchen counter...” he mutters, ringing the doorbell. I roll my eyes.

When it doesn’t sound, he knocks three times on the glass pane of the door. A red Chevrolet is in the drive, and the plate matches the one Carlton pulled for me.

A shadow moves behind the wavy glass, and I take a step back as the door opens and Carlos fills the frame.

“Hey...” His eyes skit over my face, and recognition falls. “Noelle, right? From the viewing?”

“That’s me.” I smile sheepishly. “Is Kat here?”

“And Drake, right? Gianna’s son.” Carlos ignores me entirely as he holds a hand out to Drake. “Carlos. A friend of Kat’s.”

“Nice to meet you,” Drake responds, shaking his hand. “Is Kat here? I wanted to stop by and see how she’s doin’.”

“Sure. She’s having a tough day, so let me see if she’s up to visitors.” He shuts the door in our faces.

“And the winner of the Douchebag Award of the Day goes to...” I say under my breath.

Drake snorts, resting his hand on my lower back. “Rein in that attitude, cupcake. You’re the one who wanted to come here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up.” I nudge him with my elbow as the door opens and Carlos steps to the side.

“Come in. She’s just getting off a work call.”

“Thanks.” Drake pushes me inside first.

What a fucking gentleman he is. Ladies first my ass—in fact, that’s probably why he pushed me through first.

My ass.

That’s the usual reason.

“Straight ahead,” Carlos instructs. “Sorry. It’s kind of a mess. She just started sorting through his things.”

“Oh, don’t worry at all. It’s cleaner than my house on a good day,” I assure him, perching on the edge of the sofa.

It’s not even “kind of a mess.” It really is cleaner than my house. Even the boxes in the corner are stacked tidier than my shoe boxes.

“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” I tell him.

“No, she’s just updating her editors and things that she’ll be staying longer than she—hey.” Carlos stops short, and I turn my head to see Kat stepping into the front room.

She looks different than when I saw her at the viewing. Gone is the well-fitting suit, the flawless hair, and the perfect makeup. Now, there are dark bags beneath her eyes, light-red spots dot her chin and forehead, and her hair is tied into a messy bundle on top of her head.

“Hey,” she says. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Don’t worry, Kat.” Drake stands and wraps one arm around her, kissing her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“About as well as I can.” She smiles sadly, returning his embrace before lowering herself into an armchair and pulling her legs beneath her. “I think it’s all sinking in now that he’s, you know. Buried.”

“Adrenaline got you through before. It’s understandable,” I say softly, offering what I’m hoping is a reassuring smile. Although it has been noted in the past that it makes me look somewhat constipated, so who knows if it’s working?

“We just wanted to stop in and see how you’re doing. Do you need anything?” Drake perches on the edge of the sofa the way I am. “Nonna will probably have enough food in the freezer to get you through the week, and she’d be happy to spare some, no doubt.”

“Probably,” I agree. “Failing that, she’d spend some time in the kitchen.”

“It’s okay. Thank you for the offer though.” Kat smiles, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Can I get you a coffee or anything?”

“Let me,” I offer. “I don’t mind. I can work my way around a coffee machine like a pro.”

“Oh, no. You’re a guest.”

“I’m also a caffeine addict.”

“And fussy,” Drake adds. “Took me three months to get her coffee right before she’d stop throwing it in the sink.”

“Oh.” Her face brightens. “I didn’t realize you were dating.”

“Neither does she half the time.” He winks back.

“Four coffees it is!” I clap my hands and get up, but not before whacking Drake’s shoulder with the back of my fingers.

“Let me help.” Carlos moves toward me, but I wave a hand at him.

“Honestly, it’s fine.” I’m really not good with grieving people, as we all know. I prefer to be actually doing something while they’re sad and talking about being sad. Making coffee just happens to be a specialty of mine, so you know. It’s a good thing to do. Plus, coffee makes people feel better all the time.

I scurry out of the room and into the hallway, where I peer through open doorways until I find the kitchen. This room looks virtually untouched. There are no dishes or silverware lying around on the counters. It’s entirely spotless, so either it hasn’t been used since Kat moved in yesterday or Carlos is very, very clean.

The coffee machine next to the stove is an older machine, but they’re all the same, really. Just a few more or less buttons on each model. I’ll take anything as long as it gets me out of the front room.

I manage to locate all the things I need in seconds, and I’m relieved to find fresh milk in the fridge. At least I know some form of grocery shopping has been done, and the coffee machine is clean, which is another plus. I put one coffee pod into the right place, fill the machine with water, slide the mug beneath it, and hit the on button. It whirs to life, and I lean against the counter while I wait for it to fill.

It takes two seconds for my eyes to travel around the room. It’s small, simple, and old-fashioned.

And the knife block is missing a knife.

A big one.

Like the one Nonna found earlier.

Oh no.

“I’
m being serious, Drake. There was the big knife missing.”

He slams the mug down on the counter with a heavy sigh. “That doesn’t mean anything, sweetheart. All it means is that someone used that knife and it was in the dishwasher.”

“Or that someone used it to murder Wally.”

“You have definitely spent too much time watching Netflix.”

“You binge-watched three seasons of
American Horror Story
in a week last month. Don’t start bitchin’ about my
Forensic Files
. They’re helping me solve this case!”

“I didn’t binge. I caught up so I was ready to start
Hotel
.”

“Suuuure.” I take the mug of coffee he’s handing me with a disbelieving look. “Catching up. That’s what we’re calling it.”

“Whatever.” He fights a smirk. “Watching
Forensic Files
doesn’t make you detective extraordinaire, Noelle.”

“No, that’s just my police background and current P.I. license,” I drawl.”Listen to me! All the cases where there are insurance policies involved are always solved as the beneficiary and or holder being responsible for the victim’s death.”

“So, by those fabulous powers of deduction gained by watching a TV show that covers a tiny percentage of homicide cases, you’re deciding that Kat is responsible just because she’s the beneficiary of his policy.”

“And because the business is failing so she has reason to kill him.” I feel like I keep making this point, but no one seems to listen to me.

Drake sighs again and leans against the counter, his mug of coffee in his hands. “I don’t know. You saw her yesterday. She looked like someone grieving the sudden death of the man who raised her, not someone who’d planned and killed him.”

“Maybe the guilt is setting in. Murderers get sad all the time.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes. I’m a genius, I know.”

“She didn’t do it, Noelle. I know you want to believe it, but it isn’t true.”

I blow out a long breath and slump forward against the table. Someone killed Wally. Someone did, and if it wasn’t Gianna and it wasn’t Kat, who was it? Because someone freakin’ somewhere did it. And, apparently, they’ve watched a lot of murder shows too, because they’ve managed to cover it up spectacularly.

Unless they’ve left something behind on the knife. But, with the way this is going, they won’t have.

“She’s going to Houston today. To the showroom,” Drake says when I don’t respond. “She’s meeting Wally’s attorney there and I think she’s going to tell them what her plans are.”

“What does it matter? She didn’t do it.” I shrug a shoulder and hide my mouth behind my mug. “You said so.”

“Don’t go into drama-queen mode. That’s not going to fix this.”

“Who’s going into drama-queen mode? I’m not going into drama-queen mode. I’m simply making a point. It wasn’t her, so it doesn’t matter where she goes because I don’t need to follow her.”

“You’re in drama-queen mode,” he mutters, putting his coffee down. He walks around the table, grabs my hand, and lifts me up.

I let my own cup go in just enough time to stop the hot liquid sloshing out of it. Drake yanks me against his body and snaps his arms around my waist, holding me in place.

“Stop freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” I lean my head back and meet his eyes. “I’m just saying.”

“I know you’re just saying, but you’re not doing it rationally.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you saying I’m irrational?”

“Yes.”

I push at his chest, but he laughs and only holds me tighter. Begrudgingly, I circle his waist with my arms and pout my lower lip out.

“I’m not irrational.”

“Maybe just a little,” he reasons.

“Fine, but only when you don’t listen to me.” I prod my finger into his lower back. “Can you just trust me on this?”

“I can, but every time I’ve done that in the past...”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve had a rendezvous with a killer. It’s not my fault everyone in Texas has a gun.”

“Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way, but if someone really wanted to kill you, they wouldn’t need a gun. I know. I’ve thought about it many times.”

“That might be true, but I have a gun, and I’d bet I can shoot them before they can get near me.” I pause. “Wait. You’ve thought about killing me?”

“Have you thought about killing me?” He quirks an eyebrow.

I look up the ceiling. “Maybe.”

“That’s a yes.”

“You will continue leaving the toilet seat up. What am I supposed to do? Have you ever plunged ass-first into cold toilet water?”

“No.”

“Good. Then I’d make sure you check the toilet before you go from now on, because I’m not making any promises.”

His lips curve into a wide smile, and he barely restrains his laugh. “You’ve gone off on a tangent again.”

“You started it.” I pout.

He takes that as an invitation and drops his lips to mine. The instant warmth from his kiss tingles through my body, and the mini fireworks I’ve long come to associate with Drake’s touch radiate across my skin. His tongue teasingly slides along the seam of my lips, and he smiles against my mouth, knowing what he’s doing to me.

That’s the problem.

One minute, we’re reminding each other we know how to kill one another and threatening to leave the toilet seat up, and the next minute, there’s a 911 emergency arousal call into my vagina
.
And then my clitoris is rallying the hormonal troops to force me to climb the man like he’s a tree and ride him like he’s a mechanical bull.