Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (8 page)

I
f I learned anything during my time in Dallas before it all went tits-down-ass-up kinda fucked, it’s that an unsettled FBI agent is a dangerous creature. Not because he’s liable to shoot your ass, but because it usually means my already-tight gut feeling is probably correct.

Naturally, that means I’ve been at my wits’ end for the last hour, and Nonna hasn’t even arrived yet.

If I got all dressed up and she doesn’t show, it’s gonna go down tomorrow morning.

On the brighter side, it looks like Bek and Jason’s date is going well. They’ve been chatting at the bar for a while now, and the last time I saw her laugh this much was when she explained the “bibbity, bobbity bullshit” Tinder conversation. My nephew is running around, waving his lightsaber with enthusiastic whooshes in front of anyone who won’t mind—and those who will—and Aria has slinked off with her friends.

Ahh, to be a tween. I wish I could slink off with my phone and simply have everyone roll their eyes behind my back without yelling at me. I’d probably have to take less headache pills. And I’d retain my sanity for a little longer.

Like, a day longer. But a day is a day.

I have a horrible habit of people-watching at parties like this. My whole family insists it’s because I’m an ex-cop and now a private investigator. They’re wrong. It’s because I’m nosy. That’s literally the only reason.

Watching people when they’re at their most relaxed is the best. Like…the guy by the bar dressed as Dracula? I’m pretty sure the woman next to him is his wife, but he has a roving eye whenever someone wearing a dress that hits above their knee walks past. I might slip my card in his wife’s purse later tonight…

And…hmm… The pair of teenagers in the corner, sipping what looks like Coke? Yeah. There’s a little vodka in that.

Why else would they be pouring a clear liquid from a water bottle into a glass of Coca-Cola?

Oldest trick in the book. Idiots.

“Who are you spying on?” Gianna slinks up behind me.

I jump and put my hand to my chest. “You scared me. And nobody. Everybody.”

“Just like Drake,” she muses, smiling. “Always watching.”

“I’m nosy.” I shrug and finish my drink. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Probably making sure nobody is drinking illegally like the kids in the corner he’s walked past three times.”

I look down, my shoulders shaking with silent giggles. Yeah… “Ah. Well, that explains everything perfectly.”

Her lips twitch a little as her eyes leave me. They travel across the room, much the way mine just did, and she slowly raises her glass of red wine to her lips. Her gaze flits back and forth, and she just feels…strange. As though she’s waiting for something she shouldn’t be.

I’m going crazy.

“Are you okay?” I ask her quietly. “You don’t seem yourself tonight.”

“I’m fine.” She forces a smile, and as soon as she’s turned to me, she stops. “Ah. I’ll be right back.” She lifts the skirt of her dress and sweeps through the room toward the door.

Wally.

He runs his hand through his dark-gray hair as she approaches him. They exchange what looks like a few heated words before Gianna throws her arm in the air—the one not holding the wine glass—and storms off. Wally looks to the ceiling, scratches his chin, and follows her.

“Noelle—”

“Shhh!” I hiss at Drake and stalk through the room.

“What are you… Never mind.” He follows me through the packed area.

I move just quickly enough to see Wally go up the stairs. There’s no sign of Gianna anywhere, but I’m guessing she also went up.

“Huh.” I frown and turn to Drake. “Your mom just yelled at Wally then ran off.”

“And you followed them?” He raises his eyebrows. “Do you want to watch old people have sex?”

“I watch you have sex with me all the time.”

“Yes. Look at all of my wrinkles.”

I squint and look over his handsome face, void of any lines. “Pretty sure there are some crow’s-feet appearing.”

He rolls his eyes and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Come on, little peeper. Let’s get a drink.”

“I’m not a peeper!”

“If you say so.” He kisses the side of my head.

If I didn’t want a drink, I’d say that he is patronizing me.

As it is… Wine.

“Hey!” I say, stepping up behind Bek and grinning at Jason. “How are my favorite new couple?”

“I swear to God I will cut you as you sleep,” Bek hisses back at me.

“Yeah? What happened the last time someone came into my bedroom to hurt me?”

“You shot out your window and traumatized me for life.”

“Exactly. Next time, I won’t shoot the window.” I take the glass Drake’s handing me.

“Noelle,” Drake says. “Shut up.”

Probably a good idea, actually. I cut my eyes to him and demurely sip my drink. See? I can be quiet. I’m not saying it’ll last long, but…

You know what? I need sugar. There are no cupcakes at this party. What kind of a party doesn’t have cupcakes? A crap party. That’s right. I said it. To myself.

“She’s talking to herself in her head, isn’t she?” Jason asks, eying me with amusement.

“Are you saying she’s crazy?” Drake replies.

“Yeah.”

“I’m probably supposed to defend her here, but… Yeah, she’s talking to herself. Probably lamenting the lack of fuckin’ cupcakes.”

“Remember who sleeps next to you,” I mutter before sipping my drink.

He laughs quietly but doesn’t retract his statement. I guess you can’t retract the truth without being a liar.

I need cupcake rehab or something.

Wait. No. Nobody needs cupcake rehab.

Cupcake rehab. What a ridiculous thought.

I shudder. No. No cupcake rehab.

“What was that?” Jason asks.

“The sound of me murdering Drake while he sleeps for being a cocky bastard,” I respond then sip.

A short, sharp scream cuts through the air, followed by another.

The last time I heard a scream like that…

“It’s probably a kid,” Bek reassures Jason. “There are a bunch here and they are the most high-pitched little—”

“That’s no kid scream.” Drake’s expression hardens as a third cuts through the air.

If I didn’t have chills cascading up and down my arms, I’d disagree. But I do, so I can’t. My hairs are all standing on end, and I drop my glass on the bar as Drake and Jason move past me.

“The stairs,” Jason says when a third scream echoes. Or is a fourth? I don’t know.

“What is that?” Brody asks, grabbing my arm.

“That’s what we’re finding out.” I shake his grip off and follow Drake and Jason up the stairs.

Oh, Jesus.

The stairs.

Gianna went up the stairs.

“Oh, shit.” I push them both to the sides and go up as fast as my heels will allow, which turns out to be pretty fast.

Fear the woman who can run upstairs in heels.

Upstairs is most of the rooms for the inn, but it’s also where the extra bathrooms are. They were unlocked for the party earlier tonight, and my gut leads me straight for one. Drake snatches my hand and holds it tight. I tug at his grip, but he squeezes my fingers and forces me to stop.

He sees it before I do.

The blood sneaking beneath the bathroom door.

I swallow hard.

I want to be sick.

I take a deep breath as Drake nods to Jason. The tall FBI agent moves past us, and Drake pulls me closer to his side. The air stills when Jason nudges the door open with his knuckles.

I know what he finds by his loud exhale.

I just hope it isn’t who I think it is.

“Brody, go find Sheriff Bates,” he orders, bending down and reaching forward. He grabs the doorframe to steady himself as he leans over.

Drake’s attempt at shielding me from Jason’s two fingers touching the body’s neck and checking for a pulse is useless. He knows it—I think that’s why he only tries to keep the body out of my line of sight.

“Do we have a doctor in the building?” Jason looks over his shoulder.

“Devin,” Drake barks.

I had no idea Dev was even here.

“Yep.”

My brother slinks away as Drake holds me even tighter.

“Don’t move,” Trent’s voice sounds.

When did he get here?

“Drake…” My eldest brother exhales heavily.

“Just fuckin’ say, it, Trent,” Drake grinds out. “I know. Just fuckin’ say it.”

“Wally.” Trent’s voice echoes through the empty hallway. It fills each and every crevice of the old building, the one word ricocheting off every nook and cranny until every inch of empty space vibrates with it. “It’s Wally.”

I slide my arm around my man’s waist.

He’s still. Deathly still. “You sure?” The crackly tone of his voice touches every part of me.

Trent draws level with Jason and looks down. I know before Drake does. I know the way my brother’s body becomes rigid as though he’s come up against a sudden blast of ice-cold air. I know in the way his lips purse together and his arms tense.

I know my brother.

“Yes. It’s Wally. I’m sorry, man.”

I
squeeze Drake hard then release him. “Don’t move,” I order him. “I mean it,” I say as defiance flashes in his eyes.

“Noelle…”

“Trust me,” I whisper, echoing the words he’s said to me so many times before.

He nods. No words. No breath. No sounds. Just one nods.

I grab Trent’s hand as I step up behind Jason. He’s right. Wally is lying on the tiled floor of the white bathroom. As though this location were chosen specifically because of its pureness. The white floor has deep-red blood pooled across it, the walls are spattered with the same, the bath half filled with bloody water as though the killer had given up on a drowning halfway through and stabbed him.

The slashes on his chest give merit to that idea.

“Noelle.”

“Where’s Brody?” I ignore Drake’s rasp of my name. “Trent. Sheriff Bates. Now.”

“Here. Here.” Sheriff Bates stumbles his way past Drake, mostly on account of his costume. Apparently the Addams family has taken over this year. “Fuck me backwards and call me Belinda.”

“Rather not, sir,” Trent mutters.

“Bond, shut up.” Bates moves forward. “Positive ID?”

“Assumed,” Jason answered. “Can anyone here give a positive?”

“We all can, but I will,” I say softly. “Drake. Please,” I warn, cutting my eyes to him.

“Noelle,” he growls.

“Drake!” I snap.

“Fine!”

I meet Jason’s eyes, and he pulls Wally’s mask off. His eyes are closed. His cheeks are still pink. He looks like he’s sleeping.

The screams must have been his.

What if we’d moved when we heard the first one? Could we have saved him?

“Yes. Confirming.” I step backward, away from the body, until my back collides with Drake’s front. “It’s Wally.”

Drake’s whole body tightens behind me. “Are you sure?”

I nod. Slowly. Everything is in slow motion. All I can see is Wally’s lifeless, still-warm body sprawled across the tiled floor and the light as it glints off the blood beneath his head. I only wish it could answer the one question buzzing around my mind:

Where’s Gianna?

Strong arms wrap around me so tight that they’re almost suffocating. I stand limply, allowing him to all but suffocate me with his embrace.

“Sure?” His voice rumbles against my earlobe.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, forcing myself to turn in his arms. Sheriff Bates calls for backup, for the place to be secured, for everyone to be searched and interviewed, but I have only one thing on my mind.

“Where’s your mom?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

I grip his shirt tight and lean into him. His heart pounds against his ribs.

“Drake, I saw them fight. She ran. He followed. I saw him come up here. Now, thirty minutes later…”

“She wouldn’t.”

The hoarseness of his tone cuts me deep.

“I know that,” I say. “You know that. They don’t.”

I need to find Gianna, and I need to do it quickly. I don’t want to consider how many people saw or heard her with Wally not half an hour ago. If she didn’t do it—and I don’t think she did—then someone aside from the town gossip mill needs to be the person to deliver the news.

Either way, she needs to be prepared for the fact that she’s probably going to find herself hauled into the police station for questioning some time tonight.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I whisper to Drake, squeezing him quickly before I pull away.

He stares at me when I go, his eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead. Usually, he’d be angry.

He’s not.

He looks…lost.

My guy, my strong-willed, stubborn, hot-headed detective, is lost.

My heart clenches. Regardless of his issues with Wally, he was his stepfather for five years. He influenced a teenaged Drake when he most needed a male figure in his life. It doesn’t matter that Drake hates him for what he did to his mom or that they never got along. Someone he looked up to is now dead.

And his mom could be the prime suspect for his murder.

Oh, boy.

“Noelle? What’s going on?” Bek grabs me as soon as I reach the bottom of the stairs. “What happened?”