Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (9 page)

“Where’s Gianna?” My fingers dig into her forearms, and I meet her worried eyes. “I need her.”

“I—I don’t know,” she replies. “I haven’t seen her. What’s going on up there?”

I swallow hard. God, the lump in my throat is made of granite.

“A body,” I whisper.

“A dead one?”

“No, it’s doing the fucking Macarena.”

“All right, all right, sassy pants. Pull your thong outta your ass.”

“Sorry.” I rub my hand over my lips. “Dead one. I need to find Gianna.”

“I haven’t seen her for a while.” Bek bites her lower lip.

“Here. Call her.” I pull my phone from my bra—I don’t even know it’s there for the most part. A bra cup is the best purse to never be invented.

“Uh, should you be doing that? If there’s a bye-bye upstairs?”

“A bye-bye? The hell are you, five?” I shove my phone at her. “And no. I shouldn’t be calling her. Neither should you.” I swallow hard again and lower my voice. “But she needs to know that Wally is ‘bye-bye.’”

“Oh, shit.” Her eyes widen. “I gotcha.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Tell her to go home, get changed into something comfortable, and not fucking go anywhere. Sheriff Bates will have her dragged in for questioning quicker than he can ask to be spanked and called Shirley.”

“I… Yeah. I got it. I’ll try to get her.”

“Thank you. And, by the way, your date is probably over, but our conversation about it is nowhere near started.”

“I gotcha there too.” Her lips twitch. “Go back and see Drake. I think he’ll need you. And—here.” She passes me my phone. “I’ll call her on mine. Less suspicious.”

She thinks right.

I go back upstairs after casting a look around the room. It’s much quieter than before—so much so that the music that was playing is nothing but an echo and the only thing I can hear is the sound of hushed conversations and children being, well, children.

The sound of high-pitched laughter has never been so relaxing.

“Hey,” I whisper, laying my hand on Drake’s lower back.

He goes rigid beneath my touch, slowly turning to face me. When our eyes meet, he relaxes again. I’ve only been gone a few minutes, but he looks exhausted.

“Hey. Sheriff won’t let me on the scene right now.”

“Why not?”

“Close personal relationship.”

I snort. “I wouldn’t exactly say it’s ‘close.’”

“I know. Apparently, that’s the problem.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“It’s part of their job,” he answers me wearily, turning to lean against the wall. “Right now, everyone in this building is a suspect, and those with volatile relationships with the deceased are at the top of the list.”

“But you’ve been with me all night. Not that I’m saying you could have done it.”

“That’s the other problem, sweetheart. You’re not exactly a reliable alibi because, one, you’ve been drinking and, two, you’re my girlfriend.”

“Oh, please. If I knew you’d murdered someone, I’d be taking your ass down, not covering it.”

His lips pull to one side. “And nobody doubts it. It’s all formality.”

“So, what is this?” I tuck my hair behind my ear and look over to where the tiny homicide department—minus one detective, plus one FBI bigwig—are crowded around the cordoned-off bathroom. “Are you not allowed to investigate?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had any contact with Wally in probably five years beyond acknowledgment. It’ll probably be fine.”

Yeah, unless they haul Gianna in and attempt to charge her. I don’t think that thought has crossed his mind though. I think he’s focused on not forcing his way into this crime scene the way he wants to. I can see it in the way he’s holding himself—he’s trying not to barge right on in there like a bull in a china store.

I’m impressed, actually. It’s not often he shows such restraint in situations like these. He usually just rushes in and does his cop thing.Sheriff Bates stands and turns to us. His lips are flattened into a thin line, his cheeks pale, and the look in his eyes is grim. He looks tired too. Everyone looks tired.

I
feel
tired. Like this-floor-looks-so-comfortable kind of tired.

“I need a word, Detective Nash,” Sheriff Bates says. He rubs his hand across his mouth, regret glinting in his eyes.

“Of course.” Drake squeezes my hand as if to tell me he’ll be okay and follows the sheriff into an empty bedroom where the forensics team are setting up.

A chill cascades across my skin until I’m covered in goose bumps. I shiver and back up to the wall. It’s cold against my bare shoulders, and I wrap my arms around my waist, keeping my eyes on Drake and Sheriff Bates. Drake’s posture is stiff, and he runs his hand through his hair the way he does when he’s annoyed.

He’s usually looking at me when he does that, so it’s nice to see it from another angle, I won’t lie.

Forensics moves into the bathroom, and I watch for long enough that I can see the pool of blood before I look away.

I’m not squeamish. Well, not if you don’t count the last time I saw a dead body and proceeded to vomit up my hot dog, and I don’t count that. It wasn’t my finest hour. It was more befitting of a sixteen-year-old who’s downed too much vodka in the park than a twenty-eight-year-old woman who owns her business and enough designer shoes that she could open her own store.

I just… I don’t like blood. There’s something about it, especially when it comes from a dead body, that makes it… You know, I don’t even have a word for it. I just know that I don’t like it. Not at all. Not a bit.

And there is a lot of blood in that bathroom.

“Let’s go.” Drake grabs my hand and tugs me from the wall.

“Go? Go where?”

“Home,” he grumbles. “I’m free to leave, and your alibi is covered in mine. Sheriff will probably ask you formally, but for now, we go.”

I frown as he pulls me out of the back door and around the side of the inn. I guess he has no desire to be questioned repeatedly about what’s going on upstairs, but still… “That’s great, but why are we leaving? Why aren’t you up there?”

His jaw clenches, and he releases my hand so he can grab his keys from his pocket. “Get in,” he orders me once it’s unlocked.

That’s his don’t-argue-with-me-Noelle voice.

I do as he asked and pull my shoes off, leaving them by my feet. “Drake?”

He slams his car door after him, jams the key in the ignition, then rests his forearm on top of his steering wheel. The tiny light above us casts shadows across his rugged features, especially across his cheeks and stubbly jaw.

“I’m unable to work on the case until interviews have been conducted, and even then, it’s pending the outcome of them.”

“You’re… You’re not working on it?”

He shakes his head sharply. “My previous relationship with him is enough to make my involvement in the case questionable, but Sheriff is willing to overlook that if everything else comes back clear.”

“Everything as in…”

“The suspects.” He drops his phone in my lap. “Now, do me a favor. Belt up and call my mother.”

Oh, shit me.

I decide not to tell him Bek’s trying. I select Gianna’s number from the call log while I click my seat belt into place with my other hand. It rings three times, and I hit the speaker just as she answers.

“Hey, son.”

“Are you at home?”

The truck engine fires up with one hard twist of the key.

“Yes,” she says. “I just ran a bath. Why?”

I share a look with Drake. Not good. This is not good.

“Did you get into it?” I ask.

“Noelle? Hello,
cara!
Yes, I did—only just. I was there for a minute before y’all called a million times.”

So she didn’t answer Bek’s calls.

“Stay out,” Drake demands. His tires squeal as he tears out of the parking lot.

I have to grab for his phone to stop it from sliding onto the floor.

“Do not get back in the damn bath, Mother.”

“Mother? Am I in trouble?”

“I hope not,” he murmurs. “We’re coming over, yeah? Get dressed. We need to talk.”

“I… Sure. Whatever you say.”

The line clicks off.

Drake slams his fist against his door. “Fuck!”

I put the phone into the center console and look down. He pretty much summed up my feelings about this situation.

“Does she not realize what she’s done? Does she not fuckin’ know? She married a cop. Then she fuckin’ raised one. Fuck!”

“She might not know,” I say softly, reaching across and resting my hand on his thigh. “Don’t go in there with the mindset that she did this, because then you may as well just put her straight in a courtroom.”

He glances at me. “She wouldn’t kill him. She was screwing him, Noelle.”

“I’d kill you if you pissed me off that much. Nonna threatened it every day for twenty years when she was married to Nonno.”

“Nonna would kill the president if he pissed her off. She’s a time bomb.”

“True. One day, y’all are gonna find a dead body with her meatballs coming out of its ass and a wooden spoon protruding from their skull. That’d be her calling card. Her nickname would be the Meatball Bandit.”

We stop at a red light, and he turns to me.

“Stop trying to make me laugh,” he says.

“Is it working?”

“Shut up.”

I grin. I win. “If I don’t call for a while, you know I’m the body and she’s the killer.”

“If you were murdered, sweetheart, Nonna would be the prime suspect for the whole town. I’d be more shocked if she weren’t responsible.”

“But you’d give her a fair shot at defending herself. You’d joke with her before you took it seriously.”

“I see where you’re going with this.” He sighs. “My mom, though, Noelle. My mom.”

“Might be innocent.” I squeeze his leg. “Ask her before you judge her.”

“You’re awfully reasonable tonight.”

“It’s the wine. It makes me far more likeable.”

“Yeah? Stay reasonable and likeable. I’m gonna need you to be reasonable by the time we leave here.”

“I’m not waking up early to make you coffee.”

“Perfect. I don’t want coffee. I want you reasonable enough to bend over my bed and not warn me that your knees might get carpet burn like you did last time.”

I mime zipping my lips, but I’m smiling. No promises.

D
rake pulls into the driveway of his mom’s house. I haven’t even opened my door yet and I can already hear the incessant, high-pitched yap-yap-yap of Rat Dog. Instantly, I look down.

Shoes.

Rat Dog.

Um.

Drake sees what I’m doing and rolls his eyes. I gingerly climb out of the truck. The gravel driveway is sharp beneath my feet, and I wince as the stones dig into my feet.

“You’re such a girl,” Drake mutters, shutting my door. He wraps one arm around my waist and hauls me up over his shoulder.

I squeak and clap my hand over my mouth, lest Rat Dog believes his lady love is headed his way.

“Such a gentleman,” I say.

He slaps my ass.

“Still a gentleman.”

This time, he shakes his head as he deposits me on the porch. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yep. And you’re stuck with me. God, you fucked it there, didn’t you?”

He grasps the door handle so tight that his knuckles turn white. Then he looks down at me. I offer him my sweetest, most innocent, cheesy smile. He looks away to hide his grin and pushes the door open.

God. I love him. Even when he’s angry. Well, mostly.

“Mom?” he calls out, taking my hand and dragging me in after him.

Rat Dog yaps. Rat Dog comes skidding across the floor toward me. I scream. Step to the side. Watch as Rat Dog bounces off the doorframe and falls into a tiny, pointy-eared bundle. It gets up and then, with its beady, brown eyes focused on me, growls at me.

I hate that damn Chihuahua.

“I’m gonna kick you if you do that again,” I tell the tiny creature. “I’ll kick your little ass down the street, Rat Dog.”

“Bentley!” Drake’s voice is harsh. “Bed!”

Bentley—Rat Dog’s real name—whimpers, but he doesn’t move. He stays staring at me, an unimpressed glint in his little eyes.

“Bentley. Bed.” Gianna appears on the staircase in a red bathrobe, tying a knot in the belt around her waist.

Rat Dog obeys. His claws click as he patters across the hardwood floor and jumps onto his spotted, black bed in front of the fireplace.

“You know he doesn’t listen if you yell,” Gianna scolds Drake. She turns her dark eyes to me. “I’m not even going to waste my breath telling you that.”

I grin. “He doesn’t listen because he’s possessed by a shoe-loving devil.”

“You possessed my dog?”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, great, funny,” Drake interrupts us. He pushes the front door shut so forcefully that the bang echoes through the quiet house.

Bentley barks.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh, Lord. You sound just like your grandfather.” Gianna adjusts her robe and walks into the kitchen.

“Good. You listened to him.” He storms after her and yanks a chair away from the table. “Will you please pay attention to me?”

“I’m listening to you, Drake. I’m perfectly capable of running a glass of water and still giving you my full attention.”

“Goddamn it, Mother! This is serious!”