Twirled Bond (Holly Woods Files, #5) (14 page)

“Yep.” Drake reaches to the very back of the desk and pries it out with a good tug or three. “So it does.” He opens the first page.

“Hey! You can’t read a girl’s diary.” I take it out of his hands. “We’ll take it down to the station and look at it in your office.”

“Right now?”

“No, next week, dumbass.” I shove him playfully, and he falls against the bed. “Yes, right now. We’ll stop by Rosie’s, get coffee and cupcakes, and then go down.”

“Cupcakes?” he groans as we get up and I tuck the journal into my purse. “This ear—never mind. Let’s go.” He pauses as soon as he’s on his feet, his eyes falling to the photos sticky-taped to the wall. “Is that you?” He points to one of me, Bek, Daniela, and another girl in our freshman circle, Yvonne.

A sad smile creeps onto my face. I’m wearing my favorite scarlet-red dress, and although it’s a little puffier than I’d like to remember it being, I still think I looked pretty hot at fourteen. I touch a finger to the bottom corner.

“Yeah. Freshman homecoming. We all blew guys off because we wanted to go alone. We were big on girl power back then.”

“Cute. You think you’re not big on it now.”

“Oh, I know I am, but I think it’s got the uglier and misconstrued term of ‘feminism’ these days.” I snort, letting my finger fall from the wall. “She never made it to our sophomore homecoming.”

Drake wraps his arm around my shoulder and kisses the top of my head with a quick squeeze. “
Bella.
Let’s go get you a coffee.”

I love this man.

After going downstairs and explaining to Mr. Russo that I’ve found what looks like a journal, he confirms that he’s ninety-nine percent sure it is and gives me the green light to take it for as long as I need it. I don’t mention the envelopes in the locked box.

Whatever it is, I just don’t think he needs to know what’s inside.

When we get to the police station, chaos is ensuing. There are multiple media vans parked outside, a handful of rookie officers have been sent out to control them, and Mayor McDougall’s personal security bitches are here.

I guess he’s working for the greater good. This morning. He could be working for Loki instead of Thor in an hour’s time. The man’s slimier than a bucket full of snakes at a snake-charming party.

“Walk straight into the building and ignore everyone else,” Drake says to me before we get out of his truck. “I’ve got you going in. Leave the box here, and I’ll send Peters out to get our stuff.”

I warily eye the crowd. “Okay. Sure.” If Peters hurts my cupcakes I’m going to beat him with a hole puncher. “Are you sure we can get in?”

Drake pulls his badge from his pocket with a sexy grin. “They don’t move, I’m gonna arrest them.”

“You can’t arrest them for being in your way.”

“Ah, I dunno. I’ll make something stick.” He shrugs and gets out of the truck.

I can’t help but laugh at him. He’ll do anything to get them out of his way, I realize as he rounds the back of the pickup.

My phone rings. I pull it out and glance at the screen. Bek.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m gonna go on a murderous rampage if these motherfuckers don’t move their goddamn vans from the parking lot so we can all get out and work.”

I press two fingers into my temple. “Let me guess. The media are at the office too.”

“You bet your ass they are. Why? Where are you?”

“Police station. I went to the Russo’s house.” I circle my fingers against my head. “Okay. Drake will drive me over. I’ll get rid of them.”

Drake opens my door at this moment.

“Sorry, hot stuff. Gotta me to the office. Apparently, these bottom-feeders have made it there too.”

He sighs, slams the door, and gets back in the truck. He beeps the horn several times to make people move and tears out of the lot without a care. “They’re really there?”

“Yeah.” I paraphrase Bek’s call. “If they’re on the lot, they’re on private property.”

“You own the parking lot too?”

I frown over at him. “Of course I do. There was a double garage attached to the building when I bought it. It was falling apart, so I knocked it down to make the private parking lot. They aren’t allowed on it.”

“You don’t have a private sign on the wall.”

I purse my lips. “I keep forgetting.”

“I’m buying you one. You should have one there.” No room for an argument. Just a flat, “I’m buying you one, so fucking deal with it.”

And yeah. He’s right. I should have one. But those fuckers shouldn’t assume a damn thing, should they?

Ugh. I hate the media. I knew that this would happen though. It was a given.

When we get toward the Bond. P.I. building, I see that Bek wasn’t joking. It’s swamped. There’s barely any way to get through them.

Anger flares inside me. Who the hell do they think they are, swarming my property? They have no right to be here, asking their intrusive questions. They have absolutely no right to be anywhere near my property.

It’s a wonder the Russo house has escaped this. I guess the media know where they’re gonna get their info.

Drake and I shove past the thirty-strong—at least—crowd of people. He flashes his badge once or twice to make people move, and the second we’re free, I shove the door to the building open and breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

Bek’s standing in the waiting area, hands on her hips, annoyance streaming off her in waves. “What the hell are they doing here?”

Grecia emerges from her office. “I’ve been fielding calls for almost an hour. I guess they heard about Mrs. Russo hiring you.”

“Shit.” I run my hand through my hair. This isn’t what I wanted. It’s worse than I imagined. “Okay, honey, we need to shift them. Now,” I say, turning to Drake.

He touches my back in a “let’s go” motion, but I grab Grecia before we move.

“I need the spare chair in your office,” I tell her. “And get our cards and the HWPD cards we keep beneath your desk.”

She gets me the wooden chair without question then goes back for the cards. I carry it outside and set it in front of the door, much to Drake’s confusion. He shakes his head at me as I climb up onto it, put two fingers in my mouth, and whistle.

A second one silences the small crowd before I wave a hand and get their attention.

Wow. It worked.

“Hi! If you’re here, then chances are you’re looking for me, Noelle Bond. But first, y’all are on private property here, so as soon as we’re done, I’m gonna need y’all to move onto the road without blocking it. The entrance to the building must be kept clear so my staff can do their jobs and our clients can get in and out of the building and the private parking lot.” I push hair from my face, but I’m interrupted before I can speak again.

“Ms. Bond, are you working with the Russo family to find their daughter? Is it true she’s been found?”

I immediately zero in on the guy. “Mr....”

“Ryan Evans.”

“Mr. Evans, I’m not at liberty to discuss my clients. We sign confidentiality agreements that prohibit media discussions. And rest assured, sir, that, even if I could discuss it, I wouldn’t.” I flash him a sweet smile. “Y’all’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I can’t and won’t help you. My assistant will be out momentarily to hand out cards to contact me in the rare case you need to. She’ll also pass out ones for the Holly Woods Police Department, because that’s where you’re gonna get your information. HWPD will be holding a press conference real soon, so if you call the number on that card, you’ll be put on a list for an invite.” I motion down to Drake. “This here is Detective Nash, the lead detective in Holly Woods. He’ll be makin’ sure y’all get your damn asses off my property before I’m forced to shoot you for trespassing. And I’ve got two guns I can grab quicker than y’all’s hearts can beat, so I’d move your asses.”

I jump off the chair with Drake’s help, and he murmurs into my ear, “You know, you go full-on stereotypical Texan when you get pissed off. It’s hot as fuck.”

I burst out laughing. “All right, Romeo. Just get rid of them, okay? Then we can get back to work.”

He rolls his eyes but releases me with a, “Okay, folks! She isn’t jokin’ about the guns, and you’re on her property, so let’s get movin’. Cards with contact details are headed your way as soon as you’re out.”

I go back inside, seeing that he’s dispersing everyone. Somehow. I don’t know how he does it.

“Ma’am,” he says to an attractive blonde who gets a little too close to him. “I’m not the media liaison for the police, and I’m real sure my girlfriend would be all too happy to use one of her guns if you continue down your current line of inquiry.”

Damn. Straight.

I flash Barbie a dark look, kick my leg up, and tap my boot. God bless an ankle holster.

She gets the message and moves her ass away from my guy. Drake glances over his shoulder with a smirk, and I flip him the bird.

I’m possessive. So what? He’s mine. End of story.

I give Grecia my instructions to give them all the cards and wait until Drake’s successfully dispersed the remaining information vultures, including Barbie. Honestly, having a hot boyfriend would be super hard if I didn’t know I could shoot her for being on my property.

Looks like Barbie’s a vulture in more ways than one. I kinda wanna walk on up to her and let her know that we already have an awkward ex in the picture—we don’t need a bitch of a third wheel, thank you very much.

When they’re all gone and Grecia is handing them all cards, Bek and my guys can finally get out of the lot to do their jobs and so can Drake and I. We make it back to the station in record time despite the extra traffic because of the media presence. Thankfully, it seems as though the initial crowd in front of the station has been pushed back, so we make it inside with the now-kinda-cold coffee, cupcakes, and breakfast pastries.

“Hey. Where’ve you been?” Trent asks, walking into Drake’s office seconds after us. His eyes fall to me. “Shoulda known.”

“Hey, cocky. He was getting rid of the assholes outside my building.”

“I keep telling you to get a private sign up for the parking.”

I throw the sleeve from my coffee cup at his head. It misses, flopping to the ground.

“I’ve never heard you say that in your life,” I tell him.

“Didn’t I?” He looks at me quizzically, his dark-brown eyes, the exact shade of mine, all but laughing at me. “Oh. I meant to.”

“I hate you.” Now, that I’ve said enough times in my life.

“Love you too, kid.” He winks and turns to Drake.

Big brothers. Who’d have them?

“Tim called up five minutes ago. He said his preliminary report is going to rule the death as suspicious. He doesn’t believe the broken skull could have been caused by anything other than blunt force trauma, given the severity of the crack. He e-mailed this up right after I got off the phone.”

I swallow.

“Has he compared it?” Drake asks, taking the file Trent hands him. “Is he sure?”

“As sure as he can be without an entire body. He contacted some local coroners and had them send over x-rays of broken skulls due to blunt force trauma and compared everything with normally decaying skulls. He said he’s almost one hundred percent certain that whatever it was that caused the injury was deliberate and not self-inflicted. It’s manslaughter at its least severe charge, but he thinks it’s unlikely. He said whoever hit her hit her hard.”

Another swallow. The lump in my throat is huge—almost immovable. I was prepared for this, but the thought that someone killed my sweet, teenage friend...

Shit, I need to get over this. I need to stop bringing emotion into everything. Emotion doesn’t solve a damn thing. It just complicates everything. I can’t do my job if I’m constantly thinking about the Daniela I knew. I need to separate the childhood best friend with the person whose life was taken too soon.

“Noelle? Are you okay?” Trent looks at me. “You look sick, kid.”

“I’m fine.” I take a deep breath and attempt to beat the nauseating swirling in my stomach down. “Just not sure I was prepared for it. That’s all.”

“Fuck. You were friends. I’m sorry.” Trent comes over and hugs me from behind the chair. “I didn’t think.”

I wave him off. “It’s okay. I’m good. I needed to hear it. Rip it off like a Band-Aid, right? That’s how I’d do it.”

“Brave pain in the ass,” Drake mutters, shooting me a tiny, fond smile. He turns his attention back to Trent. “So, he thinks we’re dealing with a murder case.”

“He won’t call it.” Trent straightens and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Right now, until he gets a positive ID, he’s simply ruling it suspicious circumstances.”

“Great. We don’t even have Tim on our side for this.”

I shrug. “What side can he go on? He’s here to deliver facts. It’s y’all’s job to figure out how those facts came to be, or has six months without a dead body rusted up your investigative skills?”

Drake leans forward on his desk. “Now, that sounds a lot like a challenge.”

“Challenge, reminder, dare, whatever.” I shrug again. “Her death is suspicious. I know as well as you do it could mean any definition of murder or straight-up manslaughter. All we can do is keep looking and try to piece together her last days. And this,” I say, pulling out the black box from my purse, “might help us.”