Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (21 page)

“So what you’re telling me is that any number of people could be responsible or involved with this.”

“I’m telling you I don’t have a clue. I’m sorry. I wish I could give you more. I don’t believe Gianna did this, but I don’t have anything that can help you prove she didn’t.” Kat pushes her hair from her face, and Carlos wraps his arm around her shoulders. “I wish I could help you,” she says in a softer voice, looking down as tears fill her eyes. “I wish I knew who did this so I could tell them just how much it hurts.”

“I’m sorry. Truly, I am, and I’ll do everything I can to figure out who’s responsible so you can do that. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice cracking as she glances up. “I have your number. If I think of anything, I’ll call you.”

“That would be great. I’ll leave you to visit with friends and family. Thank you so much for these few minutes of your time. I appreciate it.”

She smiles, and Carlos sweeps her away to a quiet corner. I give them a cursory glance, but as I’m walking toward the door, I feel a set of eyes on me. I turn, and Carlos is watching me leave, holding Kat tight. I hold his gaze for a few seconds before spinning back around and walking out to my car.

Only here do I realize: I was talking to Kat for longer than five minutes, and Gianna never came back.

I don’t need to guess where she is. I know.

And I’m no better informed about this situation than I was when I walked in here.

With the knowledge that Nonna is once again cooking in my kitchen, I decide to detour to Drake’s after leaving the office. I love the woman, but after she coated me in marinara sauce yesterday, I’m not going for another shower in seasoned tomato sauce hot from the pan, thank you very much.

Plus, having a sleepover with my boyfriend when my grandmother is hanging around isn’t exactly something I feel entirely comfortable with. We haven’t slept at my place since I was forced into babysitting her, and I doubt we will until she’s gone. I hope that’s soon. Like, tonight. Tomorrow at the latest.

I miss having my own space in my house.

Drake’s truck is already in the driveway when I pull into it. The presence of it makes me frown—he was supposed to be working until six, and it’s barely five. He didn’t seem sick or anything, so maybe he was sent home once his mom went in for questioning. God knows I wouldn’t want him around while questioning her.

“Hello?” I call out, walking into the house. “Drake?”

A big boom sounds from the TV. I hope it’s the TV.

“Yep.”

I stop then kick the door shut. “Where are you?”

“On the sofa.”

I remove my shoes and my jacket and put my purse down. Then I walk into the front room. He’s lounging back on the sofa in his sweats and no T-shirt, a bottle of beer in his hand, an empty share bag of chips on the coffee table, and some action movie on TV.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“You’d think.”

Another explosion on the TV.

I grab the remote and hit the mute button. “I’d think? I’m confused is what I am.”

He sighs heavily, swings his legs off the sofa, then shakes his bottle. Noting that it’s empty, he puts it on the table and gets up. “I am supposed to be at work—you’re right. But then they matched a hair on Wally’s body to my mom, she’s there for questioning, and I’m on paid leave until this case is closed because, apparently, I’m a fucking liability.” He slams the fridge shut in the kitchen.

Honestly, that makes more sense than I’d think.

“What did you do?”

“Didn’t do anything. Sheriff sent me home at lunchtime before Mom came in. Only reason it took so long for her was because she asked if she could go to the viewing and see Wally one last time. She’s given up on just about everything, and if it weren’t for me, she’d probably just fucking confess and be done with it.” He sits back on the sofa and twirls the neck of the bottle between his hands.

“Why didn’t you call me?” I sit next to him and tuck one leg beneath my butt. “You know I would have come home. And what’s that about a hair?”

“They found a hair on Wally’s body. It was one of the pieces of evidence they hoped would link to someone else, but it didn’t. I argued that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, as she already admitted that they had been together before his death. All he had to do was hug her and a hair could be transferred to him without him realizing.” He turns his face toward me, and the pain in his eyes rips my heart open. “One more thing and they’re arresting her—if they haven’t already.”

I take the bottle from him and wrap my arms around his neck. Slowly, he returns the embrace, and we fall backward. I curl into his side as he takes a succession of deep breaths to calm himself.

“Let me call Jason. See if I can find out anything.” I kiss his rough, stubbly jaw and push myself up. I get my phone from my purse and dial his number.

“I’m already on my way to Drake’s,” he answers before I can say a word.

“Great. Now do me a favor and stop by my house. Nonna made ice cream. Tell her I sent you. Also get meatballs, marinara sauce, and some fresh pasta.”

“Yes, boss. I didn’t realize I was your takeout slave.”

“You’ll be my bitch if you don’t get your butt there and then here. Everyone needs a little comfort food now and then, and Drake needs comfort food now.”

“Gotcha. See you in ten.” He hangs up.

I stare at my phone. Wow. That was easily. That man is agreeable. I like him.

I bring my phone into the front room with me and sit back on the sofa. “He’s coming over with Nonna’s food. Hopefully he can tell us more.”

“He can’t. I already tried to get information out of him. No one will tell me a fucking thing apart from the vague bullshit Sheriff gives me.” Drake harshly rubs his hand over his forehead. “He tells me enough to keep me in the know, but not enough to keep me happy. It’s what makes it fucking hard.”

Ah. Oh.

My soul feels like it’s tearing into two. He’s so hurt already, but I wonder if his knowing that Jason can tell him things would make it better or hurt him more.

I stand and walk to the kitchen. I need wine if I’m going to process this. It was one thing to keep this quiet when he was occupied with work, but now that he’s going to be home, I know it’s going to be nearly impossible. He’ll want to help me to give himself something to do, and I’ll have no reason to say no.

Besides that, though, I want him to know he isn’t alone. That we’re not all letting his mom be swallowed up by circumstantial evidence and the judicial system.

I pour the wine into my glass and grab a reusable cork from the drawer. Then I put the bottle back in the fridge. The cold wine is refreshing as I take a sip.

“You’ve been out here for a while.” Drake leans against the doorframe, holding his beer bottle. “Jason just pulled up.”

Wow. Apparently, I’ve been staring at wine for a while. And drinking it, given that I have half of what I poured left in the glass.

“Come in,” Drake calls when Jason knocks.

The FBI agent comes in with two large bags full of food. “Nonna assumed she was feeding an army,” he says by way of explanation.

I smile. I love how she’s simply “Nonna” to everyone. Everyone except Mom, at least.

“Yeah, she tends to do that. Here. Put them on the table.” I take a mouthful of wine, set my glass down, and pull a pot and a pan from the cupboard. I fill the pot with water to boil for the pasta and spray the pan with oil to cook the meatballs. “Thank you.”

“It must be bad if you’re cooking,” Drake mutters.

“Shut up. I’ve cooked for you loads of times. And I’m not so much cooking as heating up meatballs and fresh pasta, but homemade ice cream is exactly what you need right now.” I pull all the tubs from the bags then give Jason the ice cream to put into the freezer.

He does it without me having to actually ask.

I switch the stove on to boil the water. “What can you tell me, Jason?”

“The hair is incriminating. I read the transcripts of the conversations. They covered every scenario to explain how the hair got caught in the zipper of Wally’s jacket, but unfortunately, without anything connecting anyone else to his body, it’s physical forensic evidence that she was with him around the time of his murder. No jury or judge in the country would look at the hair as being purely circumstantial.”

Drake’s eyes narrow, and he looks between us. “I’m missing something. Why can you give her more information than Sheriff Bates agrees to give me?”

I open my mouth to say something, but what comes out is actually a squeak, so I pick my wine glass up and finish the drink.

“Noelle.” Drake’s voice takes on a hard edge.

“You still didn’t tell him?” Jason looks at me, incredulity written all over his face. He leans forward and grabs the back of a chair. “Fuckin’ hell, Noelle. Now, this is awkward.”

I open my mouth once again, but Drake beats me to it.

“Tell me what?”

“Yeah...” I say softly, putting my now-empty glass down. “I have something to tell you, honey.”

“D
on’t be mad,” I continue, my heart thundering in my chest.

Shit. My stomach is coiled with nerves, and if I didn’t have to breathe to give the illusion that I’m calm, I’d probably be passed out on the floor right now.

I’m not afraid of him. I never could be. I’m simply afraid of hurting him. That could be my second biggest fear.

The first one is losing him.

“I’m already mad,” he retorts, putting the beer bottle down. “All you’re telling me is that I’m about to madder.”

“Okay... Well, then don’t be mad
at
me, okay? Because, if you’re just gonna yell at me, I’m going home and you’re gonna have to wait.”

“You’re pushing it, Noelle.”

“Say it. Now. Or I’m not telling you a damn thing, because I did what I thought was best.”

“I won’t be mad at you,” he grinds out, his jaw visibly tight. “I’ll be mad at the situation instead.”

I suppose that compromise works. “Okay. But just let me talk, yeah? Don’t interrupt me. You can yell after I’m done.” I take a deep breath, and when I let it out, it’s on a shudder.

Our eyes meet, and he nods once, sharply.

“Right after your mom was questioned about Wally’s death, she came to me. She wanted me to help her. She insisted she wasn’t guilty, and I told her I’d think about it. I spoke to Trent, who refused to tell me anything except that she was the only suspect and to keep out of his investigation.”

“And you saw that as a challenge.”

“Hey! I’m not done!” I hit the table. “Yes. No. Maybe a little. But I realized that your mom was up against a whole team of people, except she had no one batting on her side. Trent made it clear that she was the only person they were looking into, so I agreed to help her—on the proviso she tells you what she was discussing with Wally that led to their fight. She wouldn’t tell me anything except that they were only friends and that she didn’t do it.” I pause and let that sink in.

His expression doesn’t even twitch.

“I’ve been investigating all this week. Well, I’ve been trying to. It’s hard to get information about a guy everyone seemed to love.”

Drake looks between me and Jason. “So, what’s he got to do with this?”

“I went to him yesterday and begged him to help me. The files on the case are encrypted and so complicated that Carlton has to unravel a whole bunch of stuff I don’t understand just to get into them. My brothers were out of the question.”

“Did you know about the hair?”

“Not really. I knew there was evidence, but Jason didn’t even know when he called me. I figured that’s why you were going in to meet with Bates. Of course I didn’t know it’d led to your paid time off.”

“You’re not working?” Jason looks at him. “Really?”

Drake nods slowly. “I’m a liability, so I’m on paid time off for extenuating circumstances until the case is solved.”

“That’s tough, man.” Jason looks at me then him. “What she said is true. I’m helping her because I’m not on the force. I can look at other avenues, and since I’m only assisting, I have the time to. I don’t know what she’s onto, and we’ve all established Noelle is crazy as fuck, but she threw the gut instinct at me, and it was right last time. No reason to doubt it isn’t this time.”