Tied Bond (Holly Woods Files, #4) (34 page)

“Suppose,” he acquiesces. “Do you have one?”

“Of course I have one. I have, like, fifty. I’ve bugged more than one house or car in my life, kid.”

“Is that legal?”

“Shut up.”

Now Bek laughs. “Then what are you going to do?”

“Then I’m going to buy pizza and stake out her house in the hope I’ll get something.” I shrug with a coy smile.

“Can I stake out with you when we get back?” Bek asks hopefully.

“Only in your own car. You know the rules.”

“Can I have half the pizza?”

“No. You can have your own.”

“Ugh. Fine.” She balls up her trash from her breakfast and then throws it into the can. “C’mon, Carlton. Let’s go do the boss’s dirty work.”

“Watch it, or you’ll be buying your own damn pizza, whorebag.”

She walks backward out of the room as Carlton grabs his stuff, and with a smile so sweet that it could caramelize butter, she blows me a kiss and bats her eyelashes.

“Freeloader!” I yell after her.

“Love you!”

Bitch.

“I still feel like we need code names for this.”

“Bek, we’re on speakerphone, not a radio line.” I pull a piece of pizza from the box and take a bite. “Besides,” I say around my mouthful, “I don’t want to run the risk of anything messing with my bug.”

“Is it an actual bug? Like a ladybug?”

“Yes. I put a ladybug into a plant pot.” I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “Can we clear this line so I can eat? I’m waiting for Drake to text me an update on his mom.”

“All right, all right. Over.” She hangs up before I can respond to her stupid comment.

Why did I bring her along again? Oh, yes. Because it’s always wise to have more than one person in case something goes wrong.

Not that I expect anything to go wrong. It’s just a standard stakeout in Holly Woods, Texas, in the middle of the night, and there’s been a decoy arrest to the unsolved murder that’s related to this standard stakeout.

Sounds like a plot for a spy movie.

The more I think about this, the stupider and more dangerous it sounds.

I pick up another slice of pizza and bite into it. And boy am I glad I decided on yoga pants for this little outing. There’s just something about yoga pants and pizza in a stakeout that doesn’t seem sinister at all. Like an outdoor, introverted, slightly stalkerish girls’ night out.

Woop woop.

If I weren’t driving, I’d totally send Bek to get wine. Although they do make those little single-serve bottles... One of those each and we’d be okay. Not to mention we’d have a full-blown party. In our own cars. At opposite ends of the street. But hey ho.

I lick the grease from my fingers and drop my head back. Would it be so wrong to play Candy Crush right now? Stakeouts are the most boring thing ever and almost never productive in the terms of answers, especially not when it’s dark or in a private residence, but it’s just about the only way
I
can feel productive. At least, this way, even if I take nothing back from this, I’m going to feel like I tried.

The effort is important after all...

But effort is always way more fun with wine.

My phone buzzes, and I groan, opening my eyes and turning my attention to the screen. I’m pleasantly surprised to find it isn’t Bek, but Carlton, and hit answer. “What’s up?”

“Are you and Bek still outside the Thornton house?”

“Up and down the street from it technically, but yeah, why?”

“Get out. Now.”

“Huh?”

“The police took an alibi from Carlos and he provided security tapes from his mechanics workshop to back it up, but they’re fake. They didn’t notice. He doctored the time and date. He wasn’t at his workshop, and his card shows a purchase for a flight from Washington Dulles airport to Austin Bergstrom the afternoon Wally was killed.”

“What are you—”

“They processed the print from the knife, Noelle. It’s his. Kat didn’t kill her father. Carlos did it.”

“Do the police know?”

“Yes. I called Trent as soon as I realized about the tapes and ran his records. They’re getting an arrest warrant now.”

“Hanging up.” I dial Bek’s number immediately. “Get out. Now.”

“What?” she shrieks.

“Go home, Bek, or to the station. We need to leave.” I turn the key in my ignition. “I’m not kidding.”

“Got it. Got it.”

Two seconds later, her car speeds past mine, and I say, “Gone?”

“Yes. Are you leaving?”

“Right about now. I’ll call you when I’m at the station.” I hang up, but just as I’m about to put my foot down, someone steps in front of my car, and I recognize that someone. “Well, I’m fucked,” I whisper to myself.

I could run him over, I suppose, and that would totally combat the knife in his hand, but can I cite self-defense if he isn’t technically threatening me? Then again, on what planet is standing in front of someone’s car with a knife in your hand not threatening?

The Hunger Games or something?

Harry Potter. Although, if you switch the knife out for a wand, it’s fucking terrifying.

Yeah, I’m screwed.

Carlos moves around the side of my car to my window and yanks my door open. Why didn’t I lock that? What kind of rookie bitch am I?

“Hi, Carlos. What’s up?” I ask cheerily, trying not to focus on the ginormous fucking blade in his hand.

“You’re real nosy, Noelle Bond. Do you know that?”

“It is one of my worst qualities. I get that from my grandmother, I’m afraid. I think it’s probably an Italian thing because everyone in my family except my mom has the exact same quality.”

“You talk too much.”

“Boy, you know how to flatter a girl.”
Sassing a murderer. Nice one, Noelle. Idiot.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

“Eating my dinner and deciding whether or not two visits in two days is too much for Kat.”

“Any visit from you is too much,” he bites out in a low voice. “Get in the passenger seat.”

Yeah... “No.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Get in the fucking passenger seat!”

“Again, no. Sorry. I don’t take orders from people unless... Well, I don’t take orders.” I fight my smirk. This is not the time to be smirking.
Damn it, Noelle. Stop fucking smirking!
“If you want to go somewhere, though, feel free to get in yourself. I can put the pizza on the backseat.”

“Get in the fucking passenger seat!” A vein bulges in his forehead, and his dark eyes blaze with anger—but also with hesitation.

That hesitation gives me strength.

“Or what, Carlos?” I tilt my head to the side. “Are you going to use that knife on me, sweetie?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t think you are.” Not if the sweat dripping off him is anything to go by.

“I’ve done it before! I’ll do it again!”

“Wally, right? You killed him.” I pause, buying time as his hand shakes. I unclip my belt and turn toward him so his view of my dashboard is obscured. Then I grab my phone. Blind-calling my brother would be easier if I had buttons. Damn touchscreen. I locate roughly where the six would be, press, and hold. Then I turn the call volume down. I know Trent won’t be in his office, but his machine will pick this up, and voila.

“Carlos? You killed Wally, right?”

I drop my phone facedown on the passenger seat without him noticing. He’s too busy holding his focus and his determination that he’s going to kill me.

It’s a cute attempt.

“I know about your security tapes, and they have your print on the murder weapon,” I push on. “I know you did it. I just don’t know why you did.”

“She wouldn’t marry me.” His voice shakes. “Kat. She said yes, but she kept putting the date off.”

In the words of Sheriff Bates, spank my backside and call me Geoffrey. I knew the man had feelings for her, but I didn’t know they were reciprocated—or that they were in a committed relationship.

“You’re engaged?”

He smiles, but there’s nothing warm or even...human...about it. It’s just...evil and anger and hatred.

“Yes. For two years. Your little snooping didn’t share that, did it?”

“No,” I admit. “But that still doesn’t tell me why you killed her dad.”

“The business,” he grinds out. “It failed despite her best efforts, and she was afraid to tell him and she refused to marry me until it was sorted out. I found their insurance policies and I knew...” Carlos’s voice cracks. “It was the only way!”

“I know. I believe you,” I respond in what I hope is a soothing voice. “So you killed Wally. So she’d get the insurance money and... What then?”

Trent? Drake? Brody? Sheriff Bates? Hello? Hello?

“She could deal with the business. And marry me. Finally.”

“I understand. That must have been real hard for you to wait so long for her to do something about it.”

“Yes. But, now, you know. And she can’t know. She can’t find out.” His knuckles whiten under the dim light emitting from the pathetic little bulb on the roof of my car. He’s gripping that knife really freakin’ tight.

Boy, oh boy.

This is going downhill, isn’t it?

Should have driven over the motherfucker when I had the chance...

“Carlos, you have to realize she’s going to find out. The police are on their way here right now,” I reason with him. Or try to. Can you reason with a killer?

No. Probably not.

“And, when they get here, you’ll be dead and I’ll be gone.” He holds the knife even harder and grabs my wrist, yanking me out of my car. I almost lose my footing, and I’m thankful for my tiny car now. There isn’t far to fall.

We’re also at the end of the street that backs onto the park, so this really doesn’t bode well for me.

“I should warn you. This is the fourth time I’ve been up against a killer this year, and so far, I’ve survived.”
Well done, Noelle. That’s a show of strength right there.

“Then you should be more careful,” he hisses, tugging me.

My wrist is burning from the tightness of his grasp.

“You’re right. I probably should be.” I attempt to pull my arm from his hold, but I fail.

He’s too strong for me, and now, I’m starting to panic a little.

Again with the Drake? Trent? Any time now would be great.

Hello?

Someone?

Anyone?

I really don’t wanna have to whip my gun out and hit him with it.

Carlos continues pulling me into the park, and now, the light from the streetlamps is seriously waning. It’s almost gone, in fact, and my adrenaline is spiking like nobody’s business. I’m shaking, my stomach is coiling, and heart is pounding so hard that it’s going for Olympic boxing gold.

I reach up my left side, careful not to alert him with quick movements, and grasp the handle of my gun. I really don’t want to shoot anyone else this year—two people and almost a third is more than enough—and even though I don’t want to knock someone out, either, it seems like the lesser of two evils.

So a knock over the head it is.

I slide my gun down and out of the holster, keeping my grip on it steady, and hold it at my side. I didn’t think my heart could beat any harder or faster, but here it is, so fast that all the beats are basically blending into one giant buzz of vibration that feels like fear and exhilaration all mixed into one.

“Carlos?” I whisper, my arm tensing.

“What?” He stops walking and jerks his head around in annoyance.

“Sorry.”

He opens his mouth and starts to say, “What?” but I cut him off by whacking the heel of my gun into the side of his head hard enough to knock him down. He hits the ground in a crumpled heap, and I kick the knife out of his hand and away from him.

I stagger back against a tree, my gun still in my hand, and collapse against it. My lungs burn as I take a deep breath. It’s supposed to calm me, but it doesn’t, and my self-preservation instinct kicks in with another burst of adrenaline.

I push off the tree and run back onto the street, glancing over my shoulder in case Carlos is following me.

“Noelle!”

I scream, stopping, but the person who called my name is Drake, and it’s his arms that are now circling my waist. I know that sound, that touch, and that smell. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face into his shoulder.

“Oh my God. What the fucking hell took you so long?”

“You didn’t shoot him, did you?” Drake breathes into my hair. “Actually—shit, no. I don’t care. Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No. I knocked him out. And he tried to hurt me, but again, I knocked him out.”

“Where is he?” Trent asks, running up behind Drake with his hand on his gun.

I point toward the end of the street and the entrance to the park with my own weapon.

“Is he alive, Trigger Finger? Bleeding? Maimed?” Brody asks, pausing next to us as Trent runs off.

“Shut your damn mouth,” I breathe, smiling into Drake’s shoulder.

It doesn’t last as I feel the adrenaline dissipate and chills rack my body. My teeth chatter frantically, and Drake removes my arms from around his neck, then takes my gun. He secured it in his own holster and frames my face with his hands.

“Home,” he says softly. “I’m taking you home, setting your alarm, and looking after you. And then, tomorrow, after I have your car home, I’m going to yell at you for being so fucking stupid.”