He nods—barely.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“It’s not a conversation we can have in public. We’ll talk when you have a car and are back at your office.”
I’m the connecting factor. I know it.
“Fuck the car! Turn off now and turn the fuck around!”
He swerves onto the shoulder and jams on the breaks. The seat belt stops me moving forward, but the shock comes from when Drake turns around. He clasps my jaw in his hand and forces me to look at into his eyes. They’re full of anger, and they’re glaring at me with the force of that.
“Noelle, for once in your fuckin’ life, listen to me. You can’t do your job without a car. So you’re gonna get a car. Then we’re gonna go to your office, and we’re gonna talk. Do you get that, cupcake?”
I curl my fingers around his wrist as my own anger flares to life inside me. “The term of endearment does nothing to soften your big dominating act,” I bite out, tugging his hand from my face. “But you’re right. I can’t do my job without a car. So we’ll get the car and go back. But we get cupcakes, too.”
Drake’s nostrils flare, and he pulls back onto the road. “Fine.”
“From Gigi’s.”
“Fine.”
“And you’re buyin’ ’em.”
His jaw twitches. “Fine.”
I get out of his cruiser in the parking lot, the proud owner of a brand-new, silver Audi TT to be delivered tomorrow morning and the even prouder owner of a half-empty box of Gigi’s.
I slam the door shut, holding my cupcake box tight, and storm to the building. The whole way back from Austin, I tried to convince Drake to tell me, at the very least, who the victim is, but he refused. He said that, if the guy is connected to me, he couldn’t deal with a freak-out in the middle of a road while he was driving.
Naturally, I completely disputed that I would have freaked out. I might have let out a long stream of curse words, possibly some in Italian, but I wouldn’t have freaked out.
He maintained that he didn’t want to scare me.
I argued that two dead bodies on my properties in a week is enough to freak out a fucking abominable snowman in a blizzard.
“Noelle,” Drake calls after me, narrowly avoiding the main door slamming in his face.
“Hold them,” I order when Grecia holds my messages out.
She freezes as I storm past her and up the stairs.
“Noelle—”
“Later!” I yell at Mike, jamming my key into the hole and turning it violently.
“Noelle!” Drake finally growls.
I shove the door open so harshly that it slams into the wall behind it and then fix him with my gaze. “In there. Now.”
His chest heaves, and a long moment passes between us as he stares at me, both Mike and Bekah staring at us from their office doors.
“Did I not make that clear, Detective?” I tilt my head to the side. “Now means now, not in five fucking minutes.”
Drake’s in front of me in two long strides. “Watch your damn attitude, Noelle,” he warns me quietly, his breath skating across my cheek. “You might get away with sassin’ your family, but you won’t with me.”
“When you’re on my property, I’ll do whatever the hell I want.” I lower my voice. “And you might not realize it, but I’ve been shitting myself ever since I saw that body yesterday, so unless you want me to rip out a pair of stilettos and tear you a new asshole until you’re forced to tell me what I need to know, you’ll drag your ass into my office.”
“Another threat.” He whips his handcuffs out and dangles them in my face. “Want me to use ’em, ma’am?”
I step closer to him, moving the cupcake box out of the way of our bodies, and fix him with a stare that I know is as potent as his. “I dare you to try, sir.”
We stand off against each other, barely a few inches separating our bodies. My heart is thumping in my chest, and hell, I’m turned on. My lower stomach is burning, and the heat is seeping between my legs because all I can think about is Detective Drake Nash putting me in handcuffs.
He lowers the restraints and attaches them to his belt again. Then he nudges me away from the door and slams it shut with his foot. I open my mouth to speak, but he grabs my arm and spins me against the solid wood surface. I gasp and drop the cupcake box as my back collides with the door and his chest presses against mine.
“Don’t ever dare me, Noelle,” he whispers, his tone thick with a seduction that crawls over my skin and joins the heat between my legs. “Because if I get you in cuffs, there’ll be no trying about it. You’ll be beggin’ for it, babe. Keep getting up close and personal and that’ll be sooner rather than later.”
“You wish,” I breathe. Yes. I do. I damn well do.
He dips his head so his mouth is hovering above mine, and every breath coats my lips. “I couldn’t give a fuck if we’re smack-damn in the middle of a murder investigation. You keep pushin’ me the way you are and I will take you. I’m not afraid to give you a real reason to shout my name.”
“You give me a hundred reasons every day.”
“’Bout time I gave you a good one, don’t you think?”
Good logic. Bad execution. “No. I don’t. I think you should tell me what I need to know.”
“I just did,” he murmurs.
“Drake!” I shove at his chest and slide out from between him and the door. My heart is going freakin’ crazy, and I can’t hear a damn thing except for the thundering of my pulse in my ears. Turned on is not what I need to be right now.
I run my fingers through my hair and pick my cupcake box up off the floor. The frosting of the lemon one is smudged on the inside of the lid, and I groan. Dammit. Now I’m mad and turned on.
I carefully set the box on my desk and grab the lemon cupcake. It’s smudged, so I may as well eat it. “Well. Talk.”
Drake puts his hands on hips, and with his legs slightly parted, he looks…powerful. In fact, the simple movement means he’s filling the room simply with his presence, and as his mood changes, so does the atmosphere.
His eyes meet mine, and the heat is still there, but it’s masked by a seriousness that makes my stomach clench. Not in a good way.
“Noelle… Does the name Daniel Westwood mean anything to you?”
I draw in a sharp breath and drop the cupcake.
Drake steps forward. “Noelle,” he says softer.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I need to know how,” he says slowly, coming toward me.
I close my eyes. “He was under surveillance three months ago. Claire Santiago was cheating on her husband with Daniel.”
I hold my hands up as Drake approaches me, holding the pose for a second as I catch my breath and push my hair from my face. My fingers fall through to the ends, and I take a deep breath then turn quickly.
“Marshall!” I push his door open without knocking.
He looks up instantly. “Boss.”
“I need the Santiago-Westwood file. If it’s gone, recover it. Run background checks on both Lena Perkins and Daniel Westwood. Credit records, school records, driver records, medical and dental records—everything, kid. I want to know when Lena started her period and how many inches Daniel Westwood’s cock was when you’re done. Got it?”
Marshall’s eyes flick to Drake, who’s standing behind me.
“Don’t,” I warn him. “I don’t care and I don’t want to know. What HWPD doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”
“Pretend I didn’t hear that,” Drake mutters.
I ignore him. “Just get that information for me. I want their fucking life stories on my desk within the hour.”
My tech kid meets my gaze and nods once. “You’ll have it.”
“I better.” After spinning on my heel, I push Mike’s door open. “Mike!”
His head snaps up. “Yeah?”
“You worked some of the Santiago-Westwood case with me, correct?”