Drake kicks me under the table, and the frown drops from my face as I look up. Whoops. Already fucked up.
“Mr. Wright, you’re here because it’s recently come to our attention that you were in a secret relationship with Ms. Portia Robinson. Ms. Robinson is currently in the hospital, recovering from hemlock poisoning she suffered approximately twenty-four hours ago. We’ve also been told that you were the last person to see her before she was poisoned.”
I bite my tongue. I want to call him out on the technicality that Marsh was the last person to see her before she ate the poisoned salad. She could have been poisoned at any time. But hey…
“I guess so,” Marshall replies quietly, looking Drake dead in the eye. “I left her house around four p.m. I was only there briefly.”
So Portia lied to me.
“What was the purpose of your visit?” Drake asks.
“To tell her I wanted to end our relationship. I-I met someone online. In Austin.”
Interesting.
“Ms. Robinson is twelve years your senior, is she not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why the attraction to an older woman?”
Marshall shrugs.
“I need you to reply so the machine can hear you, Mr. Wright.”
“Sorry.” Marsh clears his throat. “I’m not sure. It started as a one-night thing and remained strictly casual. I’m not the only person she was seeing.”
“And that didn’t bother you at all?” Drake quirks his eyebrow.
“No. Like I said, it was a casual relationship. Neither of us expected anything out of it except something physical. At least, I didn’t.”
Imagining the gangly, World of Warcraft–obsessed techie in a physical situation has me beating down giggles before they erupt and Drake throws me out.
Drake nods slowly. “Understandable. How long had you been seeing each other?”
“A few weeks.”
“How did she take your news?” Drake leans back and crosses his arms. Hello, distraction. “Was she upset? Put out? Angry? Distressed?”
“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid, Detective. She was very happy that I’d found someone who made me happy. We parted as friends, on good terms.” Marsh pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Sounds like a dream,” Drake replies, amusement riddling his tone. Silence reigns as he studies Marshall. His gaze is so powerful that I can feel it, too, and dammit, now I want to look at him.
The air is becoming more and more suffocating as they stare each other off, only blinking occasionally. It’s literally like man and house, tornado and wooden shack, bulldozer and brick wall. Drake is, naturally, far more imposing and terrifying than I suspect Marshall will ever be, but he’s holding his own despite it all.
Sure, there’s a nervous tic just below his eye, and anyone untrained wouldn’t notice the bead of sweat on his brow or the way his right hand is twitching with the urge to wipe it away. They wouldn’t know the tremble of his lower lip as he fights the urge to say something or the miniscule shift in his shoulders as he desperately wars within himself not to break the eye contact he’s so meticulously maintaining.
Son of a bitch!
Drake didn’t get me in here to support Marshall. If he had, I would have been on his side of the table. No. The bastard got me in here to read his body language.
And I know exactly what his question will be next.
“Any reason you’d want Ms. Robinson dead, Mr. Wright?”
Fucking son of a bitch.
Except, now, I’m tuned in. My eyes are so focused on Marshall that I couldn’t rip them away if I tried, and his every movement, I see it. There isn’t a tic or twitch or throb of a vein I don’t miss as his eyes widen at Drake’s question.
“Absolutely none, Detective.”
Drake pauses for a moment then turns to me. “I think we’re done here.” His gaze drifts to Marshall. “Thank you, Mr. Wright. Someone will be in shortly to discuss with you anything you may know about Ms. Robinson that may help us in our investigation.”
Marshall visibly relaxes, and that bead of sweat that was hovering just above his brow slides down the side of his face and disappears into his sideburn. “Of course. I’ll be happy to help.”
Drake clicks the recorder off and pushes his chair back. He pulls my chair back with a tiny jerk, making me squeak in surprise. I get up with a harsh glare to him then look at Marshall, softening my gaze.
“You good?” I ask him.
“I’m good, boss,” he replies, pushing his glasses up his nose again. He really needs to get those fixed.
“Ms. Bond,” Drake says sharply, stalking toward the door and yanking it open.
Oh. It’s like that, is it? Ms. Bond my left ass cheek.
Drake walks through the door before I’ve even gotten there, and I have to grab it to stop it from slamming on me. Holy shit, someone has a cactus up his ass tonight.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I call, anger tensing my muscles.
“I have no idea what you mean,” he replies equally as angrily, now drawing the attention of the other staff still working.
“You know exactly what I mean!” My heels loudly tap against the floor as I chase after him. “Pulling me in there just because you didn’t want me to bug you for the interview! That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life!”
“Didn’t realize you were a walkin’ lie detector, Noelle.”
“Oh, now I’m Noelle? You need to make your damn mind up about what you’re callin’ me, Detective.”
“Noted.”
“Dammit, Drake, I’m talkin’ to you!” I grab his arm and yank him so he faces me. “And you’re gonna damn well listen to me!”
His eyes narrow into slits, his anger burning through that tiny glimpse, and his eyes are hard, cold, unfeeling. If I gave a shit, I’d be scared of him right now.
“Noelle,” Brody says. “Take it to his office.”
“I am not your personal fuckin’ body language expert!” I jab my finger into Drake’s chest, ignoring my brother. “You cannot drag me into your damned interviews just because this two-bit police station can’t train someone! You do not have the right to abuse the fuck out of me and my abilities as it pleases you. Do you get that? You want my help, you ask for it. You don’t fuckin’ manipulate me just because you think you can.”
“Oh, I can manipulate you, sweetheart, because I just did.” He steps closer, his voice low, and the warning in his tone, the spine-tingling threat, does nothing but anger me. “And you’ll watch your language when you speak to me. In your building, you do what you want. In mine, you do what I say, when I say. Got that?”
“Like you do what I say when you’re in my office, yeah? I forgot how well you listen to others!” I step back, bringing back the sliver of space between us. “I’m no longer working with you on this case. Bond P.I. will no longer be working with you. You want information, you get your ass a warrant. Until then, you can kiss my sweet ass.”
“You sure you wanna play that game?”
“Game? No. I’m not playing. I never have been. So take the game, set, and match, Detective, because I’m out. Lives are at risk, including mine, and I’m not going to waste my time pandering to the most insufferable, arrogant, pigheaded fuckwankingdouchebag I’ve ever had to—”
He slams his body against mine and fists my hair, his mouth forcing itself onto mine and cutting off my tirade. It’s short and harsh and hot, the kiss almost bruising in its intensity, and it’s like everything has stopped, the world stilling on its axis. No more ticking clocks, no more wondering about tomorrow or next week or next year. Just now. Here, now. This second. This very moment.
This very touch that is equal parts thrilling and terrifying, because no one should ever be able to make someone feel like there is nothing left in existence but one simple kiss.
Drake releases me as quickly and harshly as he grabbed me. My heart thunders in my chest as he storms down the hallway and makes the turn to his office. The sound of his door slamming ricochets through the silent police station, and it’s only now that I realize what he’s done.