Twirled Bond (Holly Woods Files, #5) (4 page)

“Once a day works for me.”

Works for me too. Not gonna lie.

Silence descends through my office, broken only by the sounds of my breathing. Sighing, actually.

I haven’t heard anything about Daniela for at least five years. If I’m honest with myself, and I always am, I’d forgotten about her and the situation. I didn’t even know her parents were still in town, but obviously, they are.

Fifteen years.

Wow.

Time really does fly, doesn’t it?

“Daniela Russo?” Drake frowns, tapping his pen against the file he’s working on. “Dark hair, pretty short, your grade in school?”

“Yeah. You have to remember her. She was one of those larger-than-life people.” I swing my feet up onto his desk, even as he gives me a disapproving glare. “But, now, I’m wondering if you were at the academy when she went missing.”

I narrowly miss the flying pen cap he launched in my direction.

“I’m three years older than you, Noelle. It’s not that much.” A scowl forms on his face, his dark brows furrowing with mock annoyance.

At least, I think it’s mock. I hope it’s mock.

“I remember when she went missing,” he says. “The whole town started a week-long search party. Didn’t the school shut down for three days so the teachers could help?”

Now, my brows furrow. Did it? That seems drastic.

He stares at me flatly. “Yes, it did. I remember you moaning to Trent because Daniela was a troublemaker who’d probably just run off to spite her mom, even though she was one of your best friends.”

“Damn,” I say under my breath. Of course he’d remember that. “I was kind of a bitch when I was fourteen.” Even to my best friends, apparently.

“Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of a bitch at twenty-nine.”

I’m not sure there’s a right way to take it. If there is, it’s quietly, but that’s never gonna happen.

“Sleep with one fucking eye open, Drake Nash.” I hit him with a hard look.

He half grins. “You know I love you.”

“Yeah, but here’s the difference: Right now, you’re
lucky
I love you.”

He’s still grinning, even as I’m glaring. Outwardly. I’m glaring outwardly. The longer I live with the man, the harder it is to stay annoyed at him.

Unless the shoe closet is being discussed. Then I’m on a warpath.

“You make me sick.” Trent leans against the doorframe and hugs a huge file to his chest.

Ah, there’s nothing like your brother on the offensive to brighten a fine spring morning.

I drop my head over the back of the chair and look at him upside down. “Hey, asshole.”

“Hey.” He hits me on the back of my head while walking into Drake’s office.

I squeak out a pained sound.
That hurt.

“Jason is stopping by,” he says to Drake, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Drake pinches the bridge of his nose. “What for?”

“Apparently, Daniela Russo’s parents have been petitioning the FBI to open her file as a cold case. Since the case was never officially closed by us or them, Jason has been put on it to work with the two of us to see if we can dig up any new information.”

Ah, yes. Holly Woods PD: where homicide is only a department if someone’s been murdered.

The saddest thing is that this is the fourth time Drake and Trent—and Brody—have worked on cases with Jason that have nothing to do with homicide. I have a fifty-bucks bet that, if someone doesn’t die soon, they’re gonna go to the care home when one of the retirees dies just to have something to do.

“No Brody this time?” Drake asks, taking the file from my brother.

Trent’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Uh...I’m guessing you didn’t hear what happened.”

“What happened?” I jerk my head around and stare at him. If he hurt my brother... Well, if this were an online chat, I’d be using the knife emoji to get my point across.

“Nothing like that.” Trent leans against the wall separating Drake’s office from the next and looks between us. “Apparently, Bek and Jason went for a drink at the Inn last night because he’s in town, and Brody was there with a date. He wouldn’t tell me all the details, but by the sounds of it, it got a little ugly.”

“In other words,” Drake says through a smile, “Brody kept glaring at them, Bek got uncomfortable, and Jason asked him what the fuck his problem is.”

That sounds about right. And, if it is, it’s the third time it’s happened this year alone.

It’s like living in the center of a romance novel with an angsty love triangle. It’s fucking
exhausting.

“That’s exactly what happened. I don’t know why Brody doesn’t just tell her how he feels,” Trent replies.

“He’s probably worried she doesn’t feel the same.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Nope. I’m not getting involved. “He’s a guy,” I say, deflecting it away from feelings and stuff before I let slip that I’m ninety-nine percent sure Bek feels the same. “Guys aren’t exactly known for telling people how they feel.”

Both Trent and Drake stare at me.

“I told Alison I loved her first,” Trent says.

“And I’m pretty sure that, when I told you I was in love with you, you attempted to run away,” Drake adds, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. Well.” I scratch the top of my cheek and look away for a moment.
Shit.
They’ve got me there. “Brodes isn’t like you two. Plus, Bek’s actually sorta dating Jason.”

“Sorta dating? They’re not official yet?”

I clap my hand over my eyes and hiss a breath out. Why did I have to say “sorta dating”?

“I thought they were official,” Trent says, carrying on from Drake’s questions. “It’s been months.”

I drop my hand and open and close my mouth a couple of times. Well. Now, I’m in trouble. Damn my big mouth.

“I think Bek might like Brody,” I tell them. “But Jason complicates things.”

Drake leans forward on his desk, flattening his forearms in front of him. His blue gaze hits me. “Help me out here, sweetheart. She likes Brody, but she’s dating Jason. Why?”

“Well, she likes him too.” That was lame. “I think he just made the move first, and now, she’s... Yeah. Confused. I don’t know! Don’t ask me things I can’t answer!”

“You’re the one who said she likes Brody,” Trent points out.

“I said think, Trent. I
think
she likes Brody.”

“So, why don’t you ask her?”

“Because I’m his sister and that’s wrong.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, but I have to listen to you and my best friend loving on each other on a regular basis.”

“You know what that says about you? You did a bad job as my big brother convincing me not to date him.”

“You tried to convince her not to date me?” Drake snorts, looking at Trent.

Trent wrinkles his nose then wriggles his hand side to side in a “maybe, maybe not” way.

“Not really,” I answer for him. “But the point is, Trent, it could be worse. You could hear us having sex.”

“And I’m out.” He spins on the balls of his feet and disappears, leaving the door wide open.

I can’t help but grin. I so won that.

“He leaves every time you come in here, you know that?” Drake quirks an eyebrow. “Not that you should take it personally, but...”

“If I had something better to do with my day than bug you, I’d have left the second he walked in.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to find something better to do, because I have to look through this, apparently.” He taps the folder.

“On Daniela?”

“Noelle.”

“What?” I drop my feet from his desk and sit up straight. “I could help.”

“You could,” he replies slowly. “But you’re not going to. You’re going to leave. And I just saw your panties.”

I grab my purse and stand on a huff. “Good. I hope you’re horribly uncomfortable all day.” I pause in the doorway and look over my shoulder. “I’m going to spit in your dinner tonight.”

His grin doesn’t stop his laugh. “Does that mean you’re
actually
cooking?”

“I hate you.”

God bless Nonna.

I called her and told her that I couldn’t be bothered to cook. And that, if Drake had to do it again, he was probably going to move out, so she hightailed her little Italian ass over here with a giant Tupperware tub full of lasagna.

“You know I’m telling him I made this, right?” I tell her as she transfers it to an oven-safe dish without breaking it.

“
Si,
” she answers, putting it in the oven. “Oh, Noella. Your-a oven is-a dirty!”

Yeah. I keep meaning to clean that, but between my family, work, and bugging Drake at his work, who has the time?

“It adds to the flavor. Just put it in.”

Nonna sighs and does as I said, mumbling under her breath in Italian. I hate when she does that. Just because I’m fluent doesn’t mean I can understand it when it’s barely whispered at the speed of light. The only reason I’m not calling her out is because she did just bring me lasagna.

“You-a know he will-a know it is-a my lasagna.”

“Yes,” I say slowly. “But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“
Si, si.
When-a you marry him, huh?”

Oh boy. Here. We. Go. “It’s not really in our short-term plan, Nonna.” I turn to the fridge and pull a bottle of chilled white wine out.

“So it-a is-a your long-a term plan?”

“We haven’t really spoken about it. At all. Ever.”
Lies. It’s been mentioned. Casually.

“You-a drink-a too much. I bet-a that is-a why.”

Oh, I only drink this much when she’s around. “I’m sure Drake doesn’t have a problem with my wine consumption.” Mostly because I get a little dirty after a bottle or so.

“He-a does. I know-a it.”

“Of course you do.”

“You-a sass me after I come-a all-a the way here?”

“No, no, Nonna,” I say, turning, wine glass in hand.

She’s staring at me, her dark eyes narrowed and her dark, gray-streaked hair tied in its usual tight bun.

“You misheard me. I said, ‘Of course I do.’ Have a bit of a wine problem.” I grimace and raise my glass. “What can I say? I’ve had a stressful day.”

She stares at me a little longer, mumbles again in ineligible Italian, then pats my arm. “You-a talk about-a marriage, Noella,” she says in a quiet voice. “I want-a more-a grandchildren before-a I die. And-a you live-a in sin!”

“Live in sin?” Oh god. Here we go.

“
Si.
You-a and-a Drake! You-a not married! I will-a take-a you to church on-a Sunday. You will-a come to-a confession.”

“I don’t need to go to church. Or confession.”

“You-a do. Your-a soul is-a dirty, Noella.”

No, my mind is dirty, but that’s a different matter. “I don’t need to go to church,” I repeat slowly. “I don’t care if I’m living in sin. I’m not ready to get married.”

“He won’t wait-a forever for-a you.”

“He doesn’t want to get married yet, either!”

She sniffs, huffs, and grabs her cane. Then she shuffles off toward my front door. “You have-a the devil in-a-side-a you.”

She’s probably right there.

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper to myself when the front door slams behind her.

Now, I remember why I don’t ask her to bring me food. If I’d just gone and gotten it myself, I would have been able to leave at the first instance of the M-word. Good lord. I shouldn’t have forgotten that. What an amateur move.

Devil inside me. Pfft. If that’s true, I probably inherited it from her.

“I thought Nonna wasn’t allowed to drive anymore,” Drake says, walking through the front door. He kicks his shoes off. “I just saw her driving away from here.”

“They’re not doctor’s orders. Just Dad’s,” I remind him. “Not that it actually makes a difference.”

“Obviously not.” He unknots his tie, whips me with it, making me squeal, then pauses. His gaze dances across the kitchen to the empty Tupperware tub. “Did she bring dinner?”

Shit
. “No.”

He meets my eyes. “Liar.”

“You can’t prove it.” I’m going to fight this until the end.

“I can.” He crosses the room then, reaching one arm behind me, pulls the Tupperware out. The lid is fastened back on, and he tips it upside down to see the bottom. “Here.” He puts the underside in my face. “Nonna’s label is on it. ‘Return to Nonna’ is written in her scrawly handwriting in Italian.”