Twirled Bond (Holly Woods Files, #5) (7 page)

“All right,” Drake says, standing. “There’s nothing we can really do except interview everyone who’s been in and out of this theater at least in the last twelve months. Do we have contact numbers for the owners?”

Trent nods. “Danny has them. Brody is taking his statement and collecting their contact details now.”

“Can you go check up on that? I want to call them and speak to them myself.”

“Sure thing.” He disappears, leaving us alone.

I stare at the bones. They look like they’re curled into the fetal position: knees to the chest, arms tucked in, head bent forward. Comforting, stable, almost.

That’s not the way a killer without connection to the victim would position a body.

A killer who’s a stranger would just drop it, taking no care of how it falls, especially if they planned to concrete the doorway. And the windows, from what I can see. The only light in here is artificial, and granted, the windows are tiny slivers of glass, but they look solid.

The position of the body and the concrete make this feel a little like a tomb.

I cross the basement, making sure I avoid the skeleton and where Drake is still looking over it.

He glances up when I make it to the window and push a gloved finger against the frame. “What are you doing?”

“The windows...” It came out barely a murmur. “Have you seen the window?”

“I’ve been in here as long as you have. No. Why?”

“Look.” I run my fingertip down the side of the frame. “The window is boarded up, Drake. There’s no reason to concrete it to keep people out.” I rap my fist against the wood. “It’s solid. You’d need an axe to get through it. I bet it’s the same outside.”

He touches the window next to me, drawing his eyebrows together in a frown as he realizes that what I just said is true. “That makes no sense. Why would you concrete a window that’s already boarded up? And not even the whole thing. Just the frame.”

I shrug, dropping my finger. He’s right. It doesn’t make any sense. The window is already sealed and secure. Unless...

“The smell,” we both say at the exact same time. “I was flippant before,” I add. “But it really does make sense.”

Drake nods. “This building is old. There’s no ventilation in this basement. The door and windows are the only way anything can get in or out.”

“And, by cementing them up, nothing can get in or out. You could be in the building and never know.” Wow. “Whoever left this body here must have known the chances of the theater reopening soon after were slim, so it would become an attraction for teenagers. I never smelled anything remotely off when I came here for dares, and nobody else ever mentioned strange smells.”

“Yeah, but think about it.” Drake folds his arms and leans against the wall like we’re not standing ten feet from a who-knows-how-old skeleton. “How many teenagers realistically know how shitty a rotting human body smells?”

He’s so eloquent with his words. I admire that about him.

He’s spent way too much time with me, long story short.

“Not many,” I admit. Reluctantly. “But still. We’re barely outside of town. It wouldn’t take much for one group of people to even hike past into the woods and smell something if every crevice hadn’t been sealed off.”

“True.” He casts his gaze around the room. “God. All these murders in the last twelve months, and while we’ve been solving them, this poor soul has been lying here, unknown.”

Cop guilt.

“Unknown,” I say. “Exactly. But we can do something now.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, fixing his gaze on mine. “I know that look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This probably isn’t Daniela, Noelle. I know your mind tends to jump to these conclusions, but it isn’t that simple.”

I hold my gloved hands up and take a step back. “I never said it was. I didn’t even think it.” Liar, liar, pants on fiiiiire. “I’m reserving all judgment until Tim at least gives a gender and age at time of death.”

“Mmm. Come on. Let forensics in.” He leads me up and out of the basement then removes his gloves.

I follow suit, and he leads me to the side.

“You know I probably won’t be home tonight, right?” he says. “As soon as word gets out—”

“Daniela Russo’s family is gonna be asking questions before you have answers,” I finish for him with a sad smile. “I know. Let me know when you do come home so I know whether to let you sleep before I leave for work.” I reach up and gently kiss his lips. “And whether or not I need to get the coffee machine ready for you to just hit the button.”

He smiles. “And that right there is why I love you.” He kisses me again, quickly, and lets me go after a quick hug. “Stay out of trouble, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

T
hree a.m.

That’s when he got in. I don’t know why I ever thought for a second that it’d be any different. Honestly, I know better. I know without asking him that he probably spent a good two hours with the Russo family. Brody called me after he’d finished his shift and told me that they were there, asking a million and one questions.

After all, it does make sense. There’s only one missing person in Holly Woods at this time, and Daniela is it.

I can’t imagine how her family is feeling. They’ve been gearing up to start a new campaign to find her, and we may well have done just that.

The idea that she’s been lying there, under the theater, for fifteen years makes me feel a little sick. That anyone has, actually. That our lives have all moved forward. Babies have been born, people have died, residents have moved away to come back, and we’ve all aged... And, the whole time, someone has been lying there, frozen in time.

Well. Their bones have been.

I creep out of bed. The bed slats creak despite my best efforts, and Drake snort-snores and rolls onto his back. I shake my head as he starfishes across the bed, putting his head right between our pillows.

He’s such a bed hog. What if I want to get back in? Then what?

Luckily for him—and myself, for not needing to wake him—I have to get ready for work. I think this is the hardest part of living with him. He’s always the last to leave the office, and that means I’m always awake before he is. Getting my things out of the bedroom and into the main bathroom so I don’t wake him while getting ready is a huge challenge.

I’m not the most eloquent of people, if I’m honest with myself.

Somehow, I manage to get my clothes, my makeup, and my hairbrush without disturbing him, and I creep down the hall to the main bathroom to get ready. I breathe a sigh of relief when I get there, because Drake has two sleeping options: either he’s virtually comatose or he’s sleeping so lightly that he may as well just be resting his eyes.

Usually, after the discovery of a dead body and a long night working, it’s the former.

I get ready in no time at all, choosing to throw my hair into a scruffy twist on top of my head and forgo most of my makeup. Ensuring Drake has sufficient coffee to person when he wakes up is honestly more important than covering that—

Son of a bitch. There’s a spot on my chin.

His coffee can wait.

I’m not that much of a damn hero.

I snatch my concealer from the bag and perform an emergency coverage. Of course, that emergency coverage requires foundation and powder over it to even it out, so my forgoing the makeup ends up in a full face
America’s Next Top Model’s
makeup artists would be proud of. The messy hair is staying though.

It looks like it’s gonna rain. Nobody needs to see my hair in this humidity.

I carry my shoes downstairs so they don’t clomp against the wooden stairs and leave them in the hall. I choose to ignore the open door to the spare room. There’s no chance of that closet getting finished any time soon.

I sigh as I push the button on the coffee machine, thankful for my thoughtfulness to prepare it last night.

Dead bodies are really quite inconvenient sometimes. I don’t think even I can reinstate my brain-to-mouth filter long enough to put that in a nicer way. Every time plans are made, a body shows up. And Drake honestly wonders why I refuse to plan a vacation.

I know that, the day we’ll be due to leave, someone will die. That seems to be the Holly Woods way lately.

I pour myself a mug of coffee with one hand and tap my other nails against the counter top. Not to mention this is going to be a long-ass month. This case will be complicated, and with Drake’s dad...

I finish making my coffee and grab my phone to text Gianna, but I stop before I pull my messages up. Text her for what? What am I going to find out? It’s not like there’ll have been news in the past twenty-four hours.

God. It feels like a week has passed since she told me that Malcolm has cancer, but it was only yesterday morning.

Yep. Long-ass month is an understatement.

“What are you doing?” Drake asks in a husky voice thick with sleep. “Sounds like a baby machine gun down here.”

I stop the nail-tapping. “Sorry. Just thinking. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He waves me off, rubbing his left eye, and pulls a mug from the cupboard. “I have to get to work anyway.”

“Um...you’ve barely slept.”

He nods in acknowledgment. Maybe that’s why he’s skipping sugar and cream and drinking his coffee black. Even he shudders at the first mouthful.

I put my mug down with a frown and take his to make it the way he likes it. Jesus Christ. The man’s an overgrown child—tired or not. Not to mention he’s insulting coffee by not making it correctly.

“Here,” I say, handing the mug back to him. “Try this.”

He swigs, swallows, and reaches for me. His arm scoops around my shoulders, and he pulls me against his hard, hot body. He gently kisses the top of my head, whispering, “Thank you.”

“You really need to go back to sleep.”

He looks down at me, his eyes bright despite the slightly gray shadows beneath his eyes. “I’ll catch a nap later. You didn’t actually wake me up. I forgot to turn off my alarm.”

I purse my lips at him. And to think I felt guilty for a couple of minutes there. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot. Aren’t you lucky?”

“As lucky as a fish in the desert.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, Bond.”

“I know. It’s in my job description. Noelle Bond, private investigator extraordinaire, cupcake lover, shoe whore, and Drake Nash’s personal pain in the ass.”

His jaw is rough, dotted with stubble, and it scratches my lips when I drop a kiss there.

“You do look really tired,” I say softly, touching my hand to his cheek. “Do you want me to wait and drive you to the station?”

He leans back, sips from his coffee, and raises an eyebrow at me. “I can drive myself to work.”

“Yes, but you had a long and emotional day yesterday.”

“Noelle, sweetheart, I can drive myself to work.”

I shrug his arm off me and step back. I stare him down. Poor man—he thinks my question was genuine. It was a courtesy. “Would you let me drive to work if I’d had the day you had and not slept much after it?”

Resignation flashes in his eyes, and his lips twitch up to one side.
Bingo. Got him.

“No,” he says. “I wouldn’t even let you unlock your car.”

“Precisely. So grab that coffee tightly, march your fine ass up those stairs, and get ready. If you insist on going to work, we’re leaving in ten minutes.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment before a deep chuckle leaves him and he does exactly what I said. “You know, it’s really hot when you do that. Even if I’m supposed to be the alpha in this relationship.”

“You are the alpha, honey. When I let you be.”

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs. His eyebrow raise isn’t questioning—it’s sarcastic. If an eyebrow raise can be sarcastic. “When you let me be.”

“Yes.” I smile sweetly.

“Note to self,” he says under his breath, taking the bottom step. “Noelle just earned herself a throwing over my shoulder and a spanking.”

I sputter on my coffee, spitting it over my stove. “I heard that!”

“Good!” Drake yells down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the house. “That’s why I said it out loud!”

He’s not happy.
That’s my thought as he slams my car door and flips me the bird over his shoulder.