32. Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Two
D eclan
The interrogation of Nate Huntley gets more confusing and more frustrating as it continues.
I stare at the man sitting across the metal table, wondering how to get to the root of his lies. He glares right back at me.
Well, let's start with the asserted facts.
"So," I say. "You broke into my office and fucked things up because you have a problem with me."
"Yeah," he responds, his tone dripping venom. "How many times do I have to repeat it?"
"Hey, don’t be rude." Officer Jensen smacks the table in front of Nate. "You’re in a lot of trouble, young man. After what you did you should count your lucky stars that you’re still sitting here and not lying six feet under somewhere. Trespassing on private property? Destroying expensive equipment? In my day, they would have shot you for less."
The officer has all the intimidation factor of a Sunday school teacher, but Nate crosses his arms and looks away, seemingly affected by the admonishment. He suddenly seems a lot younger than he looks. "Whatever. I know I’m going to jail anyway."
"Yeah, but you’re lucky I haven’t told Rick what you did yet. He would kill you." As I meet his eyes, Jensen finally allows, "Nate here also admitted he was the one who broke into the Crane house."
My head snaps back to Nate, rage suddenly flaring within me. "You wrecked Emma’s place?"
Nate doesn’t meet my eyes this time but does answer with his usual caustic tone. "Yeah? And what about it? She deserved it."
"She deserved it?"
"Yeah, by hanging out with you all the time. I figured the two of you were doing the devil's tango. I thought maybe you were going to help her out financially and that meant she would have some better stuff for me at her place. Jewelry or whatever," he says. "But no such luck. I guess she was a cheap fuck to you huh?"
The atmosphere spikes from frosty to boiling hot in the space of a few seconds.
My rage flares to the forefront, and before I even know what’s happening, I snatch Nate by his shirt and drag him across the table to get in his face.
I hear Officer Jensen saying something, but I can’t quite make it out through the roaring in my ear. Nate’s eyes have gone wide with fear, filling me with savage satisfaction. I want him to piss himself with fear, right before I pummel him into the ground for having the gall to say that to my face.
"Hang on." A hand goes out to my wrist. "Let's all be civilized here."
I ignore Officer Jensen, keeping my eyes on Nate.
"If you talk about Emma like that again, I’m going to kill you," I tell him, in a quiet voice so he understands I mean business.
"Now bud, you know you can’t threaten someone in front of me– "
"That clear?" I cut Officer Jensen off with a growl.
Nate’s throat bobs and he blinks several times, then still tries to bluff. "Take your hands off me."
I drag him even closer till our noses are inches apart and I can smell the tart scent of his fear, along with mild BO. This time, Nate squeaks a little when his knee hits the edge of the metal table. It takes an ungodly level of restraint to not throw him to the ground and beat him till he cries.
Instead, I repeat through gritted teeth, "Is that clear?"
"Yes. Yes, it’s clear. Fine. God ."
"Good." I release him, and he collapses into his seat. Officer Jensen whistles out in relief and then shakes his head at Nate again, smacking him on the shoulder. "See what happens when you try to piss people off? You get your ass handed to you, that's what."
Nate grumbles something in response but it's not loud enough for me to hear him.
I wait for the fury to clear from my mind enough for me to think. The undercurrent of simmering rage still stains the air, but I take a breath to tamp it down.
I still have my doubts that he broke into my office, and I doubt that he broke into Emma's place, too. His motives don't make sense at the very least. He claimed to have ransacked her place searching for money, but why would he destroy the rest of the house rather than just searching her room?
It seemed like a waste of time, and a mess like that would also automatically reveal that someone had been there. Didn't he care about covering his tracks?
Or was the chaos intentional and personal? Did he have some kind of problem with Emma?
"I can’t believe you would do that," Jensen continues his scolding. "After everything her grandfather did for you, bailing you out that last time. I just can't believe you would pay him back like this."
Darkness spreads across Nate's cheeks and if I didn't know better, I would think he was blushing. He also avoids Jensen's eyes when he answers, "Yeah, well she shouldn’t have been fu– hanging around with the enemy."
He almost said something rude again, but his eyes cut to me quickly and he switched out the word. Good. He's not as dumb as he looks.
I decide at that point that I won't get anything more from Nate Huntley today. Heated as I still feel, I might kill him before I get to the bottom of the mystery. Plus, I still have work to complete at the hotel. I can continue the interrogation later.
"Hold him," I tell Jensen. "I'll be back tomorrow."
Jensen nods, and I take my leave. On the way to work, I think about Nate Huntley and how to get him to tell me the truth.
Once I get to work though, I'm soon confronted with a bigger issue.
"Hey, boss." The lead contractor says, walking out to meet me in the parking lot. As I get out of the car, the trees whistle around us hinting to the bad omen that is currently stamped on the contractor’s face. A few of his men are on the roof, but they stop what they're doing to watch. "We have a little problem."
"What is it now?"
"Our mini excavator suddenly ran out of steam this morning. There's something wrong with it. We've called the technician to come look at it, but he's saying it might take a while to fix."
I pinch the skin at the base of my nose and try not to yell.
"Can’t you get another one?" I ask when I feel like I can talk again.
"We can try," he says. "But it might be hard. The other one is a Bellamy and it’s currently in use. Plus, it's gonna cost more for us to get it over here."
Fuck. Yet another delay, and more money. Although the nature of construction often comes with a lot of snags, there usually aren't this many in such a short time.
Is it bad luck or by design?
It’s probably time for me to talk to Micah.
I walk into my office and shut the door, closing out the construction noises and the wind.
Frederick, the PI, is in my office when I get there. I find him crouched on the floor analyzing something.
"They supposedly caught the guy who’s doing this," I tell him.
"Oh." He faces me and raises an eyebrow. "So my work is done?"
"I’m not convinced they got the right guy," I say. "You were able to get some prints, right?"
"Not great ones but I can cross reference them at the station."
I nod. "Did you get any more evidence?"
He shakes his head. "It’s going to take longer than I thought. It’s hard because your place is in the middle of nowhere and there are no cameras. I have to rely on mostly eyewitness testimony from people I know nothing about." He shakes his head. "Either way, I'll have to go into town and ask them about what they saw."
"Alright." I pause and then add, "The guy they caught seems to have some kind of relationship with Emma’s grandfather. The old man helped him out in the past. He's claiming to also be the one who broke into Emma’s home."
"Why would he do that?"
"That's what I can't figure out. I want you to go over and see if you can find anything linking the two crime scenes."
"Right," he says and leaves.
With all the snags in construction, I have to delay the arrival of my New York team, and my work day is also cut dramatically short. But before I leave, I finally called Micah.
"Hello?" He answers on the fifth ring, his lazy tone triggering my bad temper.
"Is this your doing, you bastard?"
"Well, hello to you too."
"Have you been fucking with us lately?"
"You’re going to have to be more specific," he yawns. It’s nearly three p.m., and he sounds like he just woke up, but then again, I’ve never pegged him as an early-rising hard worker. "I fuck a lot of people, but I'm not sure who 'us' is."
Of course, he would read that in the wrong context.
"Someone broke into my office and destroyed my wheel loader. Was that you?"
"No. Why would I do that?"
"Did you not tell me about a plan to delay construction?"
"Yeah, and you told me to fuck off, so I have. If I was going to do it anyway, I would do a lot worse than simply destroy your wheel loader, trust me."
As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. It was a very weak move, and someone like Micah would more likely use his connections to make things harder for me.
"Besides," he continues. "If I went forward with the plan anyway, you would simply tell my Dad what I'm up to, and then that old man would throw a tantrum right up my ass. No, thank you."
Another annoyingly good point. Shit. Micah isn't behind this. So who is?
"Wait, so you think someone else is sabotaging the project?" Micah sounds excited by the possibility.
"Looks like it. "
"Huh. Guess I was wrong. Maybe that town is more fun than I thought."
I hang up without saying anything else and head home.
Standing in front of my room door, I hear noises coming from inside. Delighted squeals mixed in with more mature chuckles and what sounds like a light bark.
I frown and open the door to meet the surprise of my life.
Cross and Monty are lounging on the couch, watching Amelia and Rachel who are both sitting cross-legged on the lush, cream carpet laughing about something in between them.
I get closer, noting that something , a tiny ball of black fluff, is currently on his back with his tail wagging madly.
Amelia looks up first. "Daddy! Look what Emma got? Can we keep him?"
"Hell no," I say and Amelia’s face falls. Despite that, I shake my head again for good measure. I don’t like dogs. They’re messy and drooly and annoying. Already, I can point out the new dirt stains on my carpet. And his tongue still hangs out of his mouth, so God only knows where his saliva has been.
"But he’s so cute," Rachel says giggling when the mutt sniffs her elbow.
"If he's so cute, then you can take him with you. He's not staying here."
"Who's not staying here?" Emma comes out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on her jeans. The dog sits up and immediately bounds over to her. She picks him up and giggles when he licks her chin.
"Emma, that thing could have fleas," I warn. He looks scruffy enough.
"He does not," Emma says defensively. "And he's not a thing. He's Remy, my new dog."
"Your new dog?" I blink at her. "When the hell did you have time to get a new dog?"
"Today. Rick gave him to me. He needs a place to stay, and I have a home for him."
"Absolutely not."
"I wasn’t aware I had to ask your permission."
"That thing isn’t staying here."
"Duh. I’m taking Remy home with me. Officer Jensen called and told me they caught the person who broke into my house, so I guess I should be leaving soon."
"No," I tell her. "I'm not sure they got the right guy."
"Well," she shrugs. "Either way, I can’t stay here forever. And when I go, I'm taking Remy home."
"You're not leaving," I repeat, frustrated.
She raises a challenging eyebrow. "You can't make me stay."
"Watch me."
We stare at each other for a few seconds, and a muffled giggle interrupts our standoff. Rachel has her mouth hidden behind her hand, but her eyes are laughing when she turns to Amelia.
"Are they always like that?" she asks.
"Frequently," my daughter responds with a long-suffering sigh.
Emma blushes and ducks her head, heading to the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" I ask her.
"To get some stuff from my house. And to start cleaning up. Don't worry, I'll go with Cross."
"No," I say. She pauses. Cross freezes too in the process of getting up.
"You'll go with me," I conclude.
Emma purses her lips like she wants to argue but ultimately gives a resigned sigh. She picks up the dog leash from the couch. "Fine."
"Have fun," Rachel calls out in a laughing tone as I close the door behind us.
"You don't have to clean up the mess from the break-in yourself," I say. "I can hire someone to do it for you."
"Nah. I don't want strangers in my house. Plus, I need to at least pick up the important stuff. There's a lot of pictures and important memorabilia that got smashed up."
I nod. That makes sense.
Throughout the car ride, the dog sits in Emma's lap, eyeing me as she pets his head.
"He's car trained," Emma says, clearly noticing the many times I looked at the dog.
"You're serious about keeping that thing," I say.
"His name is Remy and yeah, I'm pretty serious." She grins a little. "Why don't you like dogs?"
"They poop and pee everywhere, and they're clingy as hell. I don't have a reason to like them," I respond.
Remy reacts peculiarly to my speech, hanging his head to one side so his tongue lolls out of his mouth and one ear covers his eye.
"Aww, look how cute he is," Emma coos.
I cynically consider how many times the dog practiced that look to win humans over. "No amount of cute can make me want to keep him."
"So you admit he's cute."
I roll my eyes and change the subject. "What do you know about Nate Huntley?"
"Nate?" Her eyebrows furrow. "He's trouble. He's Carly's cousin but they're not close. Nate has sticky fingers."
"Does he have a problem with you?"
She frowns. "Not that I know of. Why?"
I shake my head and continue driving, organizing my thoughts as I do.
When we get to Emma's cottage there's an unfamiliar car parked outside, a sleek red Mazda I've never seen before.
"Who's that?" I ask and Emma shrugs, frowning at the car as she lets Remy down, leashing him before both exit the Suburban.
As we get closer, we notice that someone is standing in front of Emma's door.
Emma suddenly stops in step.
I turn to find that she's gone pale as a ghost as she stares at the person's back. I can practically feel the tension radiating off her, and some of the sunlight seems to dim with the light in her eyes.
She recognizes them. And it doesn’t look pleased.