16. Chloe #2
After brushing my tangled hair out, I pull it into a knot at the top of my head and slip my short, silk robe over my body.
I have a vague memory of Colin helping me change once he got me home—again.
He’d left me to sleep in my party dress the first time, but this time he helped me change into a pair of flannel shorts and a tank top.
Warmth rushes toward my thighs again as the memory of his touch floods through my brain.
I trace my fingertips across my skin where his traveled, my eyes lingering where his did on my chest as he helped me pull the shirt over my head.
It wasn’t strictly platonic by any means, but he did his best to hide his urge to claim me. I still saw it, even in my haze.
I leave my room and descend the staircase, seating myself on the couch across from Colin’s female co-worker who’s dressed in a grey pantsuit and black heels.
Her dark hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and I can’t help the jealousy that flows through my blood at the thought of them cooped up in their department all day together, pouring over witness statements or crime scene photos.
Fingers grazing as they sift through documents.
Late nights where time becomes an illusion and the tension of trying to solve a crime together turns into longing.
I want to throttle her, for no good reason other than the possibility that she ever tries to make a move on my man.
She clears her throat in front of me, and I speak before she has a chance to.
“Did Colin offer you something to drink?” I’m asserting dominance, attempting to imply that this is his home as much as it is mine. He belongs to me, you witch.
She casts a glance back at Colin who’s standing with his back to us, staring out the French doors toward the pool. The eerie glow of the water glimmers around him, and he keeps his gaze trained away from us.
“He did,” she assures me. Good man. “I appreciate you taking the time to chat with me,” she continues, laying the folder in her hands onto the coffee table between us.
“Of course. Anything to help find the man who did this.” So I can rip his eyes out.
“I’m Lucy.” She smiles gently, trying to break the ice. I nod at her to get to the fucking point so I can be alone with Colin again. “Can you tell me what happened the night of the party?”
I cross my bare legs and tug the silk material of my robe further down my thigh.
Lucy’s gaze tracks the movement. Colin turns from his spot by the door behind Lucy, and she can’t see that his eyes track the movements, as well, his gaze trailing slowly up each leg and getting lost in the darkness hidden beneath my robe.
His hands grip his biceps tighter as he keeps his arms wound together across his chest, turning away from us again.
“I don’t remember much,” I tell her honestly.
“Tell me what you do remember.” I glance at Colin behind her, which causes her to turn around and assess him before she turns back to me.
“Would you feel more comfortable if he wasn’t here?”
“No,” I rush out. I’d feel more comfortable if you weren’t here.
“I know Detective Mills helped you home that night. And the paramedic who took your blood reported you were pretty dazed.”
“The paramedic,” I repeat, feeling gaslit.
Lucy nods, opening the folder in front of her and sliding a piece of paper in my direction.
I lift it from the table, tearing my eyes from Colin’s back to read the report of the paramedic who responded to the scene of a potential drug administration at a party.
It’s the first time I’m hearing of such a thing, and my eyes hungrily devour every word.
According to the report, the phone call to paramedics went directly to the dispatch center, instead of via 911.
They responded to the party within minutes, finding me and Colin on the curb out front, taking my vitals and blood before allowing Colin to take me home.
The reporting party listed on the report is Micah Winters, the words Devil’s Peak Police Department employee scribbled next to his name.
The only problem is, I’m almost positive the whole thing is fabricated. I set the paper back down onto the coffee table, leaning back into the couch.
“I have no recollection of being drugged. I have no recollection of the party at all,” I tell Lucy. She turns her eyes to the little journal clutched in her hand and writes something down.
“What did you do the next day?” she asks, returning her gaze to mine.
“I volunteered, like I do every Wednesday.”
“Where?”
“Hope House.”
Lucy’s focus sticks on mine for a second, and I can tell she wants to turn to Colin, likely knowing he was there, too. But she doesn’t. Just scribbles onto her notepad.
“And then what?”
“And then I went bowling with my friends.”
“Did you see Max at the bowling alley?”
“Not that day,” I tell her. She eyes me in question. “The first time I met him was at the bowling alley last weekend. He challenged me and my friends to a game. They lost.” I smile, remembering our victory.
“And then you left the bowling alley…”
“Yes. My friend gave me a ride back to my car, which you might already know has been parked outside your station for a few days.” She nods, but doesn’t say anything, silently encouraging me to go on. “I saw who I thought was the guy who drugged me at the party, and—”
“I thought you said you didn’t remember being drugged.” Lucy tilts her head, her pen poised above the paper in her hand.
“I’ll rephrase,” I say, tilting my head back at her with a flare of annoyance. “I thought I saw the guy who my friends said I was hanging out with at the party. The man they think drugged me.”
“Max,” she says.
“Right. So I followed him into the alley, and—”
“What were you planning to do when you caught up to him?” Knife him, of course.
Colin turns from the door, staying quiet behind her, but I can tell by the look on his face that he’s curious to hear my response as well.
I narrow my eyes at Lucy. “You are the one who asked for my recount of events. Is there a reason you keep interrupting me?”
Her eyes widen slightly, taken aback by my brash tone.
“Apologies,” she says meekly. Bitch. “Go on.”
“When I turned the corner into the alley, he punched me.” I wave a hand near my cheekbone, drawing her eyes to the proof on the side of my face. “Is he in jail?”
“He’s in the hospital,” Lucy tells me, catching me off guard for the second time tonight.
“The hospital?” I repeat.
Colin turns from us, facing the backyard again, and Lucy glances at him before returning her attention to me. “Detective Mills…subdued him.”
My mind flicks back to the memory of me rubbing my thumb against his knuckles in my room. The scratches on his swollen knuckles. He protected me. Again.
He did more than protect me. He put a man in the hospital for touching me. And that says more about how he feels about me than he ever has.
“Was he alone?” I ask, remembering someone’s demand to ‘pick me up.’
“He was not. There were two others who got away on foot. Our officers have not been able catch up to them,” she says, sounding regretful.
My gaze trails to Colin, at his wide, tense stance behind Lucy.
That’s why he hasn’t left. He’s worried about me, and that knowledge plants a seed in my heart, the blooms of potential taking root in my body.
Him being here, this all goes so far beyond a lustful kiss.
You don’t put a man in the hospital for touching a woman you just want to fuck.
“Your blood test came back positive for GHB. And Max…” Lucy pauses, her eyes shifting between me and the notepad in her hand.
“His DNA came back positive for a few crimes in the area that have taken place recently, so he will be going to jail for the foreseeable future once the hospital releases him.”
“Crimes?” My heart thumps heavy against my ribcage, and my mind begins to swirl, another inkling of fabrication sweeping through my brain.
“Murders.”
“Who?” I ask too eagerly. Colin turns from the door again, moving in our direction but remaining on the other side of the couch. He leans against the furniture, his hands gripping the frame as he keeps his eyes focused on mine, eager to see my reaction to what I already know Lucy is about to say.
“Richard Soffett and Grayson Tyler.”