Chapter 35
Rhodes
“Fine,” I snapped to Parrish, already hanging up the phone.
It was rare for him to bypass my orders completely, and on a matter like this?
Well, he wasn’t getting into my good books this way.
He was already in trouble for letting Catherine ring the damn doorbell at my house.
Luckily, he and his crew had finished up on the fencing and security today.
At least he was efficient; otherwise, I’d have been complaining to Briggs. Maybe I’d call and bitch later anyway.
Spinning the wheel, I headed toward the police station, already gritting my teeth. There were far more private ways I preferred to handle Alan Boaz. None of them involved the cops. Blood, fists, and some torture suited my style better in this sort of situation.
Wade was all by the books now. Mostly. He was definitely going to run it all legal-like when we were holding an interrogation in his own damn building, now that he was the police chief.
The woman at the front desk looked overwhelmed by file folders that spilled over every surface of the large counter. She was so focused that she barely noticed me looming over her space.
“Excuse me.” I tried to keep my voice gentle instead of being short with her since it wasn’t her fault that Parrish had fucked me over, but I wasn’t sure I succeeded. “Rhodes Collins to see the police chief.”
She was so startled that she knocked over her pen holder, sending pens and what looked like a plastic flying saucer shooting off her desk. “Sorry. You surprised me.”
“I can see that.” The smile wasn’t even fake; she did look surprised. “Your boss working you too hard? You look like you’re drowning in files.”
She pushed her glasses up her nose a little and looked indignant. “Not at all. Just trying to catch up on old files. We’re digitizing. Got to keep current.” I didn’t bother to comment. “You said you’re here to see Chief Holt?”
“I’ve got him, Viola. Thanks.” Wade was striding forward, and I was reminded all over again that Parrish had hauled Alan down here instead of where he deserved to be—a basement with a drain for touching my girl.
“No problem.” She offered him a small smile before adjusting her glasses a bit further up her nose, and snuck a glance at Wade that didn’t look professional at all. “Have a nice meeting, Mr. Collins.”
“Thanks, Viola.”
“Come on.” Wade jerked his chin towards the hallway. “And shut up.”
I held my hands up. “I wasn’t saying jack shit.” It was interesting that he had some half-waifish pixie up front instead of one of the officers, but I wasn’t going to mention it.
The interrogation room at the Wildwood Meadows PD was a far cry from the high-tech setups I was used to at the Redhawk building, but it would do.
When it came down to the basics of interrogations, you didn’t need anything fancy anyway, and we’d already dug into who Alan Boaz was.
Now it just came down to intimidation. The guy was going to crack like a walnut.
I didn’t give a flying fuck if Wade was there or not.
The deep dive on Boaz had screamed opportunity, and he was a match for the build of the guy in the hoodie.
Wade had insisted on being there, his cop instincts kicking in the second I looped him in. Family first, always, with the Holts. I respected that, but it was a pain in the ass. I’d say I regretted it now, but maybe someone needed to keep me on a leash with this situation.
Alan sat across from us, looking more like a scared kid than the man I’d seen at Donatello’s, but I knew from experience that even innocuous-looking people could be deadly.
He was thirty-four, but he had that same awkwardness from the pizza parlor, his hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his hoodie.
Everything about him was soft, from his underdeveloped arms to the shape of his face to his hands.
Ryatt mentioned in his report that he had a misguided obsession. Not malice, but something twisted from a shared past Sage didn't even remember. It didn't make me want to throttle him any less.
Wade leaned against the wall, arms crossed, with a mask of professional calm edged with brotherly fury. "Start talking, Boaz. Why'd you grab my sister at the gas station?"
This was a good tactic to use with a suspect. Assume they committed the crime and see if they broke. It was a trick I’d used before with great success. Alan cringed in the chair as we all pressed into the room, crowding him.
Parrish shot me a sidelong glance, his build making the chair creak as he leaned forward. "We know it was you. Footage doesn't lie, and we’ve got your computer search history. The foster records, age ranges, West Coast placements, and red hair. You were hunting for her."
Alan's face paled, eyes darting from me to Wade.
"I... I didn't mean to scare her. I just... I remembered her. From back then." He swallowed hard, voice cracking. "We were in the same foster home in Idaho right after… after her parents. I was older than her, but she was special.” My lip curled, and it was a good thing he didn’t look up because none of us were looking very friendly. “She went by another name then. Michelle, but I don’t think that was her real name either. She never answered to it. She was the only one who smiled at me in that hellhole. Shared her snacks even. Then she got moved, and I never saw her again. Foster system chewed me up after that.” His shoulders slumped morosely.
I clenched my jaw, the pieces clicking into place.
It hadn’t taken Ryatt long to figure it out.
Alan had narrowed it down to girls in certain age groups on the West Coast who had been in the system.
Then he’d looked for ones with red hair.
Her flower shop's social media page had been what led him straight to Wildwood Meadows.
He'd built up some fantasy reunion in his head.
But grabbing her? That crossed every line.
“So you have fond memories," I said, my voice low and controlled, though the anger simmered beneath. "So you stalk her? Grab her in a parking lot? What the hell were you thinking?"
Ryatt had been clear that Alan had zero record of misconduct, and even his internet history was pretty squeaky clean other than some light porn. It didn’t change the fact that he put his hands on her.
Tears actually welled up in his eyes, and he wiped a hand across his face.
“When I went into her shop to talk to her, I realized she didn’t even remember me.
” He sniffed, which only made me want to punch him in the face.
“Even at the pizza parlor, she didn’t know me.
” Another sniffle. Jesus Christ. “I don’t know.
I thought if I could just get her alone, she’d remember.
I didn’t hurt her—I swear. I saw her pull up and thought maybe we could finally talk. It was a misunderstanding.”
My eyes narrowed. “Make her remember?” I ground out.
“How the fuck would that go down exactly? You left bruises.” He shrank in the chair.
“I’d kill you for just that if it were up to me.
You’re fucking lucky.” I banged my fist on the table in frustration.
“I don’t care if you wanted to talk to her. You don’t grab women, you dick.”
The man-boy cried a little harder, but didn’t seem like he objected. “I’m sorry. Tell her I’m sorry she was scared. She looked scared when she ran away.”
The rumble that came from my throat had him cowering back in his chair.
“Luckily, she’s fine.” Wade pushed off the wall, his tone sharp. "And the flowers? The notes? That your idea of a reunion?"
Alan's head snapped up, confusion etching his features. "Flowers? What flowers? I just tried to work up the nerve to talk to her. Really talk to her. That's it. I swear.”
Parrish and I exchanged a glance. Ryatt had already flagged it.
He didn’t think it was him. Alan’s digital footprint showed he’d been lurking on Wild Bloom’s socials, but there were no flower orders or signs of proxy activity.
The gas station grab was him, no doubt—driven by whatever weird obsession he had with her, not the calculated creep behind the bouquets.
This resolved one threat, but if Alan Boaz wasn’t the sender of the flowers, then we had a real problem.
"You're under arrest for attempted kidnapping," Wade said, pulling him up roughly and cuffing him efficiently. "We'll sort the rest in court. But if you're lying about the flowers..."
"I'm not," Alan insisted, his voice breaking. "Tell her... tell her I'm sorry. I just wanted…”
The door clicked shut behind Wade as he led him out, and Parrish clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Well, one mystery solved, but the notes? That 'forgotten past' bullshit? Feels like someone else digging into her history. We'll keep pushing."
My teeth ground in frustration. I hadn’t even been able to get one solid punch in. I glared at Parrish. “You’re a dick.”
He shrugged, completely unconcerned. “He wasn’t good for it, and he’s going to get punched enough in jail.”
That cheered me up. My mind already raced back to Sage. Maybe she needed space, but I was going to keep trying every way I knew how. Resolving this for her was just one of them.
Alan’s going to be charged for grabbing you at the gas station. He isn’t the sender of the flowers, but he was the person behind the incident at Creekside. Just so you know … you’re welcome to come out to the house anytime. To check out the work in the greenhouses or whatever.
I waited a minute. Hesitating over the text.
A whole team of gardeners was coming from Seattle to work on the plans Sage had given me.
There was a lot of grunt work to be done in both greenhouses, and I didn’t expect her to want to do it all, even if we were together.
Another team was coming to overhaul the watering systems to see if we could upgrade everything to modern standards.
I wanted both things ready for planting when she was.