Chapter 19
ADRIAN
“We have an issue,” Parker says the moment I walk through the door of work. “A big one. Take a seat.” He gestures to the table, and I blink the sleep from my eyes, not having gotten enough of it due to my late-night rendezvous.
My very confusing yet satisfying rendezvous.
“Come on,” Parker urges, his voice irritable. “I have shit to discuss.”
“Uh, okay.” I grip the back of one of the conference table chairs and tug it backward, letting out a sigh. I rub my eyes as I plop down, my phone vibrating in my pocket.
“Listen,” Parker leans down, his eyes level with mine. “I sent off that footage Liliana Wilson gave you of the night of the murder, and we saw there was no one coming or going during the time, right?”
“Yeah.” I shrug, pulling out my phone and seeing a notification from the app. I open it to see a request from someone other than New User. I frown and decline it. “What about the footage?” I shove the phone back into my pocket, unamused.
“Well,” Parker slaps some paper report down on the table. “Here is the exact problem with the footage.”
“Hmm.” I sweep up the paper, the cut on my arm stinging as it rubs the inside of my jacket. I wince but distract myself with the words in front of me. “Oh shit,” I think aloud as I read it. “So the footage was a deep fake? Nothing was real? I thought there was just some weird time lapses?”
Parker nods. “And there’s only one person with access to that footage, Adrian.”
A knot forms in my throat. Liliana. I guess the back and forth of my suspicions weren’t so off. But still…
“It doesn’t make a lot of sense. What does she actually have to prove by murdering Blueson?” I shake my head, unable to make the dots connect entirely.
Parker exhales sharply. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s taking up for her intern? Maybe she’s trying to protect her? Maybe she blacks out? Maybe the apple just doesn’t fall all that far from the tree.”
“Okay, but we both agreed she probably didn’t do it. She’s a tiny little thing.” My body reacts as I picture her in the black dress at the gala, the neckline plunging. I’d do fucking anything to see what was underneath.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
“You know,” Parker interjects my mantra. “That’s rich coming from the guy who was pointing the finger at her before me. You were so suspicious that you were surveilling her. You said women were capable of a lot more than they appear. You said she followed you home from the bar that first night.”
Yeah, and I nearly choked a guy to death for her. Fucking idiot.
“Come on, Shaw,” Parker pushes me when I don’t immediately speak up.
“Think about it, it would make sense. Maybe Liliana caught wind that Blueson was sleeping with Marissa. She wants to protect her intern because she sees Blueson for what he is in her mind—a predator. It could be some sort of protective, vigilante-like action. It would make sense based on her trauma.”
“Okay,” I decide to play it out, “let’s say that’s the truth. So, Liliana somehow bludgeons Blueson to death in some kind of protective rage. Fine. But then why would Marissa come clean about sleeping with the guy? If she just kept her mouth shut, then no one would be looking at either of them.”
“Guilt,” Parker says, nodding, as he begins to pace the room. “She could feel guilty for sleeping with the guy because he was married, so that it would be wrong by all accounts. Maybe she doesn’t even know that Liliana did it? Yeah?”
“Yeah, but…”
“But what else do we have to go on? His wife was at home with their kids. His partner knows nothing of his life. Perhaps the fact that he worked with Longley’s defense attorney only made the situation worse. Maybe together, the whole thing was one massive fucking trigger for her.”
I mean, it makes sense. Sort of. But…
“We’re missing something.”
“I agree,” Parker says, plopping down in the chair across from me. “Maybe we should bring in Liliana? Maybe confront her with what we have?”
“Isn’t this the same plan you worked with Marissa?
That didn’t seem to get us very far.” I let out a chuckle, but feel no humor.
“If Liliana Wilson is what Newsom made her out to be, then putting pressure on her could cause a mental fracture. We don’t want that,” I pause, “Not until we know what kind of tree she fell from.”
“I hear you…” Parker’s voice trails off, but I can tell in his expression that he’s not connecting the dots I’m giving him.
I drum my fingers against the conference room table. “I’m saying that we should interview Richard Longley.”
“Ballsy,” Parker hums. “But why? We’re not criminologists, we’re just fucking detectives. I’m not sure what interviewing him will accomplish. What if he tips off Liliana?”
“I don’t think she’s talked to him since he was arrested.” I pick up a pen and roll it between my fingers, thinking about her. She’s still there, at the forefront of my mind, but the woman I’ve now hooked up with twice has at least quelled my urges.
I’m just not sure my brain is all that clear, though.
“Okay, well, if that’s what you want to do, then I say go for it.” Parker gives me an indifferent look and then stands to his feet. “But I still think we could pressure her into telling us the truth.”
I shake my head. “I think that’s a shitty idea, and I don’t know when you started playing the bad cop, but I like you better as the nice guy.” I eye him as he begins to pace again, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Something up with you?”
He stops right in front of me and then turns his phone around, showing me a profile of a woman. “Do you see this?”
I squint at the screen, trying to get my eyes to adjust. “Um…” My voice trails off as I recognize the app and username.
ElizaQueen.
“I don’t understand…” I hate the fact that I recognize the woman, but at least I can say I didn’t stick my dick in it. So, there’s that.
“This is Alice.”
My mouth grows dry, and I force my gaze back up to Parker. “Huh?”
“You heard me.” He glares down at me, and suddenly, I can read him loud and clear. His ego is damaged.
“So? You said she was into kinky shit? This just confirms that it’s serious for her. That’s all. I don’t see the problem with it.”
“She’s been active on it.”
“Okay?”
“Since we’ve been sleeping together.”
Oh dear God. Of all the shit to discuss right now.
I rake my fingers through my hair. “Look, man,” I sigh.
“I’ve been hooking up with this chick for a couple of times now, and I don’t give a shit who she’s sleeping with in addition to me.
” My voice comes out nonchalant, but as soon as the words leave my lips, something tightens in my gut.
I do give a fuck. What’s wrong with me?
“Okay, but two times is different than her staying at your place four nights a week.” Parker runs his hands over his face and lets out a groan. “I’m such an idiot. I should’ve asked her to be my girlfriend before I just practically let her move in.”
“Wow, okay,” I blink a few times, strangely put off by this whole situationship—as if I’m qualified to give anyone relationship advice. “I’m sure you know where I stand on this.”
Parker purses his lips. “I know that you sleeping with the same girl twice is a miracle. So maybe you’re starting to change where you stand.”
“No,” I counter. “I haven’t changed at all. I just happen to like fucking this girl more than I like worrying about catching a new STD.”
“But if she’s sleeping with other people…”
Shit. “Touché.” Now I’m worried. Not about STDs. But about my little killer sleeping with other people. Is she? How the fuck do I find this out?
Oh, wait, I know the answer to that.
Surveillance.
I pull out my phone as Parker’s phone rings, and he has to answer it, probably dealing with the chokehold Alice has on him.
Meanwhile, I navigate to the KinkMe app and then scroll to past requests, clicking on the New User.
Her profile is still bare, and unfortunately, it doesn’t tell me if she’s been doing anything with anyone else.
However…
I can now message her, since we’ve been together more than once. It’s a stupid rule, but one I don’t mind. It keeps all the ladies at bay who I fuck and leave. I click the "Now" button, and then pull up the thread.
CrimsonCuff: What’re you doing?
I stare at the message I just sent, and cringe. Clearly, I’m not cut out for simple conversations with women. I don’t even know how to talk to women outside of work and casual fucks. But I mean, it’s still a casual fuck, right? Just one where we talk.
I’m an idiot. I stare at the message, noting the little check mark beneath it. Much to my surprise, another check mark shows beside it, and then three dots pop up.
Holy fuck. She’s messaging me back.
My foot taps against the floor, and for a moment, I forget all about the shit I’ve endured over my lifetime. All I care about is this woman’s reply.
New User: I’m working. What are you doing?
I smile like an idiot, and send an equally stupid reply.
CrimsonCuff: Bandaging up the marks you left. ;)
The three dots appear again, but then they stop. My eyes bore into the screen, waiting for some kind of response.
But nothing comes.
What the fuck? Why are you not responding? What could you possibly be doing? I pop my jaw out of frustration, wishing I had never sent the message in the first place. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
“We’re set up,” Parker says, jerking my attention back to him.
I blink a few times. “What? What are we set up for?”
Parker makes a face. “The interview with Richard Longley? That’s what I was talking on the phone about.”
“Oh, right,” I mutter. “I figured it was your therapist or something since you’re all broken up over Alice or whatever.”
“Wow, you’re a real dick, Adrian.”
I grin. “I always have been.” I glance back down at the message, still unanswered. And I really need to remember that it’s the only way to keep from being fucking used and abused by women.
Or I’ll end up just like my fucking father.
Buried six feet under because of pussy.