“You’re not the only person of interest, Kit,” he told me, tipping his voice low even though there was no one in the hall with us and the sounds of a busy station echoed off the utilitarian walls. “We’ve got warrants for Erin’s parents’ phone and bank records. Her brother, too. We’re looking at boyfriends, who she called, her credit cards. Everything. Okay?”
He offered probably more than he should.
“Okay.”
As we headed to the front entrance, a man’s shouting couldn’t be missed. “Why is my bank calling me? My daughter was murdered and you’re digging through my financials? What the hell is wrong here? You should be looking for the killer!”
Keith Mills’ voice was easily recognizable. So was his anger. We came around the corner and I saw Mr. Mills. The policeman at the front desk stood, hands tucked into his utility belt, unfazed. “Sir, calm down.”
He looked the same as always, perpetually tan, perfectly groomed salt-and-pepper hair, pressed khakis and a blue golf shirt. The only thing that ever changed in his appearance was the shirt’s color.
“My daughter was murdered and you want me to calm down?” Then he saw me and his face shifted from anger to disdain. “Well, well. Kit Lancaster.” He looked me over as if I were still wearing Erin’s borrowed sweatpants from seventh grade. “Why aren’t you behind bars?”
I froze, all the hateful things he’d said to me over the years coming back. But wanting me in jail? It was a new low.
Mr. Mills glanced over my shoulder at Nix. “My life’s being picked apart and the woman who was in the house when Erin was murdered is walking around scot-free?”
Veins stuck out at his temples and spittle flew as he pointed at me.
With a hand at the small of my back, Nix urged me into motion. “I’m walking Miss Lancaster to her car. When I return, I’ll talk with you about the case. But only if you calm down.”
Mr. Mills sputtered as we walked away, Nix’s pace quickened, and I was outside and across the parking lot to my car within a minute. I realized that Nix hadn’t contradicted Mr. Mills or stood up for me.
“Do you think I killed Erin?” I whispered, suddenly weary. The lack of sleep was catching up with me. My emotions were like a rollercoaster.
“What?” His eyes widened. “No.”
“Then why didn’t you say that? Why didn’t you have my back in there?” I thought of the night before, being held in his arms. Holding me after my nightmare. God, I’d practically climbed him like a monkey after, desperate for him.
“With Keith Mills? Because I have to remain impartial.”
“Impartial?” I snapped. “He pretty much said I did it. And you didn’t tell him otherwise.”
He leaned forward so he could look me in the eye. “I want to go back in there and rip the asshole’s head off.” He stuck his arm out and pointed toward the station. “After what you said to Miranski about him, you think I liked letting him say that shit about you? Knowing he’s been doing it for years?” He raked his hand through his hair, his eyes filled with rage. “Punching a murder victim’s father in the face isn’t in my job description, Kit. In order to find Erin’s killer, I have to put up with guys like Mills. I’m just mad you do, too.”
“What about during the questioning? You barely said a word.”
His hand slid over his hair in obvious frustration. I’d held those silky strands between my fingers as he fucked me. “Because we were on record. Because what I said in front of Miranski is true. If we had evidence that proved you killed Erin, you would be in jail.”
I paused, waited for him to say more. “But…”
“But you didn’t fucking do it, therefore you’re free to go.” He took a step closer, all that dark intensity shifting to need. “Free to be in my bed.”
“Nix,” I murmured, checking out the embroidered police logo on his pec. I couldn’t look him in the eye. “I can’t do this hot and cold thing. I was in your bed all night and now you pretend you barely know me.”
“That’s right. Pretend. No one can know we’re together.”
That hurt. A lot. If they meant forever, then they should want to show me off, not hide me like a dark secret. But it wasn’t about what they wanted. It was about their jobs.
“Mr. Mills would lose his shit.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up, barely, but it wasn’t that much of a joke. It was actually true.
“The case could be compromised.” Yeah, that, too. What he didn’t say was their jobs would probably be at stake, too. I didn’t like the feel of that, the weight of that on our relationship. Their careers were at risk because of me.
“I want to kiss you,” he said, but didn’t step close to do so. He had about four feet between us, far enough to keep anyone who might look our way from thinking we were anything more than detective and witness.
“What about your job?” I asked, voicing aloud what I’d been thinking.
“I’ll worry about that. So… later?” He said that last word with so much intent, I knew it meant getting naked and screaming his name.
He growled and stepped close, set his hand on the roof of my car, penning me in. I loved the dominance of the moment. He didn’t have to say anything for me to know he wanted me and wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.
“Nix,” I whispered, looking around. Standing like this wasn’t a good thing. What if Mr. Mills saw us? Nix might say he would worry about his job, but I worried. I wasn’t worth losing all he’d worked for.
“Later,” he repeated, this time not as a question. I took a deep breath, picked up his clean scent. I recognized the smell of his soap since I had it on me, too.
I nodded because I had a feeling he wouldn’t step back until I agreed.
“I can’t call you,” he said, pushing off the car and stepping back. “As I said, your phone records are being reviewed.”
“Right,” I replied, remembering what Donovan had said earlier. I dug my keys from my purse, turned to my car. I wasn’t sure if my hand was shaking because of his dominance or the reminder I was still a suspect. Reality was sinking in. My friend had been murdered. I was under investigation. If my pussy wasn’t a little sore, I’d have wondered if last night had actually happened.
“What are you going to do now?”
That was the question of the day. I glanced over my shoulder at him. I couldn’t believe a guy so hot was into me. I glanced at his hands, remembered what he could do with them. How gentle he could be. How skilled those fingers were. And I knew what was beneath that jeans and shirt. Knew every sinewy plane, every inch of his huge dick. Still, us being together was a dirty little secret. One that could blow the case, his career. Donovan’s too.
Was I as Mr. Mills had said? Trash? Was I ruining two men’s lives for a wild time? The night before, they’d said forever. But that was when I was naked. When faced with losing everything, was I worth it? I couldn’t rely on them. I trusted them, believed what they said, but couldn’t hold them to it. I needed to be able to stand on my own two feet, to support myself and my mom. I needed a paycheck.
“Eddie Nickel ended the big contract and the baby shower that was the only remaining client wants nothing to do with me.” I kicked a pebble on the pavement. “I’m headed to the diner to beg for my old job back.”
8
DONOVAN
“You wanted to see me?”
My father looked up from his desk, smiled. “Donnie. Come and sit.”
He extended his hand to indicate the chairs that faced him. He didn’t stand, didn’t give me a hug. We didn’t have that kind of relationship. Oh, I’d gotten manly slaps on the back and got the usual Donnie, which made me inwardly cringe. He’d said he was proud of me often enough. But not to me, Donovan Nash, but the prosecutor for Cutthroat County. I’d ensured some bad people were off the streets and he’d been pleased with my stats. I kept Cutthroat safe and that helped keep him mayor.
And who could be more satisfied with that than Anthony Nash, mayor
?
Yeah, the fucking mayor.
He was sixty-two and had no plans to retire, unless he got voted out of office.
“What’s the latest on the Erin Mills’ murder?” he asked as I dropped into a chair.
I knew this was why he’d asked for me to take the elevator to the third floor of the city building that housed his office as well as the DA. Small time drug dealers and wife beaters didn’t affect his chances for reelection like a murder of the town’s “It Girl” and daughter of his biggest campaign contributor.
He didn’t give a shit that my summer softball league won the championship or that I’d bought a new car. He would care about Kit, but for all the wrong reasons.
“You’d have to ask the detectives about that. It hasn’t hit our office yet.”
He pursed his lips. People said we looked alike. His fair hair was mostly gray now, but he hadn’t lost any of it, which boded well for me. He kept active, in the summer playing golf and the winter skiing on the slopes of Cutthroat Mountain, and it showed. He hadn’t married again after Mom died, but I knew he’d been casually seeing Angela Martin on the side. Had been for years. Another thing we didn’t talk about.
“You’ll be trying the case,” he commented, resting his elbows on the arms of his high-back chair and steepling his fingers together. “I’m surprised Nix didn’t give you the latest over a beer or something.”
I didn’t answer. Instead of sharing a beer the night before, we’d shared Kit. Fucking her was much more fun than talking about the case.
He sighed, leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk. “I’ve heard they’re looking into the Mills family, men Erin may have dated, Erin’s roommate, the house cleaners and even neighbors.”
I nodded. “Autopsy is this morning. It all sounds like standard procedure,” I replied, picking up a glass paperweight and tossing it from hand to hand.
“This shouldn’t be standard procedure,” he countered. “We need this killer found. And fast.”
I stopped the juggling and looked at him. “Why? Because the election’s in a few months?”
His jaw clenched. “It’s not only my career on the line.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
He shrugged. “The District Attorney’s going to want the killer behind bars just as much as I do. That falls to your shoulders.”
“Meaning don’t fuck this up.” While the DA was in charge of the office and dealt with politics, like meetings with my father, I dealt with the actual cases, did the time in the courtroom. If things went south, it was on me.
This meant I shouldn’t have fucked a prime suspect’s pussy while she sucked the lead detective’s dick. And planned to do some other variety of that later tonight.
He lifted a hand in a stop gesture. “I didn’t say that.”
I stood, set the paperweight back down.
“You didn’t have to.” I was used to his passive aggressiveness.
“You’ll be the DA within five years if I have my way,” he said to my back as I made my way to his office door. He had aspirations for me that had never matched my own. If he were mayor and his son DA, the power he’d have. Nash and Nash, like some kind of TV show.
Whatever.
“Your way?”
He smiled, saccharine sweet. “Donnie, having power means you control lots of places in the government, not just one seat. Imagine what the Nash boys can do if we’re running Cutthroat.”
I hadn’t cared all that much about his aspirations for me, until now. But this was the first time he’d practically admitted being heavy handed in my career. Had he pushed cases my way to build up my resume? Did he know things about the DA to get him tossed out of office?
Fuck. I knew we weren’t close, but I’d never imagined being my father’s pawn.
I hadn’t thought about it much at all. Until now. Until there were more important things. I’d been going along for the ride because I’d been able to put bad guys away. I’d been content with that, clearly not knowing what Pops had been up to. But there hadn’t been much to stand up for. To protect. Now there was Kit.
I didn’t want to throw away three years of law school because my dad was power hungry, but I didn’t want any puppet strings either. I wanted to be the man Kit turned to. In the middle of the night, when she was sad. Happy. Horny. I needed her to be able to look me in the eye and be proud of me. And I needed to do the same with myself.
I turned, looked at the man I once looked up to. Now, I didn’t like anything he stood for. “I want justice, Pops, not to be DA.”
He looked at me as if he wondered if we shared the same DNA. “It’s the same thing.”
It was like talking to a fence post. No matter how many times I said it, he wouldn’t understand. I’d gone into law for Mom, not for him. “It’s not the same thing at all.”
***
KIT
“Look who the cat dragged in,” Dolly said, her usual smile on her face, a coffee pot in her hand as she walked by where I stood at the hostess stand. She didn’t stop to say more, but worked her way down the row of booths by the front windows offering refills. I’d rarely seen her out of the diner’s uniform of jeans and a T-shirt with a drawing of the building on the back and sturdy black shoes.
Once done, she turned on her heel and worked her way back to me.
“Give me some sugar,” she said and I hugged her. Hard. She was taller than me by a few inches and bony, although she was strong from lugging heavy trays of food about all day. She smelled like cooked onions and rose water. A familiar combination that had me blinking back tears. I’d missed her.
Dolly’s Diner was one of the only places that was frequented by all of Cutthroat. Tourists and truckers passing through as well. Open twenty-four hours, everyone liked a greasy, late-night breakfast after hard drinking or an early morning business meeting. The rich liked good food in large portions as much as those on a budget. Her parents had started the place back in the sixties—and obviously named it after their only child—when the highway first opened. While they’d retired to Florida when I was a little girl, Dolly and her husband, Clyde, took over the running of it.
“I heard you were back.” She walked around the lunch counter and put the coffee pot back on the warming plate. Reaching beneath, she pulled out a box of sugar packets and began tucking them into the plastic holders.
“I’ve been working with Erin Mills.”
“Heard that, too.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe what happened to her.”
“I… I found her.”
Her hands stilled and her shrewd eyes met mine. “Kit.”
I pasted on a fake smile and leaned against the counter. “I’ve been staying with her, saving up some money for a place of my own.”
“You’re the hardest worker I know,” she commented. “Still taking care of your momma?”
I nodded. Nothing more to be said on that one. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to say hi.”
I was ashamed of myself. I’d hoped to get beyond waitressing, making a career out of event planning. The job at the hotel in Billings was my start toward that, but it was definitely over now. Murder took care of that. But Dolly had been more of a mother than my own, and I should have at least stopped in to visit. I’d started working for her in tenth grade, first bussing tables then waitressing. I’d had the job until last year when I went to Billings. I hadn’t given her notice, but I had called her, let her know where I’d gone.
Now I was eating humble pie and hoping she’d take me back. I’d always complained about the rich snobs in Cutthroat, but I realized, in this, I wasn’t any better.
She looked over her shoulder at me, her dark eyebrow raised.
Seeing the mess she was making of the sugar packets, I sighed. “Here, let me do that.” I stood beside her, grabbed the holders and rearranged the packets so they were tidy.
“You never liked things out of place,” she commented.
“I can’t imagine how th
e customers survived without me the past year,” I replied sarcastically.
She chuckled. “We’ve muddled through as best we can. Especially since Melinda’s out on maternity leave and one of the new night waitresses—Sally Jennings, I think you babysat for her younger sister back in the day—isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.”
The bell that indicated an order was ready rang and Dolly went over to the pass-through window to grab the plates. She walked past me, the scent of greasy fries and burgers followed.
I bit back a smile. Things around here didn’t change.
The bell rang again and Dolly called to me. “Get that, will you?”
I abandoned the sugar packets and went to the window. A cook I didn’t know looked surprised to see me picking up a ticket. “What table?” I asked him.
“Twelve.”
I nodded and stacked the plates up my left arm in a way that was second nature. “Got it.”
Going to table twelve, I handed out the meals, ensured no one needed anything else and went back to the sugar packets. I needed something to keep my hands occupied, and Dolly would make a mess of them if she didn’t let me finish them.
“I’m a disaster,” I admitted when she returned. “My friend was murdered. I no longer have a job. A place to live. I need money to cover my bills and my mom’s. Dolly, I’m a suspect in Erin’s murder.”
She set her hand over mine, stilling it. “What?”
I shrugged. “She was killed while I was sleeping just down the hall. I don’t have an alibi.”
“The truth will come out. It’s awful about Erin. She was a handful, but she didn’t deserve to have an end like that.” She shuddered, then looked to me. “We could use someone who knows her way around the menu and can do more than basic math with her fingers,” she said as she came to stand beside me again.
My hands stilled and I looked to her. “You’d take me back, after what I did?”
“All you did was leave town with a broken heart.”
She waved her hand as I stared at her, my mouth open.
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