by Cynthia Eden
“You and me, Piper. Can you spare a few moments?”
Lopez’s voice wasn’t overly hostile. But Piper was still cautious. “Is this for another interrogation?”
“It’s for us to clear the air.”
Piper rose.
“Piper.”
She blinked. Eric had seemed completely consumed by his task a moment ago, but now he was on his feet and his attention was on her.
“Take a breath, Wilde,” Lopez instructed him. “I’m only escorting her down the hallway—in a police station—so that we can talk privately. She’ll have a detective at her side every moment.”
Yes, but was that a good or a bad thing? “Do I need a lawyer?”
“No.” Lopez’s full lips pressed together. “I’m just trying to apologize, okay?”
Eric was still on his feet. Still waiting. Piper waved him back down and stepped closer to the detective. “Why apologize? You were just doing your job.”
“Yeah.” Lopez winced. “But I enjoyed doing it a little too much. Overzealousness is a flaw I’m working on.” A shrug. “You coming with me?”
Piper nodded. She cast a quick glance at Eric. He was frowning, so she shooed him back to his job and followed Lopez out of the tech room. The hallway was empty. “Where’s Mark?”
“Your ex is cooling his heels in interrogation. It’s a technique I use.” They rounded the corner. Passed a uniformed cop. Lopez pointed to a closed door. “When you make the perps wait, it puts them on edge. When they are on the edge, it’s easier for me to come in from a point of control.”
Piper thought about how long she’d waited in interrogation. “You used that trick on me.”
“Guilty.” Another turn, this time, to the right, and Lopez opened a door that led to a small, slightly cramped office. Light poured through the blinds of the lone window in the tight space. “I know, I know, it’s not much, but I traded size for a view. I happen to like sunshine.” She waved Piper inside.
Piper glanced around, noting the files stacked haphazardly. The half-empty coffee mugs. And the framed photo of a young girl.
Lopez followed her gaze. “That’s my sister.” A smile tilted her lips, one that came and went far too quickly. “She was murdered on her eighth birthday.”
OhmyGod. “I’m so sorry.”
A quick nod. “Me, too.” Her fingers reached for the frame. Traced carefully around the wooden edges. Piper got the feeling that Lopez touched that photo—in the exact same, tender manner—quite often. “She’s the reason I have this job. When you lose someone you love, you can either give in to the pain or you can let the rage take over.” A shrug. “I tend to fall onto the side of rage, just so you know.”
Uh…“I think rage looks good on you.”
Lopez’s hand fell away from the frame. “I see why he likes you so much. You are…unexpected, huh? One of those women who marches to the beat of her own drum?”
Now Piper had to blink. “Isn’t that what you are?”
“Absolutely. Why be like everyone else? That’d just be boring. And anyone can be boring. I’d rather be ragey. Dangerous. Someone has to make the sick assholes out there pay for their crimes. I figure that someone might as well be me.” She sat in her chair then motioned for Piper to take the other seat in the office.
Piper eased down. The chair wobbled beneath her, and she was about fifty percent certain the chair would break before she got back up.
“I came off tough yesterday because I hadn’t ruled you out as a suspect. For all I knew, you just blinked those big eyes of yours, twirled your hair, and got Eric to think you were some innocent damsel who needed rescuing…while you were actually out, you know, torturing your ex and killing him.”
Piper deliberately blinked her “big eyes” at the detective. Once. Twice. “I don’t twirl my hair.”
“Noted.”
“And I did need Eric’s help—I still do, unfortunately, though I don’t like it. I don’t like it because now he’s in danger.”
A considering nod. “Because he’s sleeping with you.”
“Yes.” She wasn’t going to pull any punches.
Lopez nodded. “We slept together.”
Piper ground her back teeth together. “I’m trying to like you.”
“It didn’t mean anything to either of us. Sure, it was fun. But there wasn’t an emotional connection. And I could walk away. I do that—I always plan to walk away.” Her gaze darted to the frame. “You get hurt otherwise.”
Piper’s chest burned. For an instant, she thought of her parents. Of the way her mother had fallen so hard when her father left.
“I’ve talked to your exes,” Lopez murmured, voice much softer now. “Seems you have a pattern similar to my own. You like to walk away, too.” Now the detective was studying her with a knowing glint in her eyes. “You going to walk out on Eric when this is all done? When you don’t need him anymore?”
Piper folded her hands in her lap. The chair wobbled. “I feel like you’re interrogating me again.”
“I am.”
“It’s not polite to interrogate friends.”
“We’re not friends.”
True. “Because you still think I might be some dangerous femme fatale?” She blinked her “big eyes” again.
And the detective shrugged again. “Because I’m worried you’ll hurt someone who is my friend. Eric’s not just hard edges and a growling voice. And I saw him when he looked at you. Don’t play a game that you don’t mean.”
Her lips parted.
“Just so you know, we’ve already completed cleared one ex that you have. Eric and his team did most of the legwork on that guy. Zane Clarke? He’s in London right now. Been there for the last six months, and Eric found a line of witnesses to verify that fact. He’s in the clear.” Her lips twisted. “Of course, that still leaves other suspects for us.”
A hard knock pounded at the door. A moment later, a uniformed cop poked his head inside. “Your guy in Interrogation Two is shouting up a storm. Says that he’s leaving. That you can’t keep him here.”
“It’s true,” Lopez agreed with a touch of disgust. “I can’t.” She rose. “Time to see if he’s angry enough to talk…and to show me his chest. I asked when he first arrived, but your ex said no dice. Made me suspicious, you know?” She motioned to the cop. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll be right there.”
Piper rose, too.
Lopez tucked a loose strand of curly hair back into the little bun at the base of her head. “Your tattoo artist has a pretty dark past.”
“Yes, Detective Lopez, I—”
“Layla. It’s just Layla for you, okay?”
She nodded. “I know about his sister.”
A grunt. “You know they never found her killer? I asked for her case file to be sent over. Should arrive soon.” She squared her shoulders. “Heard that he hit the bottle hard after her death.”
Now Piper swallowed. “I guess he chose pain instead of rage.”
Sympathy flashed in Layla’s eyes. “Pain will pull you down. It will break you. And when you lose everything else, it will be the only thing that never lets you go. It’s a bitch I don’t like. Better to not let anyone get close, huh? Better to not let the pain inside. Better to put up your wall and block everyone else from touching your heart.”
They were a lot alike. Maybe too similar. But…
It’s already too late for me. Because she’d put up her wall, after she let Ben inside. And now, Eric was close, too. If she were to lose them…
“Is there anything I should know about Mark? Anything I can use in the interrogation?”
“He loved his sister. Her death gutted him.” She thought about Mark and his past. “Because of her, he’s going to want to help. He won’t hold back. You don’t need to treat him like a perp. That isn’t what he is.”
But Layla only smiled. “Didn’t you notice? I treat everyone that way. Part of my charm.”
“I did notice,” Piper confided.
Layla’s smile lingered a moment. When it disappeared, she seemed to study Piper with a softer gaze. “You want to watch?”
“What?”
“The interrogation? You want to watch?”
Hell to the yes. “Simon said that was against the rules.”
Another eye roll from Layla. “I make my own damn rules.” She yanked open the door.
Piper hurried to follow her.
“Besides, I’ll reveal that you’re there. Things will be on the up-and-up.” Layla paused in the corridor. “Mostly.”
Um…
Layla turned back to her. “Before we go in there, I want you to know—full disclosure— there is someone that I’m having trouble locating.”
“Who?”
“It’s not an ex you had listed as a lover, but an artist you’ve been working with. Didn’t you just get back from a trip to see some of Dante Fallon’s work?”
“Yes—I mean, not immediately. I went about six weeks ago.”
“Yeah, that’s what your travel records showed. I wanted to talk to the guy. Looked like you spent the weekend with him—”
“I spent the weekend at a bed and breakfast in Savannah. Not in Dante’s bed.”
Lopez smirked. “Settle down. I thought maybe you hadn’t wanted to reveal info about him to Eric.”
“And why wouldn’t I tell Eric about him?” She had—she’d told the team at Wilde Securities about Dante when they’d asked for a list of artists who worked with the gallery.
“Because maybe the guy is a recent lover and you didn’t want Eric to know about him?”
“Dante has never been my lover.”
“Okay then.” She inclined her head. “I’ve been trying to contact the guy. Especially since your exes seem to be fair game for our perp.”
“Dante is a client. Nothing more.”
“He’s a missing client.” An exhale from Layla. “I asked the Savannah PD to visit his house. They said it appears to have been closed down for days. A neighbor said Dante had a habit of disappearing, though, of unplugging and going away to paint. That he’d been doing that for years.”
“He’s…eccentric.”
“Let’s hope that’s all he is. Like I said, I wanted to give you fair warning.” She tapped her chin. “After the interrogation, I’m gonna want to hear exactly how he’s eccentric.”
She thought of Dante. Of his nervous fingers and his eyes that could focus on images only he could see. The guy was quiet, shy, and he blushed when he talked about his work. “Dante wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She’d actually seen him capture a fly and release it from his studio.
Layla’s expression didn’t change. “I’m not talking about flies. I’m talking about people.”
Chapter Sixteen
Layla shut the interrogation room door with a soft click.
Mark tensed as he sat at the interrogation room table. “That sure took long enough!” His hands slapped against the top of the table. “Look, I’m here because of Piper. I want to know that she’s all right.”
Layla nodded. “Oh, she’s definitely all right.” She waved her hand toward the one-way mirror on the right wall. “In fact, she’s very close. She’s in there now, watching you.”
And, on the other side of the one-way mirror, Piper winced.
Immediately, Mark’s gaze swung toward her. Or, rather, to the mirror. “Piper?” He jumped to his feet and stumbled toward the mirror.
Piper swore he seemed to be staring straight at her.
“She can hear me? See me?”
“Definitely.” Layla was brisk. “Now, can we get down to business?”
But Mark kept staring at the mirror. “Why is she in there?”
“Because she wanted to hear what you had to say. I want to hear, too. Shall we get things moving?” Impatience bit in her words.
Mark scraped a hand over his jaw. “Heard about what happened to that other guy—Grady. Saw it on the news.”
“Did you know Grady Fox?”
“No, never met him. I knew his name, though. Piper mentioned him a few times.” He kept staring at the mirror.
“We believe that it’s possible someone could be targeting men who were involved with Piper Lane.”
He didn’t blink. “Is that why I’m at the station? You’re warning me I could be in danger?”
“One of the reasons.”
His nostrils flared. A small movement that told of his tension.
“Benjamin Wilde was attacked last night at his home.”
“Ben?” Mark whipped around to face Layla.
Piper eased out the breath that she’d been holding. Mark and Ben had met a few times, even gone out for drinks. They’d gotten along, laughed. Mark had almost convinced Ben to get a tat…
“Is he okay?” Mark demanded.
“I guess that attack didn’t make the news, hmmm?”
His hands fisted. “Is he okay?”
“He’s recovering in the hospital. He has a broken nose, a concussion, and stab wounds. I don’t think okay is the right word, but he’s going to make it.”
“Thank Christ.”
“He was able to fight off his attacker. Able to even stab him with a kitchen knife.” Her gaze slid over Mark. “We believe that Ben’s attacker has a knife wound to his chest area.”
“That’s why you wanted to know if I’d show an officer my upper chest when I arrived?”
“Um.” Very non-committal.
“You think I’m the guy who attacked him? You think I stabbed Ben?” He swung back to face the one-way mirror. “Is that what you think, Piper? You think I would do this?”
Piper pressed her lips together. A cop was in the room with her, and she could feel his stare on her.
“It’s easy enough to clear up,” Layla told Mark in a clear, crisp voice. “Just take off your shirt. Totally voluntary, of course. I don’t have any sort of official power right now to demand that you remove your clothing. It’s just, you know, a way to speed along the investigation. You want to help, don’t you? I’m sure you do. If you don’t want to show me, I can get a male officer in here to—”
He shrugged out of his coat. Stalked across the room and shoved it down on the table top. Then he reached for the bottom of his t-shirt. He yanked it up.
There was a white bandage on his chest.
Piper lost her breath.
“Want to explain?” Layla rose to her feet. Her body was tense, her gaze cold.
He slowly peeled off the bandage. “I got new ink. Fresh as can fucking be.” A blood-red rose was circled by angry thorns. “I kept it covered for a bit. No one stabbed me. I didn’t attack Ben. I didn’t kill Grady. And I don’t like being a suspect.” His gaze didn’t return to the one-way mirror. Piper could practically feel his rage. “I’m done here. I thought I was at the station to help, not to be your lead suspect.” He hauled his shirt back on. Shoved the bandage into the pocket of his coat before he scooped up the coat and headed for—
“You are helping,” Layla assured him. “Now you’re one less name on my list. I can move on with my investigation. Not waste time on leads that don’t pan out. I have a victim down in the morgue. I want to give him justice. Justice is important, don’t you think?”
His hold tightened on the jacket. “Damn straight. People should always get what they deserve.”
She nodded. “Your sister didn’t get justice.”
He fired a furious glance her way. “What do you know about my sister? Did Piper tell you—”
Layla held up her hand. “I know your sister was murdered and that her killer was never caught. I know it must have been incredibly painful for you, and I’m very sorry for your loss.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “People say ‘I’m sorry’ all the time. Doesn’t mean jack.” He began to pace. “The detectives on her case gave up by the second week. The second freaking week! Acted like she didn’t matter. They should have kept searching.”
“I don’t give up easily.” She advanced toward him as Pip
er watched. “I work until I catch my killer.”
Another laugh. “You always catch them? I don’t buy it. No one—”
“I don’t always catch them. But I don’t give up. I don’t forget the cases. I keep working them. I work until I catch my killer.”
He licked his lower lip. “You really mean that?”
She nodded. “I am asking you…is there anything else you need to tell me about Piper Lane? About anyone you may have seen around her shop? Anyone who was paying extra attention to Piper’s assistant, Jessica—”
“Jessica?” A line appeared between his eyes. “No one asked me about her before.” His lips pursed. “She came to my shop one day last week. Or maybe two weeks ago? Not sure. She wanted a new tat.”
Piper found herself leaning toward the glass.
“What kind of tat?” Layla asked.
“A wolf. A big, black wolf. Told me she wanted something beautiful and savage. And she even sent me a pic…” He fumbled in his back pocket and pulled out a phone.
Piper whirled toward the cop who’d been silently watching with her. “I need to see that picture.” Adrenaline poured through her.
But the fresh-faced guy shook his head. “No, you’re supposed to stay here, not go inside.”
“I need to see that picture.” Because she thought she knew the wolf. Or rather, the artist who’d made the wolf. She stopped asking for permission—especially since it looked as if she wasn’t getting that permission. She just ran past the cop. He shouted after her, but she didn’t stop. She yanked open the door to the interrogation room and hurried inside.
Layla glanced up, and her eyes flared in alarm. “Piper—”
“It’s Dante Fallon’s work.” The description of the wolf—God, Jessica had described it with those exact words the first time she’d seen the painting of what Dante called his “Dark Wolf.”
Jessica. A pang shot through Piper.
Mark remained silent as Layla turned the phone toward Piper. The image staring back at her— “Dante.” She nodded. “I would know his work anywhere.”
“She never got the tat,” Mark muttered. “She called the next day, sounding pissed. Told me she’d broken up with her boyfriend, and she was over that shit. Told me wolves didn’t mate for life. Said they were just assholes like everyone else.”