CHAPTER 49
Grace
Noah slides in from behind to hover over my shoulder as I toss a handful of peppers into a bowl. His skin is slick with sweat, but I don’t mind. Actually, I find it appealing.
“Is Jenson still here?” I left them outside, playing one-on-one in the driveway.
“Gone home.” I can’t help the slight tremble as he leans in to kiss the side of my neck, his hands hot against my hips. “Is there enough for me, too?”
“There’s plenty. This fool I know bought way too much of everything.”
I feel his lips curve into a smile. “Lucky for me. I’m starving.”
“Didn’t you eat half a cow an hour ago?” I glance at the oven clock to confirm when Jenson showed up with a bag of burgers. Noah ate his and most of mine.
“What’s your point?”
“I don’t understand where you put it all.”
“I burn it. Playing ball, running . . . doing other things.”
I glance up in time to catch Noah’s eyes dipping into my tank top. He grins at me and heat floods through my body instantly. It’s been three days since I woke up tangled in his bedsheets, and we’ve spent most of that time holed up in that room, distracting ourselves while we wait for the FBI and APD to nail Mantis and Stapley.
Noah has made the frustrating wait bearable.
I sniff teasingly. “You need a shower.”
“I do need a shower.” Strong hands pull me backward.
“Uh-uh. No way. I’m not drying my hair again today.”
“Then don’t.”
“Are you . . . did you forget what happens?”
His deep chuckles tell me he hasn’t forgotten the untamed clown’s wig that I woke up with this morning, after I shared a shower with him last night.
“You’re such a jerk.”
“Come on . . . You can wear one of those things to keep it dry.”
“A shower cap?” I cringe at the mental image of a gorgeous, naked Noah and me, in my pink plastic cap. Having sex. I turn to give him a playful shove away, but he’s no longer paying attention to me, distracted by the TV.
Canning’s on the news again.
I dive for the remote to turn up the volume.
“We have what we’d call ‘persons of interest,’ ” Canning says. “Though, I’m fairly confident two of them will be cleared of all wrongdoing.”
I frown. “Who’s he talking about? Mantis and Stapley?”
“I don’t know. But look at him, pretending to be innocent.” Noah’s teeth grind, his jaw so tense. “He shouldn’t be up there. Towle’s the acting chief. Why the hell is he up there!”
“There’s nothing we can do about it. You heard Kristian.” I called him the second we turned out of Canning’s driveway yesterday. Aside from an “I told you so” and a sharp warning to not say a word about it to anyone including the DA, he confirmed what we already know—that “sleeping dogs” gets us nowhere.
“Confidential sources have confirmed that these persons of interest are APD officers. Can you comment?” a voice in the crowd says.
“I cannot. Next question.”
“Is there any connection between Chief Jackie Marshall’s suicide and the uncovering of this new evidence behind Abraham Wilkes’s death?”
Noah’s back stiffens.
“I can confirm that Chief Marshall’s death led to law enforcement discovering new evidence.”
“Did Chief Marshall have knowledge about Abraham Wilkes’s death that she did not make public?”
“She did.”
“Son of a bitch,” Noah mutters.
“Was Chief Marshall involved in Abraham Wilkes’s death?”
“Involved?” Canning seems to mull that over. “I’d say there certainly have been questions raised, yes, sir.”
“That son of a bitch!” Noah roars, looking ready to tear the flat-screen from the wall. “He’s trying to throw her under the damn bus!”
I bite my tongue before I say something insensitive. Before I point out that nothing Canning said was a lie. Technically, all of it was true. Because Noah’s also right—Canning is trying to focus the attention on Jackie. He wants her pinned with my father’s murder. Kristian warned as much.
“Do you want me to phone Kris—”
“What the hell is he going to do?” Noah snaps, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
I reach for him, smoothing a hand over his back, his shirt damp beneath my palm, the tension coursing through him palpable.
“This can’t happen. They need to arrest and charge Mantis and Stapley, and be done with it, so we can all move on.”
“We’re a long way from that happening.” And it’s not looking promising. The APD got a warrant on Stapley’s truck and pulled blood samples that matched what was found in the pantry. They have him on breaking and entering, though he’s claiming he’s being set up. And there are no fingerprints anywhere—on the safe or the gun—to prove otherwise.
The only thing that ties him to the house without a doubt is three drops of blood.
“We need to find that video,” Noah says with grim determination.
Easier said than done. “He didn’t give it to either of our moms, and he didn’t give it to you or me, so who else could have it? Who did he trust?”
“No one.” Noah leans against the wall, his gaze settling on the lights overhead, his thoughts visibly drifting into the past.
“Are you sure he didn’t give it to your mom that day? Maybe she destroyed it.”
“Why destroy that, but keep the gun holster and the money?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I sigh. “Well, he didn’t give it to me. Not unless he hid it in one of my toys, but that’d be stupid. I was six. Six-year-olds break and lose their toys all the time.”
“Right . . .” Several long beats pass. And then a whisper of “holy shit!” slips from him. Noah peers down at me, his eyes wide with realization. “I think I know where it is.”