“How about we speak here? I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of space, but feel free to take a seat.” A wolfish grin spreads across Axel’s face as he pulls out a chair.
“Alright.” The heavyset man eases down, the wood creaks, and all eyes shoot to his large ass. When it doesn’t end up on the floor, we heave out our collective breaths.
The other guy in his mid-thirties misses the unfolding drama. He juts out his weak chin and leans against the door.
With no more room in the tiny kitchen, I fold the pull-out couch, return the cushions, and sit in the living room.
“Where were you Mondy night?” Twig-man’s interruption earns him a scowl from his partner.
My non-plussed husband shrugs while his eyes remain lethal. “The tiki bar has video cameras. You know I was there. What’s this all about?”
His tone remains polite, yet cautious, as he studies the interrogator who continues to fire off questions.
“And before that?” The eager detective tilts forward and rests his huge anchor-tatted forearms on the tabletop.
“Making love to my wife at our beach house.” When Axel catches my eye, I take his cue and clear my throat.
“I can confirm his alibi, and so can our rental’s security feeds.” In desperate need of caffeine, I squeeze behind Rhonda’s chair, grab a foam cup, and pour from the coffee-in-a-box.
“What kind of asshole hooks up with his ex-lover on his honeymoon?” The jerk by the door is literally about to have his balls busted. If Axel doesn’t do it, I will.
“Sorry, dude. Way above your pay grade.” Ink takes a bite of an egg sandwich, and while he chews, the lead investigator scowls at my spouse.
His bulbous nose reddens, his jowls shake, and he raises his voice. “A young woman is dead. I shouldn’t have to remind you to cooperate. Now, where did you go after you left the bar?”
They have no right to disrespect him so.Even though I shouldn’t say anything, I can’t keep from blurting out, “My husband saw a guy chasing me with a knife and pursued him.The man escaped, so Axel returned home, and we went straight to bed.”
The heavy detective holds forth a grainy video of my spouse following Brittany out of the tiki bar’s restroom.” “Did you two have sex?”
“No.” Despite my husband’s adamant tone, the two locals shake their heads before sending me a pity-filled glance.
The larger one stands. “Perhaps we should speak in private at the station.”
Jumping to his feet, Hunt’s dark blue eyes blaze. “Do you have a warrant?”
“No, but it can easily be arranged. Like I said, we were doing our FBIfriendsa favor.”
My hubby stands, nudges the jerk aside, and opens the door. “Well, I'll tell you what I’ll do. I will phone my boss, Assistant Deputy Director Kaplan, and meet you at your office. Text me the address and I'll respond as soon as I can get him here.”
“You do that. Thank you for your time.” Like the fan fiction cartoon, Fat Cop and Skinny Cop exit stage left.
Once the door clicks shut, Wulf sits and rubs a palm across his whiskers. “What am I missing?”
Trev motions for the rest of us to gather around his monitor. While we watch, his screen goes black, and he bangs his fist on the table. “Shit. They revoked our passwords.”
While everyone grabs their wobbling Styrofoam cups, Ink winks at me. “Since when has that ever stopped the infamous Trever Johnson?”
The former hacker raises his brows. “Your call, boss. If they find out I’ve broken into their network, it won’t bode well for any of us.”
The redheaded agent skews her face, slaps the analyst on the back, and snorts out a laugh. “Then make sure you don’t get caught.”
“Your funeral.” Experienced fingers fly across the keyboard, then stop. “I’m in… Holy fuck. They found Ax’s prints on the dead woman’s purse.”
My man pales and squats in front of the monitor. “There must be some mistake. I never saw her.”
“There.” Rhonda sticks her index finger on the monitor. “Go back.”
Trever rewinds and hits replay. The video pauses at the frame where my spouse leans over, picks up a purse, and hands it to Ms. Babs Barracuda.
