We took the stairs to the main lobby level, assuming that was where the police waited for us. The security on the front desk remained where they were, blocking the elevator, eyeing the half dozen officers that stood before them. Some in uniform. Some plain clothed.
“No one gets through,” George, the giant security man that I was pretty sure was bulletproof, was saying to the cops. I had no idea how old George was; his dark skin was smooth except for a few laugh lines, but the few sprinkles of gray in his black hair told me he was older than I thought.
However old he was, he was scary and formidable, and the police officers were not pushing forward on him at all.
“Thank you, George,” Beck drawled, nudging us past one of the uniformed cops and hitting the elevator button. “We’ve got it from here.” Barely even bothering to look over his shoulder, he addressed our guests. “I assume you’d like to speak with us?”
One of the guys in a suit, as opposed to a uniform, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Mr. Beckett,” he said, flicking a cautious glance over me, then a quicker one at the rest of our crew. “We need to speak with Miss Deboise as a matter of urgency.”
A sneering sort of smile crossed Beck’s lips. “You mean you need to speak withme. If there is a police matter concerningMiss Deboise,then it’s me you need to be informing.”
As much as I knew he was playing his role—the arrogant, entitled heir to a multi-billion dollar corporation—the misogynistic tone rubbed me the wrong way. Scowling up at Beck, I dislodged his arm from my shoulders and stepped closer to the cop.
“What Beck meant,” I said in a sickly sweet tone, knowing Beck was glaring death at my back, “is that I’m Riley Deboise, and you’re quite welcome to speak with me directly. After all, this isn’t the eighteenth century.” Calling myself a Deboise turned my stomach, but Wells’ point had stuck with me. I was a Deboise, like it or not. There were many bigger things to concern myself about than a stupid surname.
The suited man shook my hand and gave me a tight smile. “Thank you. I’m Detective Shepherd, this is my partner, Detective Riggs. May we speak with you somewhere more private?” He shot a look at George, who gave a sassy brow lift, and I needed to swallow back a laugh.
“We can speak upstairs,” Dylan offered, stepping in before Beck did something dumb. Like beat me over the head with a club then drag me back to his cave. “Just you two, though.” He nodded to the detectives. “Our apartments are a bit tight on space. Your officers can wait here in the lobby.”
I turned to the elevators, trying to hide the hard eye roll I’d just given Dylan. Just when I thought he was being the reasonable one. Nonetheless, the two plain clothes detectives joined us for a tense, silent ride up to the top floor then gave Dylan a narrow-eyed glare as we stepped into my expansive, open plan apartment.
“Yes, such cramped confines,” the partner—Detective Riggs—muttered under his breath. He looked younger than his partner, maybe in his early thirties, with a dark shadow over his jaw where he’d not shaved.
Half amused, half frustrated by the boys’ behavior, I indicated for the cops to take a seat.
“Can we get you coffee?” I offered, “Beck will make it.” I speared my boyfriend with a sharp glare, and he narrowed his eyes back at me. “Dylan, you’d better help.”
“I’ll take one, thanks boys.” Jasper smirked at Beck and Dylan, flopping down in my dusky gray armchair.
Evan nodded, perching on the arm of the couch I sat on. “Same.”
The alpha male dickheads of our group scowled sourly, but did as they were told. They damn well knew they were throwing their weight around unnecessarily. Detective Shephard had specifically said they were here to speak about something, notquestionordetainor anything like that.
“Sorry about them,” I apologized when I could hear the two of them clattering around my kitchen.
Eddy snickered, taking the seat beside me. “The Delta boys have a bit of caveman syndrome where Riley is concerned.”
“Probably a good thing,” Shephard murmured, then cleared his throat again. “Miss Deboise—”
“Riley,” I corrected him, and he nodded.
“Riley. You received a vase of roses recently, correct?” His gaze was even on me, but a chill ran down my spine at the reminder. But he didn’t know about the rose left at Carl’s murder scene, only the ones left on my doorstep.
“Should we be waiting for legal counsel?” Evan asked, speaking up before I could respond myself. “I understand they’re en route.”
Shephard gave a small shrug, even as his partner looked annoyed and generally irritated. “If you’d feel more comfortable, then by all means. But we aren’t here to question you on anything, Riley.” He raised his brows at me, silently asking if he should continue or wait for our lawyers to arrive. But really, I didn’t trust Delta paid lawyers as far as I could throw them—which wasn’t far.
“Go ahead,” I responded with a nod. Beck and Dylan had just slapped together the quickest coffee in recorded history and were already rejoining us so there was no sense in stalling any further. “Yes, the roses were left on my doorstep. I take it you tested the, uh, blood?” I swallowed hard, my mind flashing to Carl’s blood dripping from the rose under his wipers.
Shephard nodded. “The blood was nothing exciting, just store-bought pig’s blood.”
“Can’t understand why that’s even an option to purchase,” Detective Riggs muttered, scratching his stubbled cheek. “Just asking for stupid high school kids to pull dumb pranks on each other.” He shot me a pointed look, and I frowned.
“Are you implying this was ajoke?” I demanded. “You brought six uniformed officers with you to tell me that you have dismissed this threat as a high schoolprank?”
Riggs was getting under my skin.
“No,” Shephard replied in a firm, no-nonsense tone. The look he shot his partner was a clearshut up, you asshole.
