“How the hell should I know? And you’re bleeding too. Hell, you’re bleeding.”
“Relax, I’ll have somebody come and take care of everything.”
“Relax? Are you kidding?”
“You want me to get a bottle of Xanax delivered? Or do you still have a stash?”
In on four, hold, out on four… “Alexa, there’s a half-dead body on the floor.”
And Nolan had taken a woman’s life. Oh hell, he was turning into his father. Linus Sykes and all the detectives had been right—he was genetically flawed, born to kill, and the worst part? He couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. Not when Marielle had been choking the life out of Alexa, not when she’d been so hell-bent on the job that not even Juno’s teeth could stop her. What else could he have done? Then he felt guilty for not feeling guilty, and his racing heart signalled an anxiety attack coming on.
“Sit,” Alexa directed, struggling to her knees as Nolan crumpled onto the rug beside a now-still Marielle. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
Was Marielle dead? She looked dead.
“Fix it? You can’t bring her back to life.”
“Shhh.” Alexa picked up Nolan’s phone. “I’ll handle everything.”
CHAPTER 32
ALEXA
The last time a team of people had removed a body from my home, the place had been swarming with cops and forensic specialists, all clad in Tyvek suits with plastic booties over their shoes. Now? Now we had Valeria, who was wearing the booties, but she’d paired them with a burgundy silk jumpsuit and a designer purse.
She looked down at the body and tutted.
“I thought you were supposed to be on vacation?”
“When am I ever on vacation?”
“So, what’s the story? I’m dying to hear it.”
“She’s a mediocre interior designer who was supposed to be decorating the cottages here.”
“And what did you do to set her off? Insult her couch cushions?”
“Why do you assume I did anything?”
Valeria just stared at me.
“Okay, fine, I discovered that she’d stolen another woman’s identity, and the other woman’s whereabouts are currently unknown. Plus there was an incident where she kicked the dog, and I might have called her a two-faced psycho.”
“That sounds more like you. Is the dog okay?”
“Pretty much.”
“Good. How about the tall drink of water through there?”
She nodded toward the living room, where Nolan was spacing out on the couch. The doc who’d arrived an hour after Marielle-slash-Rayna breathed her last had stuck a syringe of the good stuff into his arm, lucky him, which stopped him from pacing the kitchen and muttering melodramatically about the death penalty. There was a moratorium on the death penalty in California, so even without a highly competent cleanup crew being available, he was unlikely to face a lethal injection.
“He’s five feet ten. Statistically, he’s more of a medium drink of water.”
“Well, he’s a heck of a lot taller than you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“It’s an undisputable fact.”
