Entitled as fuck, and thinks he’s good looking enough to get what he wants.
Reminds me too much of Ezra, actually. This town is crawling with trust fund brats like him.
I suppress a snort of laughter at the way Thatcher’s face freezes mid-frown. Oscar takes his shock as acceptance, shovinga shot glass into his hand before grabbing one for himself. He claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing with drunken affection. “Come on, Professor. Show your boyfriend here how it’s done.”
I swear to Christ, Thatcher’s mortification will live rent free in my fucking head for years to come. The man’sblushing.
The deputy tosses back his shot like he’s hoping it’ll give him amnesia. I throw Oscar a rueful smirk before we toss back ours together.
The cheap tequila burns going down. Oscar whoops, slaps the table, promises he’ll come back to catch up with us ‘fine gentlemen’ later, then staggers back to his friends.
I watch him go, already regretting the decision as the alcohol sears its way down to my empty stomach.
“What is it with these kids?” Thatcher mutters, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and grimacing.
“Too much money. Too many absent fathers.”
Thatcher laughs loudly, clamping his lips closed to cut off the sound.
Christ. Does he honestly believe I’m going to fall for his bullshit? I do admire his tenacity, though. I’m seconds away from dropping my mask and scaring the living shit out of him, if only so I can go home and open a bottle of something that doesn’t taste like disinfectant.
I push the empty shot glass aside. “You were about to ask me something.”
Thatcher widens his eyes, shaking his head like he’s regretting the shot as much as I am.
“You claim there was no study group,” he says slowly. “But I have a witness who claims to have spotted you outside a restaurant with Miss Parker.” He rolls his hand. “The Sunday afternoon she went missing.”
My pulse doesn’t change. My expression doesn’t flicker. I knew there was a possibility someone saw us, but the fact thatit’s taken that person this long to come forward means they’re not sure.
“Do you now.” I take a sip of my bourbon without thinking. My face feels flushed, and I can still taste tequila in the back of my throat.
“I’ll admit, visibility wasn’t the greatest,” Thatcher says through a rueful grimace. “If you’ll recall, it was raining quite heavily that day.”
I don’t give him any indication that I remember. Instead, I just scoff lightly as I twist my glass on its coaster.
“Let me get this straight.” I tilt my head, incredulity creeping into my voice. “Your theory is that I picked Miss Parker up, kept her captive for a couple of days, then released her and framed one of my own students for it?”
Thatcher opens his mouth, but I just carry on speaking.
“Then I go and pay for the kid’s lawyer? Afterframinghim?”
Thatcher laughs again. It’s an actual laugh this time—deep bellied, just as incredulous.
“Sounds fucking insane, doesn’t it?” he manages in a tight voice, before drowning out his laughter with a long swallow from his beer.
It’s the first time he’s sworn all evening. His cheeks are flushed, his movements slightly less precise than they were an hour ago.
“And yet here we are,” I observe dryly.
He shakes his head, frowning at the beer in his hand before taking another sip. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know when a case is off. Everything about the Parker situation just…” He makes a vague gesture. “It doesn’t add up, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”
“Many things in life don’t add up, Deputy. That doesn’t make them crimes.”
“No.” His eyes meet mine again, narrowed but not as intense as they were when we first sat down. “But it does make them worth investigating.”
My phone buzzes again.
This time, I pull it out. Glance at the screen.
