“I take it I fit the profile?”
“You had to know that,” I said, echoing his words.
“I did.” But he said it without a smile. “I understand that you did what you had to do. And I understand why that was necessary. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Of course not.”
“It might take a bit for me to be okay with this.”
“Sure.” I nodded up at him. “I’d be pissed if you’d gone through my stuff.”
Finally, he grinned. “What makes you think I haven’t?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked.
“You’re very neat and clean. I honestly didn’t expect that.”
His brows rose. “Should I be insulted?”
“It’s a compliment. But the Spiderman boxers?”
Vance burst into laughter. “Did you notice they were brand new? Still smelled like the factory they were made in?”
“No! Because I did not sniff your underwear.” I scowled up at him. “You planted those!”
He shrugged, his shoulders still shaking with quiet laughter. “I knew I fit the profile, and that you’d eventually have to search my place. The least I could do was make it fun for you.”
“Cute…” I mumbled. “So, then Tucker’s bedside draw—”
“Nope!” Vance covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, like a giant child in denial. “If he knew this was coming, he didn’t say anything to me, and I donotwant to hear what you found in his bedside drawer.” He opened one eye and stared down at me. “He knows you were there today, though. He took Stuart’s call.”
I sighed. “Great.” I really would have preferred to tell them both myself.
“You know things will never be the same between us now, right?” Vance grinned down at me. “Not since you’ve seen my Spidey underwear.”
“Funny. So we’re good?”
“Always and forever,” he assured me. “Go make peace with Tucker.”
We headed back into the bar, but all I could think about as I watched Vance lift the bar flap on his way into the kitchen was that he’d known I was coming. He’d left me a gag gift, for god’s sake, and he’d clearly cleaned the apartment in advance of my search.
Which meant that if hewasinvolved with the murders, he’d had every possible opportunity to remove—or destroy—the evidence.
“Hey. Thanks for coming,” I said as Bishop and Austin filed into my office. “Close the door please.”
Bishop pushed the door shut, then he sank into one of the guest chairs in front of my desk, next to Austin. “Is this about Nolan?” he asked. “You’re letting him go?”
“Yeah. I guess you knew this was coming?”
“We picked up on that this morning,” he confirmed.
“So when you called us down here, we figured it was that, or you wanted to get us out of the apartment so you could search it,” Austin finished with a grin. “Or both.”
“Ha, ha. I’m not searching your apartment. Or your house in Covington. You two are not suspects.”
“Why not?” Bishop asked.
