Pullman’s mouth was set into a tight line as he looked between me and Bradley. He gave me a dirty look, and I gave him one back. Why the hell was he here?
“I’m going to need you to come by the station to answer some questions,” Pullman said, shoving his card unceremoniously into Bradley’s chest. “Tomorrow.”
Bradley didn’t ask any questions. His gaze just darted from Pullman to me, trying to read the situation. His eyes were tight and beady with stress.
“Fine.” Bradley nodded.
“Great,” Pullman said darkly.
He looked at Bradley with disgust, and I instantly realized that for all of his faults, Pullman must have deduced exactly who and what Bradley was. I had to give him credit for that at least, even as he grasped my upper arm and pulled me unceremoniously from the apartment.
I waited until the door had fully slammed closed before I spoke. “Listen,” I started, but Pullman was already shaking his head.
“No,” he said. He nodded toward Bradley’s apartment door, his eyebrows raised suspiciously. “Not here.”
His eyes swept the second floor of the complex and lingered on the parking lot below and the neon sign illuminating the Chili’s situated behind.
“You feel like a drink?” he asked, pointing in its direction.
“Are you asking me if I want to go to a fucking Chili’s right now?”
Pullman looked annoyed. “You and I need to talk. So it’s either there or in my cruiser. Your choice.”
I sighed, knowing that he had the upper hand here. I needed to explain myself, and I didn’t relish the idea of doing it in the back seat of a police car.
“Fine,” I said, the irritation spreading over me. “Lead the way, Officer,”
The restaurant was decently busy for a Friday night, too full for our conversation to be overheard. Pullman had flashed his badge to the hostess, whispering something in her ear that made her smirk back at him. She had led us to a booth in the far corner of the bar, backing up to the kitchens. The TV screens were all blaring various sports channels. The one closest to our heads announced the Buffalo Bills’ newest draft pick, and that seemed to enrage the people nearby.
Pullman kept quiet while we sat down, speaking only to give the perky waitress our drink orders.
“Just a Diet Coke for me,” he said, flashing her a more genuine smile than I’d ever seen him wear around me or my family. The waitress blushed. Out of the context of an interrogation room, I guessed he was a little cute.
“And you?” she asked, turning to me.
“Tequila and soda,” I told her, flashing Pullman a dirty look. If he expected me to talk about this, in a chain restaurant of all places, I would need alcohol, and lots of it.
When she returned with the drinks, I grabbed mine, taking a grateful sip. The cheap alcohol burned, but it was comforting and the glass gave me something to do with my hands.
Pullman watched me, a dazed expression on his face, lips parted, eyes focused. For half a second, I caught his eyes drifting down to my chest. The tank top I was wearing was tight and low cut, meant to entrap Bradley.
It was at that moment that I knew Detective Pullman wanted to sleep with me. He wouldn’t, of course. It was a conflict of interest, and he half thought I was clinically insane, but the desire was there. If we had met randomly in a bar, he would have been all over me, and we both knew it. I wondered what he would be like in bed. I’d never been with a cop, but one of the women in my writing circle had. “Copaganda romance,” as she called it, sold well. Cop characters were firm and strong and knew what they were doing. She’d slept with a few NYPD officers over the years, “all in the guise of research,” she’d said coyly, but also confided that she’d found herself disappointed. Most of them had small dicks and only ever wanted to do it doggy-style. I stared back at Detective Pullman and wondered if that was how he would be.
He was waiting for me to speak. I didn’t take the bait.
“Do you want to tell me why you were at Bradley Myers’s house?” he finally asked.
“I want to know whyyouwere there,” I said, genuinely curious at how Bradley had gotten on his radar.
“I received a call from Victoria Hopely this evening,” he said, as my lips wrapped around my straw again. He focused on them momentarily before continuing. “She told me that she was concerned about a potential connection between Hazel’s disappearance and Alex’s murder. She informed me that Bradley Myers and Alex were sleeping together before she was killed and that I should investigate him. As a suspect in Alex’s murder.”
Despite myself, I was shocked that Victoria had felt strongly enough about Will’s potential innocence that she would formally suggest the cops look into someone else.
“Good,” I said, not clueing Pullman in on this. “You finally decided to do your job.”
Pullman ignored my jibe. “She also told me that she told you the same thing and was concerned you might enact some vigilante justice on him if I didn’t get there first.” I pursed my lips and he cracked a slight smile, knowing he was right. “After what you told me about Hazel looking into all of this, I figured she was probably right.”
I tried very hard not to give anything away with my face.
