“Sure.” His grin widens.

“A silent ride home.”

“Damn.”

If life were simple, I wouldn’t have a job.

That’s the conclusion I’ve come to this morning after calling two poor, cheated-on spouses and asking them to come in for their answers. That’s also the conclusion I’ve come to as I’ve thrown this murder case file in the trash three times and picked it up every time.

If it were simple, I’d know who the killer was. I’d know why these people were killed—and, in Portia’s case, almost killed. If it were simple, I’d know the who, what, where, why, and when of every single detail.

If it were simple, I wouldn’t see Drake’s eyes every time I close mine.

I slap my cheek for what feels like the tenth time in the last hour and attempt to focus on the file in front of me. It’s entirely useless though. My mind is filled with the craziness of last night, the revelation about Marshall, and the fact Nonna has called an impromptu family dinner in approximately four hours to discuss my date last night.

My date that ended up with me being kissed by another man.

Yeah. It’s no wonder I’m single.

I drop my head to my desk and rest my cheek against the cold surface, facing the park. Sometimes, I miss Dallas. Small-town blood runs through my veins, but I miss the electric life of cities. I miss the anonymity that comes with living in an apartment block bigger than the town center and not knowing every single person you pass on the street.

I miss the huge police force and the fact it was incredibly easy to avoid my ex-boyfriend after we broke up. It was also really easy to avoid him after the time we slept together after we’d broken up. It was even easier to avoid the rookie officer I found him shacking up with after we’d broken up for a second time.

Actually, she is the reason we broke up for the second time.

There, I could go somewhere and be left alone. I could disappear for however long I needed—work hours not included in that—and just breathe and live and fall into silence. I could switch the world off and allow my mind to go over whatever case I was working on. I could sit and just think until I came through with a thought that could change everything.

Here in Holly Woods, it’s an impossibility. If my staff doesn’t need me, it’s the police, and if isn’t the police, it’s my family. If I turn my phone off, they come to my office or house, and if I try to hide in Austin, they send out a goddamned search party.

Just once, I’d like to be able to disappear and allow the hive that is my mind to breathe.

The case and the deaths and the attempted death and the suspects and the lies and the truths and the unanswered questions—they don’t connect in any way. Usually, serial killers, like I can assume this person is, have a strict plan. Their MO doesn’t change and they aren’t afraid of being caught. They’re methodical and almost OCD in their actions. But this guy isn’t.

Why did Portia suspect she was being poisoned? Hemlock is a fast-acting poison. She’s lucky she caught it before her throat swelled.

Why was Daniel caught in the aftermath of Lena’s death? Was it a coincidental act because he saw who the killer was when they intercepted his delivery of her salad?

Why was Lena killed? Did her multiple lives finally catch up with her?

The ridiculous lack of DNA is the biggest hindrance we have. There’s nothing to connect anything in any kind of way. Only the manner of death and the placement of their bodies.

If Portia had been killed, where would her body have been placed? In my shed? My house?

And if I’m really right and I’m the one single thread holding all three victims together, then I need to carry my gun with a bullet in the chamber all the time.

“Why,” I say as my office door opens after one single knock, “would Portia be targeted? What’s her connection to Lena and Daniel?”

“She has a thing for younger men.” Devin answers smoothly, closing the door. “She and Daniel had a previous relationship several months ago.”

“Huh.” I lick my lips, still staring out the window despite the ache in my back. “And Lena and Daniel?”

“You know it.”

“So she was married to Ryan but seeing Daniel. Ryan’s fears were entirely justified, it seems.”

“As the story goes.” He hits the cushion before he sits down. “It wasn’t a new thing. Lena and Daniel were in a very open, very happy, very private relationship. Had been for a number of years.”

Slowly, I move to sit upright, looking at him. “So, what are you sayin’? Are we looking at a lover? Past or current? Someone angry with their relationship?”

“Like Ryan?” He raises his eyebrows. “Yes.”

I flip through my call log and hit Ryan’s name, tapping the speaker button as the call connects. “Ryan. I need you to answer something for me.”

He hesitates, before he says, “What is it?”

“Did you know that Lena and Daniel were in a relationship?” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Ryan?”

“Yes.” His voice is thicker than it was a moment ago, and I swallow at the thought that he’s crying, because the single word was packed more emotion that I’d thought were possible. “Yeah, I knew. How could I not? They spent so much time together. They were more than friends.”

“So, why did you marry her?”

“She said yes. She never backed out. I thought that maybe, if we were married, she would learn to love me more. That I’d be enough for her.”

“Oh, Ryan,” I say softly. “But you weren’t.”

“No. I never was. She knew about Penny, you know. She just didn’t know about the baby. I denied that. She didn’t care. She was happy with our relationship. She’d go do her thing with Daniel when she was taking inventory and I’d see Penny. Then we’d come home and fuck each other with our anger and sleep it off.”

“Thank you. That’s all I needed.” I hang up and look at my brother. “What kind of relationship is that, Dev?”

“A seriously fucked-up one,” he replies, leaning back. “But you’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Come again?”

“Drake.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t shit me, Noelle.”

“If I had a relationship that was worthy of conversation with that man, I’d tell you. As it is, I don’t, so can we discuss something that’s worth my time, please?” I shake the annoyance Drake’s name has brought off.

“Jesus, Noelle,” he says, leaning forward onto my desk. “You’re gonna let him treat you the way he did last night and tell me there’s nothing between you?”

Fucking hell, Brody. I’m gonna kill him.

“There isn’t,” I return, my voice steady and harsh. “I had no desire to participate in his…actions…last night. It wasn’t my choice. I didn’t want to sit in on that interview, and I sure as hell did not want that pig to kiss me!”

“Yeah,” Drake says from the doorway. “You did a real good job of pushin’ me away.”

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” I stand, grabbing my desk as though the wooden piece can anchor me to the ground.

He strides across the room, ignoring my brother, and hands me a small, white envelope. “This is my warrant allowing me to access all the information on the files you gave me before the termination of our agreement. Per your request last night.”

I take the envelope from him, swallowing, and force myself to meet his eyes.

Cold. Hard. Unfeeling.

Just like I knew they would be.

“Thank you, Detective. Is that everything?”

“It is. Just remember to call us whenever you find some information that may pertain to our investigation.”

“As I always have.”

“Indeed,” he says coolly. “You have the direct lines to your brothers. You can call them.”

Them. Not me.

“I intended on it.” I inject a dose of indignation into my voice and straighten. “Kindly call ahead next time you drop into my office. I’m a very busy woman.”