Shit. I think it went inside my sneaker.

“Testing my fuckin’ patience, Noelle.”

“Ms. Bond, Bond, Noelle… One day, you’ll decide what to call me,” I sigh, setting my bright-blue accessory by my feet on the floor. “Your language is awful, by the way. Are you supposed to swear on duty?”

His response is in the hardening of his eyes.

“Jesus. You need a cupcake. Or sex,” I finish under my breath. Then I flip the file open and let my eyes fall to the words on the page.

As I read through it, I remember everything about the case. Julia, my client, had found some expensive underwear in a bag and expected Ryan to give her it for their anniversary. When he didn’t and her birthday had passed too, she checked, but they were gone. He also worked late three times a week, and with their wedding only three months away, she’d gotten suspicious and hired me.

Obviously, I proved her suspicions. Easily and quickly, too.

“Is it all there?” Drake asks, his eyes still burning into me.

“I think so,” I say hesitantly. “Let me finish.”

The problem with being an ex-cop is that I know the law inside out. I can’t see right now how this file will help solve Lena’s murder. All it’s going to do is add Julia to their suspect list—if she isn’t already there. I mean, this is a great motive to murder Lena. Especially since Ryan used the wedding he’d planned with Julia to marry Lena.

But I also know that I can’t not hand this over to HWPD. Drake is already eying his handcuffs, and despite my jokes, I know he won’t hesitate to use them and make some menial bullshit charge stick to get me out of his way until he’s solved the case.

Still though… “Is Trent in his office?”

“Have you finished?”

“Yes. He helped me out a little on this and I need to speak to him about something.”

Drake’s eyes narrow. “He should be there.”

Bingo.

HWPD can have my file—because I want something, too.

I run down the hall to Trent’s office. Well, I teeter, because no one can run in heels.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Drake thunders after me.

Trent opens his door and groans. “What are you doing here?”

“I have evidence.” I slip past him and flatten myself against the wall. “Could give you a suspect.”

“Hand me the fucking file, Noelle Bond,” Drake growls.

In my most immature move for a while, I shove the file up the front of my shirt and look at my brother. “You want the file?”

“Noelle, don’t fuck around,” Trent warns.

“You can have it. But I want the autopsy report.”

“You know I can’t—”

“And I’ll babysit. On a weekend. Twice.” Jesus, this is an expensive autopsy report.

“Or we could get a warrant.” Drake’s anger is vibrating through the room.

“You could,” I reason, “but everyone knows Judge Barnes plays golf on a Sunday and doesn’t have his phone anywhere on his person. So you couldn’t get one until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, because tomorrow morning, he’s in court with the guy I busted for dealing drugs last month.”

That was a fun case. My client had thought her boyfriend was cheating, but he was running a drug-dealing business. Apparently, HWPD hadn’t been able to solve it and I stumbled on it by accident.

“The same guy your colleagues couldn’t identify,” I remind them smugly. “So you can wait twenty-four hours and miss a lead, or you could just hand me that report and have it right now.”

If Drake’s eyes could kill, I’d be ashes on the carpet right about now.

“Fine,” Trent sighs. “Fine. You can have the report.”

“Great. You get it while I copy this.”

“Copy it? Trent, do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Drake looks between us. “You can’t seriously be giving her the report.”

“My clients’ files are confidential. Did I forget to mention you need more than a simple warrant to get them?” I smirk over my shoulder.

“Noelle, I’m going to seriously arrest you one day.”

“Again with the cuffs.” I walk across Trent’s office and start up the copier. One by one, I photocopy every page of the report and compile them in order.

“Here,” Trent says, handing me several sheets of paper attached together by a clip. “Complete autopsy report.”

“Complete report on the infidelity case.” We switch at the same time, and I scan the cause of death. “She was poisoned?”

“It was likely what weakened her for the killer to torture her,” Drake says softly, but there’s still a sharp edge to his voice.

Hemlock poison.

“And she wasn’t raped?” I look up from the paper.

He shakes his head. “No sign of sexual activity at all.”

“So, why the mutilation of her breasts? And her…lady parts.”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

I swallow. Jesus—I didn’t even deal with murders like this in Dallas when I was a rookie officer in homicide. I quit before I made it to detective.

The irony that I’m now technically one doesn’t escape me.

“Okay. I’m going to take this back to the office. Thanks.” I tuck the autopsy report into the Perkins file and hug them to my chest.

At least, I’m taking them back to the office after I’ve spoken to Julia.

“Nothing! She has an alibi. She was working, and she showed me a picture of the roster to prove it. Whoever killed Lena, it wasn’t Julia in a fit of jealous rage.”

Bekah licks frosting from the side of her hand. “Do you think Drake will be pissed that you gave him a dead-end suspect and got a crap ton of info out of them?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Probably. He’s always pissed at me, so I don’t see how it makes a difference. I’m just going to have to get my information through Brody now. Maybe Devin, but that’ll be tough because he’s not working the case.”

“Kinda sucks that Julia has an alibi.”

“You wanted her to be the killer?”

“Well, no. I like her. It would just be easier, right?” Bek drums her fingers against the desk.

“Yeah. She was the perfect suspect. She has the best and only motive I know of right now, but also an ironclad alibi. I asked her boss after she’d left and she didn’t leave during her shift.”

“Not even for a minute?”

“Nope. So I can cross her off my board.” I reach behind me and put a big, red cross through Julia’s name. “Which leaves Dean, Mike, and Marshall. Oh, and Grecia.”

“Are you kidding? Grecia has only just mastered lifting the kettle. She’s not strong enough to kill someone. She’s, like, five foot one and ninety pounds of taco and quesadilla.”

“She can slam a door like nobody’s business though.” I sigh and conference-call everyone.

A chorus of hellos rings out.

“Can y’all come into my office now?”

A second chorus, this time of yeses, and I hang up.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting everyone’s alibis. The good Detective Nash and my brother didn’t share those. Come in!” I call to them at the knock on my door. When everyone’s inside, I take a deep breath. “I need y’all to tell me where you were at the time of Lena’s death and the time she was deposited in the Dumpster. Dean?”

“I was at home with Emily when she died, and I found her when I came back from the store,” he answers.

“And your wife can verify it? So can the store?”

“Well, sure, Miss Noelle. I saw your brother’s wife at the store with their youngest.”

Okay. He’s good. Alison will confirm that with a quick text message.

“Thanks. Mike?”

“I was at home when she was killed and out working a case when she was left here,” he replies, his eye twitching.

“Alone? Both times?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. Grecia?”

She sniffs. “I was here. Eating lunch in my office and watching a sitcom.”

“Did you buy lunch out someplace?” I glance at Bekah, who’s writing everything down.

“Chuy’s. And the manager was in there, so he can confirm I was there.”