Knowing I couldn’t trust his words, I glanced at the officer escorting me to my study, looking for any sign of an answer on his face.
“No, sir,” the officer said, stopping in front of the dark wood panels. “Detective Reynolds just wants to ask you a few questions.”
And then he opened one of the doors to the study.
My study.
A sickening sensation roiled in the pit of my stomach as I stepped inside, looking around an empty, ransacked room.
No. ‘Ransacked’ wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t like my apartment when that Cartwright guy had torn it apart. That was ransacked. This was done with more precision— cushions were neatly placed to the side of their couch, books were stacked in even towers on the floor, and artifacts had been removed from their cases and then replaced in slightly different configurations.
My study had been the target of a surgical and professional search.
“Sorry about the mess,” a voice said behind me.
I turned to see Reynolds standing in the doorway, his eyes watching me with that same casual gaze I’d seen when we first met.
“You gonna put the books back on the shelves?” I asked.
“No,” he said and stepped into the room. The officer closed the door behind him, leaving the two of us alone. “Our time is valuable.”
“And mine isn’t?” I muttered, glancing back around at the mess. Even the drawers to my desk had been removed and sat in a neat little stack next to a tripod holding a camera.
Reynolds walked past me to sit in my chair, offering me a seat usually reserved for guests. The message wasn’t exactly subtle—he was in charge.
“To be fair,” he continued, “The force has come a long way. Fifteen years ago, you would have had your couch cushions slashed and your desk overturned. We’ve adopted more civilized methods since then.”
I took a seat. “Thanks for saving me the headache then, I guess.”
He leaned his elbows on my desk and folded his hands in front of him. “Right. I suppose now isn’t the best time to buy new furniture.”
The subtle jab at my current financial troubles didn’t go unnoticed.
Reynolds grabbed a small remote and pointed it at the camera on the tripod. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Upton… I just have a few questions.”
“Happy to answer them,” I said, trying to cover up my nervousness.
“Bobbi Nanford,” he said. “How long have you known her?”
“Uh… a little over a year.”
“And where did you meet?”
“We worked together at my last job. Marduke.”
“What was your first impression of her?”
I glanced at the camera and then back at Reynolds, wondering if he’d recorded his interview with Bobbi. He had to have talked to her by now, and what worried me was that I would incriminate myself as soon as I opened my mouth—either by lying when she told the truth, or telling the truth when she lied.
None of us had a chance to speak to each other alone before we were divided. There hadn’t been time to coordinate anything.
The moment Reynolds got off the elevator and entered my living room, he gave us a warrant explicitly stating that he had the authority to search for evidence that I had trafficked or coerced Bobbi into a relationship she didn’t want to be in. Since there wasn’t much I could do, I cooperated; the first thing he did was separate us into different rooms.
It had been roughly forty minutes since I’d been escorted to the dining room to be babysat by one of New York’s finest—just enough time for Reynolds’ men to search my study while he had a long talk with Bobbi.
Since I didn’t know what she’d told him, I opted for as much honesty as possible without incriminating myself.
I shrugged. “She was a bitch.”
Reynolds had just started taking notes and glanced up at me as his pen grew still. He arched an eyebrow. “Strong words.”
“They were strong feelings,” I admitted. “I wasn’t alone, either. Almost everyone in that office hated her.”
He looked back down at his notebook and began scribbling again.
I couldn’t keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Sorry, but what is this really about?”
“I told you. We’re here to do a wellness check on Barbara Nanford.”
“You were just here a week ago, asking me about Rajesh Desai.”
“Your point?” he said without looking at me.
“I’m just wondering if this is really about Bobbi.”
“It’s what it says on the warrant.”
“Have you talked to her?” I couldn’t help asking the question.
He finally looked up from his pad, studying me for five whole seconds.
“I did,” he said.
“So… either she told you that I’m some kind of monster, and you can arrest me, or she told you that there’s nothing weird going on and you can leave, right?”
“It’s not that simple.” He laid his pen down and stood, looking around the room as he placed his hands on his lower back and arched it a little. It made him look at ease, which I assumed was the point. “Testimonies from women in Barbara’s situation only go so far. We look for any other signs that might help tell the whole story.”
He looked back at me. “Barb’s been painting me one heck of a picture, Mr. Upton.”
It was all I could do not to vomit. I imagined Bobbi in an interrogation room spilling the entire scenario—how we came to this little arrangement, the night before she moved in… the whole ordeal with Astrid. I could feel the walls closing in around me and was desperately racking my brain for any way out of this.
Could Reynolds be bought off?
I eyed him, trying to assess whether or not he was one of those crusader types who would weaponize an attempt at bribery.
Or… he could be in Hiro Tanaka’s pocket. Showing up minutes after our conversation seemed a little too coincidental.
Either way… offering a bribe was too much of a risk.
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound like I didn’t care. “If she’s told you everything, then why do you need evidence? Just arrest me and get it over with.”
He sat on the corner of the desk nearest me, looking relaxed while also able to stare down his nose. “Like I said, Mr. Upton. Due diligence.”
Glancing at the phone in my hand, he nodded to it. “Speaking of which, mind handing over your phone?”
He held out his hand expectantly, and I started to hand it to him out of pure instinct. Then I stopped myself—there were texts from Bobbi on my phone… from early on in our relationship. They weren’t the kinds of texts that I wanted someone like Reynolds to see.
There were also pictures to consider. A lot of pictures.
Hell… my phone held a buffet of things that could make even an open-minded person draw certain insinuations about the nature of my relationship with Bobbi.
I slid my phone in my pants pocket. “No thanks.”
“Need I remind you, Mr. Upton, that we have a warrant for this search?”
“Does that include my phone?” I pushed back.
“It extends to anything to do with Barbara Nanford.”
“My phone has nothing to do with ‘Barbara’ Nanford.”
Reynolds smirked. “I think I’ll be the judge of that. Not sure why you wouldn’t want to cooperate, unless there’s something on that phone you don’t want me to see.”
“Dick pics,” I said. “I took them for my girlfriend, but you know how it goes… you send it and forget it. They’re all still on my phone, and I’m shy.”
“Oh,” he said, not sounding like he particularly believed me. “I don’t mind.”
“I want to speak to Helen VanCamp—my attorney.”
“You sure that’s necessary, Mr. Upton? I’m not here to arrest you. I’m not charging you with anything. You get a lawyer involved now, and it just makes you look guilty.”
“Are you refusing me my right to legal representation?”
Reynolds held up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy. I’m just trying to help you out with optics. You want to play hardball, though, then that’s on you.”
He slid off the desk but hesitated. “Last chance to fully cooperate, Mr. Upton.”
“Lawyer.”
“Fine,” Reynolds huffed and headed for the door. I simply stared at my desk, listening to him retreat. The door opened. Then shut.
Now that I was alone, I wanted to launch myself out of the chair and search through my stuff to make sure it was all there… that there wasn’t anything that could be incriminating.
Then I remembered that Reynolds had turned on the camera and hadn’t turned it off before he left. It was still recording. I would have bet a million dollars that it had been intentional—he was a clever son of a bitch.
Instead, I decided to give him nothing besides a recording of me simply staring around the room, looking bored. At least he wouldn’t be able to see my internal screaming.
As someone who had been constantly busy for the last few months—either learning how to manage a portfolio that spanned a global chain network of companies or having sex with incredibly gorgeous women—I found it especially difficult to sit there and do nothing. All I could think about was what Bobbi might have told Reynolds. What if others decided to talk? What if Jessica said anything?
The torment of sitting there, stewing in my own thoughts, lasted for roughly ten minutes before the sound of an opening door pulled me out of my reverie, making me twitch in my seat.
“Mr. Upton,” Reynolds said, coming into view as he stopped by my desk. “I’ve brought your representation.”
The sound of a chair sliding across the office’s rug drew my attention to the welcome sight of Helen as she sat next to me. She offered me a brief smile, but otherwise remained calm and collected, radiating that chilled exterior that was so familiar.
The effect was only slightly spoiled by the fact that she was still wearing her workout attire.
“Now, Mr. Upton, as I was saying—”
Helen interrupted him. “Mr. Reynolds, since my client has requested representation, I would ask that you direct all your questions through to me.”
God bless this blonde angel warrior.
The detective looked annoyed. “Before asking me to get you, I’d requested Mr. Upton’s phone in the spirit of cooperation with my investigation. It might speed up the process.”
“My client declines,” Helen said.
“We have a warrant to search the premises for any signs of abuse.”
“Is my client’s phone specifically named in the warrant?”
“We have reason to believe relevant parties utilized that phone.”
“The warrant covers Ms. Nanford,” Helen countered, “not Mr. Upton or his phone. You’re permitted to search the premises because she resides here. That does not apply to Mr. Upton’s phone. It contains privileged communications and confidential material, and per Riley v. California, speculative access isn’t enough. You don’t get to violate the Fourth Amendment just because the phone has been in a room at the same time as Ms. Nanford.”
Reynolds stared at Helen, his lips compressed into a thin line. “Ms. Nanford’s already told us quite a bit about her situation here. I think it might be in your client’s favor to cooperate with us.”
Helen gave him a brittle smile. “If you have everything you require to file formal charges, then you shouldn’t need my client’s cooperation or any information from his phone. If you do need to access his phone, I suggest you get a warrant specifically for that.”
The silence was tense as Reynolds fixed Helen with a glare.
“I’m curious,” Helen continued, “Have you read Ms. Nanford her rights?”
“She’s not in our custody. She’s free to leave whenever she wants.”
Helen glanced at the camera, which continued to record everything. “I assume you’re recording all our interviews?”
Reynolds nodded.
“And if I were to play back any conversation you had with Ms. Nanford, I wouldn’t see her attempting to leave at any point, in which you implied that she couldn’t?”
The detective didn’t respond.
Helen tsked. “You’re walking a fine line, detective. Please ensure that Ms. Nanford is aware of her rights and that she is allowed to go wherever she wants. If we find that neither of those things has been provided, we will take the New York Police Department to court.”
Jesus Christ… no wonder Helen made the big bucks.
Reynolds looked like he was chewing rusty nails—jaw clenching and unclenching, canted to one side.
“May I have a few moments alone with my client?”
The detective didn’t move.
“Detective Reynolds…”
He shoved off the desk and started toward the door.
“Camera off, please,” Helen called out.
He stopped, turned around, and pointed the remote at the camera.
“Please take it with you,” Helen said.
Without a word, Reynolds stalked to the device, unsapped it from its tripod, and made his way to the door, his stance nowhere near as carefree as when he first entered the office.
The door shut behind him—a little too loudly.
“God,” I breathed.
“Took you long enough,” Helen said.
I balked. “I’m sorry… I’ve never been in trouble with the law like this before, Helen. I was taught to respect the police, so my knee-jerk reaction is to do whatever they say.”
“You need to unlearn that fast. You’re too high-profile to talk to the police without a lawyer present.”
“Noted,” I said. I looked her up and down. Seeing her this way—wearing everyday workout attire—made her feel more approachable… less like a goddess and more human. Sure, I’d seen her without makeup, naked, sweaty, and chest heaving. It was always either that or pristine and professional. Right now, though, she felt more real than ever.
“That was amazing, by the way,” I said.
Her gaze softened, and she actually cracked a warm smile. “Thank you… Sir.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I detected a hint of flirtation behind the ‘Sir.’ I wanted to act on it—to throw her to the floor and show her how impressed I really was by her legal acumen—but dammit… now wasn’t the time or place.
“So, what next, counselor?”
“Well, Bobbi hasn’t given him a smoking gun yet, or he wouldn’t be asking questions right now. That means she’s either not cooperating or she’s weighing her options.”
“You haven’t talked to her yet?”
Helen looked at the door worriedly. “No, and that has me concerned. I assumed she would ask for me, but it might not have occurred to her. I’m hoping Reynolds reads her rights and that she acts on them, requesting me as her lawyer.”
“Has anyone else done that?”
“Erin did it before they even got her to her office. She hasn’t been questioned yet, but I have to be present whenever they do.”
“So, they have every single one of you separated?”
Helen nodded. “More officers arrived to help manage the search and interrogation after we were all escorted out of the living room. I think Reynolds is playing it safe… didn’t want this to become a spectacle.
Chloe’s beside herself. She was about ready to shoot a couple of the officers, but I convinced her to stand down and just wait for everyone in the living room. She’s not happy about it, but she’s smart enough to understand what’s going on.”
“This has to be about the murder, right?” I said. “This isn’t just about Bobbi.”
She glanced around the room. “I agree. This is his attempt to get his foot in the door so that he can hunt for evidence linking you to Rajesh’s death. They’re going through the entire apartment, searching for every room.”
“Every room? Can he do that?”
“Under the pretext of looking for evidence for Bobbi, yes.”
“Even my office? It doesn’t have anything to do with Bobbi. I didn’t think he could just search wherever he wanted.”
“He can, within reason,” Helen said. “Bobbi lives here, and it’s reasonable to assume that she’s been in all these rooms.”
“But not phones?”
“Phones are different—there are private pictures, messages, and financial data stored on them. They have their own special set of rules.”
“So, what do I do while he continues the investigation?”
“The only thing you can do is wait, and not say anything to them without me being present,” Helen said.
I picked up my phone. “I could just text Bobbi.”
My lawyer laid her hand on top of mine. “I wouldn’t do that. Someone’s with her when she’s not there. If everyone starts getting text messages from each other and the police catch on, it could look incredibly suspicious and might even trigger a phone-specific warrant.”
“Helen, I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“Honestly, Marcus, that’s the best thing you can do.” She leaned in and pressed her mouth to mine. There was no tongue… no nuclear makeout session. It was a sweet kiss full of gentle meaning. “Trust the team you’ve put together to work for you,” she murmured against my lips.
I wanted to argue that my team consisted of a hateful bitch and my ex-girlfriend, but I couldn’t think of a legitimately real thing that I could contribute to the situation. She was right. I had to trust that my people knew how to do their job… and that Bobbi and Jess preferred their current lives to the alternative.
Loud knocking on the door made both of us jump, and Helen sat straight in her seat.
“Hurry it up!” Reynolds said from the other side.
My lawyer got to her feet, gave me a smile, and then strode to the door. She opened it, and Reynolds came in with an officer behind him.
“Mr. Upton,” Reynolds said. “If you’d kindly follow Officer Johnson back to the dining room, I’d like to use this space for other interviews, now.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that I would stay here, thank you very much, and that he could find another place to interrogate my people, but a look from Helen encouraged me to keep my mouth shut. It would be a dumb place to draw a line in the sand.
“Of course,” I said, stepping forward to follow the officer out of the study.
As I passed, I threw Reynolds a dirty look. Maybe it was in my best interest to cooperate, but I didn’t have to like it, and I didn’t have to pretend.
***
Friday, September 27th, 6:25 pm
Three hours passed without a word from anyone, and I underwent a test of Herculean self-discipline.
I considered reaching out to Psalter, thinking it was worth the risk of Officer Johnson catching me. Unfortunately, Helen’s warning about texting kept plaguing me, making me fear that she could be right. I didn’t know whether or not they could pick up on signals leaving the house. I wasn’t the most knowledgeable guy when it came to surveillance technology, and I wasn’t sure what the police were capable of.
So, I played a game on my phone, read a few chapters of a book, paced, and tried to have a conversation with Johnson… anything to keep me from texting someone.
Reynolds had been true to his word—I was free to move around… technically.
I didn’t have to stay in the dining room, but when I left to use the bathroom, Officer Johnson followed me. He was practically looking over my shoulder as I peed.
Helen had told me to cooperate, so I did
On my way down the hall, I saw Tara murmuring with a detective in the living room and Erin walking in the opposite direction, escorted by a female officer. We locked eyes briefly as we passed but didn’t speak. She looked calm and composed—the opposite of how I felt.
Once back in the dining room, I scrolled through articles to see what the latest damage was thanks to my feud with Tanaka. It wasn’t good. I eventually set my phone down and fixed a glare on Officer Johnson.
“How much longer is this going to take?” I asked.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“How long does something like this normally take?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that either, sir.”
For a fleeting second, I once again considered bribery, but shrugged it off. It was pointless—the only one worth bribing was Reynolds, and that was too dangerous. Whether he worked for Hiro or was just one of those self-righteous crusaders, he clearly had it out for me. Trying to buy him off would only make matters worse.
The door opened.
“Officer Johnson,” Reynolds said from the threshold, “Miss VanCamp would like to speak with her client privately. Please wait in the hall.”
Johnson stood, nodded once to me, and stepped out.
“Ten minutes,” Reynolds said flatly as Helen stepped in. Once again, he gave us privacy.
I stood immediately. “Thank God. It feels like it’s been four hours.”
“Three,” Helen corrected.
I ignored her precision. “What’s going on?”
“Nearly your entire staff has hired me as their legal representation.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Detective Reynolds is losing patience. He’s accusing me of passing messages to everyone.”
“Are you?”
“Yes,” she said without apology, “but there’s nothing he can do about it. They have the right to counsel, and I happen to be it.”
“Seems like a flimsy excuse to jeopardize his investigation,” I said.
“It is,” Helen admitted, her tone calm but edged. “The only reason I can get away with it is because, despite your current troubles, you’re still one of the most powerful men in the world. Reynolds either has serious backing, or Judge Winthrop—the one who signed the warrant—is one of the ballsiest men to have ever lived. Either way, he’s risking some serious trouble if you ever decide to sue him, so Reynolds has to tread very carefully while he’s here.”
“So this is a weird game of chicken?”
Helen tilted her head slightly. “Crude, but accurate.”
I nodded, then asked the question that mattered most. “Have you talked to Bobbi?”
“I have. I let Reynolds speak to Erin alone in exchange for some time with Bobbi.”
A knot tightened in my chest. “What did she tell them?”
“Nothing.”
I hesitated. “Nothing?”
Helen’s expression softened just enough to show pride. “She’s given them hell. Regardless of how meek she might seem, that fire’s still in there… just under the surface.”
Warmth blossomed in my chest as I felt oddly proud of my little kitten in that moment. I'd been worried for weeks that—between myself, Helen, and Astrid—Bobbi's spirit had been broken. It was good to find out that she was still there, and I couldn't wait to hear what had been said between her and Reynolds.
Oh, to be a fly on that wall…
“We trained her well,” Helen said.
“No,” I said, unwilling to take credit for this. “You trained her well.”
Helen blushed as she gave me a coy smile, looking up at me through her eyelashes. She actually blushed—it was something not often seen from Helen VanCamp.
“Thank you… sir.”
I took a half step forward and placed my hand on her hip. My thumb caressed her bare skin affectionately just under the loose shirt she wore. Her breasts pressed softly to my chest as I drew her in close.
“Thank you.”
The air between us tightened, carrying unspoken and inappropriate thoughts that neither of us intended to voice here. I could feel them, though.
“So,” I said, my voice low, “what happens next?”
Helen’s focus didn’t waver. “Nothing. We wait for the good detective to be satisfied. Once he is, you’ll want to talk to Bobbi. She’s proven her loyalty… to a point.”
“What does that mean?”
“She wants something,” Helen said.
A chill traced down my spine. “What?”
“She wouldn’t say without speaking to both of us,” Helen replied, glancing toward the door to be sure we were still alone. “She tried to make it sound like a demand, but it sounded as if she was trying too hard.”
Her tone darkened slightly. “I told her that, considering everything, we might be in the mood to grant her request. I don't think she realizes that she might be able to make some sort of arrangement with Reynolds for immunity for her other crimes in exchange for turning on you. I… framed it to sound more like a reward for loyalty and less like a payment for extortion.”
I exhaled slowly, then leaned in to brush my lips across Helen’s for a light kiss. “I’m not sure how I could do this without you.”
Helen rewarded me with another pleased little smile.
“So we wait it out until Reynolds runs out of steam?” I asked.
“I believe so. Erin seems to have handled things well—I don’t think anyone has found actual evidence linking you to any wrongdoing.”
“Did I ever have anything incriminating?”
“Regarding Desai’s death?” Helen shook her head. “No. Erin’s been thorough, though. She hid anything that could connect you further to Desai than you already are. She didn’t want anyone getting more ammunition against you than they already had, no matter how circumstantial the evidence.”
The corner of her mouth twitched faintly. “Reynolds looks frustrated… very much so.”
A sharp knock cut through the tension.
“It hasn’t been ten minutes yet!” I called.
The door opened anyway.
Reynolds stepped in, leaning casually against the wall.
I took a step back, instinctively putting a little distance between Helen and me. “Can I help you?”
“I thought you’d want to know,” he said, “we’re starting to wrap things up.”
Helen turned sharply. “So soon?”
“Soon?” Reynolds arched a brow. “It’s been nearly four hours. How much longer did you think this would take?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “According to every woman in this house, you’re a perfect gentleman… might even be a saint. We haven’t found any signs of foul play. Despite what you may think of me, Ms. VanCamp, we’re not here for a witch hunt. We’re just making sure everyone’s being treated fairly and decently.”
Helen studied him for a long moment before replying. “Of course. I understand.”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, “could you walk with me?”
“Me?” she asked.
Reynolds glanced at me, then back at my lawyer. “Unless you’d prefer I speak directly with your client.”
Helen looked at me, then nodded. “Very well.”
As she moved past him toward the hall, Reynolds paused, his gaze landing on me.
“So, am I free to go?” I asked.
His expression was unreadable. “Mr. Upton, you were always free to go. No arrests were made, and no one was charged.”
He held my stare for a moment longer before following Helen out.
“Right,” I muttered.
‘Free to go,’ my ass.
The other two left the study, speaking in low murmurs as they headed down the hallway. I trailed behind them, far enough away that I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Not that it mattered; Helen would fill me in later.
In the living room, Chloe and most of her crew were spread out across the area, impressing on me just how much security was in my apartment—twelve, not including my bodyguard.
Chloe looked like she was about to become unglued and only seemed mildly placated when I gave her a reassuring smile.
Tara, Charity, and Camille were also waiting, appearing in deep conversation as they stood close to each other. All three looked up as I entered—Tara with her usual cool curiosity, Charity with wide-eyed concern, and Camille with that measured, weighing stare she always gave me.
Charity approached first. “Is it over?”
“I think so,” I said, wrapping my arms around her as she stepped into my space for a hug. She fit easily against me, and I caught one of the officers near the elevator sneaking a look at the bikini-clad young woman, giving him a smug look.
“They’re wrapping up,” I said. “Reynolds said they’ll be gone soon.”
Charity slid her arms from around me as she backed up half a step, looked up at me with her big dark brown eyes, and nodded. It was remarkable how cool and confident she seemed when I first met her in the Vegas club—her element. Now that she was in my world, she seemed so innocent. I hoped that I hadn't made a mistake, hiring someone so young to manage PR. I made a mental note to speak with Julia to ensure she wasn’t in over her head.
She opened her mouth to speak, but I pressed a finger gently to my lips and nodded toward the nearby officer. She got the message.
Neither Tara nor Camille spoke, but I could feel questions hanging in the air.
Deciding to look as unbothered as possible, I sank onto the couch. Charity followed my lead, lounging beside me, her head resting in my lap. Tara claimed an overstuffed chair, throwing one leg over one of the arms in a way that suggested ultimate relaxation. Camille gave me a final unreadable glance before disappearing toward the dining room.
I wasn’t the only one watching her leave. Tara’s eyes lingered on that generous ass poured into tight denim. Her taste in women’s posteriors was as refined as mine.
Eventually, Reynolds reappeared, accompanied by Helen at his side and flanked by a small entourage of officers and detectives. The group had nearly tripled since they’d first arrived.
He turned to one of the detectives, giving instructions to send half the team downstairs while the rest finished up. Then he made his way toward me.
“Mr. Upton,” he said, stopping a few feet away to extend his hand. “Thank you for your limited cooperation in this matter. We’ve not seen anything here today to suggest that Miss Nanford is staying against her will.”
I stood up and grasped his hand. “Thank you, Detective Reynolds.”
“Will we receive a copy of the police report?” Helen asked.
“Of course. I’ll have one sent to your office.”
Helen gave him a curt nod. “Thank you. My office is—”
“I know where your office is, Miss VanCamp,” Reynolds said.
He was polite enough, but I could hear the strained tone in his voice that suggested that he was less than pleased to walk out of here without me in handcuffs.
Looking back at me, he continued, “I’ve spoken at length to Miss Nanford. She says that she’s in some kind of ‘open relationship’ with you and that she’s very happy here. I’ve given her my personal phone number and told her that she’s welcome to call me anytime—day or night. I sincerely hope I don’t hear from her.”
“Is that the ‘picture’ Bobbi painted for you?” I asked, referring to earlier when he’d suggested that Bobbi was turning on me.
Reynolds gave me a shameless, self-assured smirk. “You could say that.”
“Going to stop chasing wild geese and get some real police work done now?”
“Easy, Mr. Upton,” the detective said, a sharp edge to his voice. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Sure. Who tipped you off to the possibility that Miss Nanford might be held here against her will?”
“I’m afraid I can’t share that information with you, sir.”
I wanted so badly to tell him to go look into Hiro Tanaka next, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t want to push my luck… not when I looked like I was going to get away without any charges pressed.
Also, starting a fight with the cops when I had a kidnap victim two floors down just seemed stupid.
“I apologize,” I said… not very convincingly.
Reynolds nodded and then gave my living room a casual once-over, spending a little more time gazing out the massive window overlooking the city. I turned to do the same, stepping in to stand beside him.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked.
“It is,” the detective mused. “You have a beautiful home, Mr Upton. I especially liked your playroom. Interesting collection you have going on there.”
My cheeks heated as I fought extreme embarrassment.
Reynolds glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “And your lawyer… Mrs. VanCamp. Lovely woman. Sharp lawyer. I couldn’t help but notice the interesting necklace she was wearing. It looks a little like the thing Barbara’s wearing.”
He let the implication hang in the air as he continued to stare at me. I kept my eyes fixed on the New York scenery, but I could practically feel him boring a hole in me with his gaze.
“I would keep yourself out of trouble if I were you,” he said. “It would be a shame to lose such a nice life…
He glanced back at some of the ladies. “Filled with such lovely people.”
I finally met his gaze, sure that I’d just been threatened. “I’ll do my best.”
If only Reynolds would tell Hiro Tanaka the same thing.
The detective nodded. He gave the room one more look and then turned. By that time, the rest of the detectives had joined him near the elevator.
“We good?” Reynolds asked.
One of the detectives—a blonde in her early thirties—nodded.
And then they called the elevator. Once it arrived, Reynolds got in, turned around, and kept his eyes fixed on me until the doors closed.
The numbers above the doors began to descend. The NYPD was leaving.
I let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I don’t want to go through that again.”
“Can’t imagine why not,” Tara said in her Australian lilt.
“You all did amazing.”
Helen shook her head. “Thank you, but it really came down to you and Bobbi. You both handled yourselves well.”
I caught sight of Erin coming around the corner of the hall, leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed over her chest as if she were almost hugging herself.
“Where is Bobbi?” I asked Helen.
“I last saw her in her room. Want me to go find her?”
“Please,” I said, glancing back at Erin. I could see it now—she looked troubled.
I walked over to her as the other girls started talking amongst themselves.
“Hey,” I said to her. “Good job reacting so fast.”
“Thanks,” she said, looking unconvinced that she deserved it.
“Is everything alright?”
She glanced over at the others and then grabbed my hand and tugged me a few feet down the hall.
“The… detective…”
Erin looked like she’d rather fling herself off a building than finish her sentence.
“What is it, Erin?” I asked, starting to worry.
“We talked in my office. Marcus, he found something. They were doing a sweep of my office. You know… just checking stuff.”
I waited patiently for her to get to it, very aware that Erin rarely had problems articulating her thoughts.
“Marcus, I know where everything is in my office.” She looked genuinely disturbed. “They found something. A little bottle. I’d never seen it before. They claimed it was out in the open, but that’s just not possible. I didn’t see where they got it, but if it had been out in the open, I would have seen it. I… I didn’t see where they got it from, and I was too shocked to say anything until they were gone.”
Unsure of what precisely the issue was, I simply said, “Okay…”
“Marcus, I think someone planted something in my office. I don’t know what it is, but Detective Reynolds has it.”