“I’m standing over Alvarado’s corpse.”
Instantly, I sobered. “Shit. When?”
“Coroner is checking into it. Shot in the back of the head. No murder weapon found. No weapons here of any kind. Unless the killer took it with him, this won’t be a self-defense case.”
“Hang on,” I said, watching Peter adjust his clothes. “Peter, does Iss have a gun?”
“Iss didn’t like guns,” Peter replied. Didn’t? Iss didn’t like guns?
Realizing his mistake the moment the words are out, slowly he raised his eyes to meet mine. “It’s not what you think.”
Fuck!
Chapter Nine
Austin Glass-Fuckup of the Year
“It’s not what you think,” Peter said, but my heart had seemed to stop. My fist was tight enough that I worried the phone would crack and my breathing was so labored, it was half a minute before I could speak.
“Did you get that?” I asked Luis, impressed by how calm I sounded.
“Yeah, I got it. It’s not enough to bring him in.”
Peter began reaching into his pocket. I stopped his hands with a gentle touch. “I need you to keep your hands where I can see them.”
Luis said something, but I was too focused on Peter, whose fingers hovered at the waistband of his jeans. My heart was pounding, had been the whole time, but I was now aware of the skips in its beat.
“I just need to call Cai, okay? That’s all.”
I kept the phone connected, so Luis could hear in case something happened, but I placed it on the toilet paper dispenser. Shaking with fear and anger, I raised both hands in what I intended as a calming gesture, keeping my face placid. “Peter, I’m going to take you down if you reach for your pocket.”
“Am I under arrest?” His jaw clenched and vibrated, genuine dread shining in his eyes.
”Not yet.” Using the past tense when speaking about someone wasn’t probable cause. And it wasn’t even him saying ‘didn’t’ instead of doesn’t. It was the slow way his eyes came up to mine. That was when I realized his mistake wasn’t just an accident of phrasing. Thus far, nothing connected Peter directly. It was only that one word that could be explained away by even the most incompetent of lawyers. I didn’t have reasonable suspicion. Suspicion, yes, but not the type that would convince a judge.
Watching his lips part to expel a jagged breath, I recalled how good they felt when he pressed them against my skin. My throat constricted, a ball of humiliation pushing upwards from my stomach. My mouth still stung from his kiss. The attraction still hovering between us made me sick. All his lies, his manipulations, the hostility, the teasing, and I still wanted him.
“Then, I’m free to go?” He glanced at my cell.
I rapidly searched my memory for any reason to arrest him that didn’t involve me outing myself as his potential lover, or worse still—as someone who bought his services. Something minor would work. However, my only thought was that twenty minutes ago I finally figured out why I was so obsessed with this man; was finally able to view my attraction to him objectively.
Two Epiphanies in Less Than An Hour. I’m On A Roll.
Staring at Peter’s defiant gaze, I still felt the impulse to protect him, but my new found clarity was enough to stifle those urges.
I snatched up my phone off the dispenser. “Tell me there’s a witness.” Who didn’t see Peter or anyone like him.
“Unconfirmed. We’re still canvasing,” Luis answered. “But there’s a tentative time of death. Neighbor thought he heard the gunshot between eleven and eleven thirty last night. M.E. says that’s consistent with his findings. Body’s in rigor, but the heat is playing with body temp. He can’t confirm better than ‘between eight and thirty-six hours’.”
“Naturally, the neighbors called 911,” I said sardonically.
“One,” Luis replied with a combination cough/laugh. One person had called. That narrowed time of death only if the neighbor could definitively identify the sound as a gunshot. I could ask Peter for an alibi for the last thirty-six hours, and he could mention to me that I was part of his answer. Or, and this was more likely, he’d lawyer up. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure if I could account for my own whereabouts for the last thirty-six hours. No question I asked him would make things better right now.
“Let him walk. We can bring him in later if we get something more from forensics,” Luis said. I murmured my agreement and hung up.
“You’re free to go,” I told Peter reluctantly.
Nearly a week had gone by since I witnessed Peter’s current expression, that sad little smile while he stared at the floor. I now saw it as an aim to draw my sympathy. He pulled the door to the stall open, brushing his hand against mine in the process. It was enough to send my blood rocketing through my body again, but I gave nothing of my reaction away, not even acknowledgment of the touch.