“Can I help you?” the woman behind the partition asked me. She had a short blonde bob and was wearing a very chic pair of horn-rimmed glasses. I wished I could pull off glasses like that, but you had to be a very particular kind of person, usually a hipster. Which I most definitely wasn’t.
“Yes, I’m here with Noah Cutler. I mean, I’m supposed to be meeting him and his team here.”
“Mr. Cutler hasn’t arrived yet,” the woman said. “But you can have a seat over-”
But before she could finish her sentence, the door to the precinct went flying open and Noah came storming in, a harried-looking Professor Worthington trailing behind him. Neither of them even looked at me.
Instead, Noah marched right up to the receptionist.
“I’m here to see Detective Rake,” Noah said. He was wearing a long grey coat over expensive-looking black pants. His hair was freshly styled, his face smoother than it had been when I’d seen him earlier. He must have shaved. He looked like he was about to go to a magazine shoot, not be questioned in a murder.
“Of course, Mr. Cutler,” the receptionist said without even asking Noah’s name. She must have been expecting him, or maybe she knew who he was from his reputation as a lawyer. She picked up a phone and pushed a button. “Detective Rake, Noah Cutler and his lawyer are here.” She replaced the receiver. “He’ll be with you in just a moment.”
Noah didn’t reply, instead heading back toward the front door and pacing angrily. The receptionist was watching him, her gaze moving over his body, his face, and her eyes caught mine. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head at me, and I knew what was trying to convey – wow, he’s hot.
I thought about giving a slight shake of my head to indicate I didn’t agree, but there’s no way she would have believed it. So I nodded my ascent. There really was no way around it – Noah was beautiful. Even this receptionist, who knew he was here to be questioned about a murder, was acknowledging it.
“I’m not waiting more than two minutes,” Noah growled as he paced around the lobby.
“Noah,” Professor Worthington said, shaking his head. “You need to calm down. We can’t have you being questioned while you’re in an emotional state. You need to seem like you have a cool head about you, you can’t come across as defensive, or …”
“Fuck that,” Noah said. He pulled his gloves of angrily and shoved them into the pocket of his coat. “This is bullshit, making me come down here, and you know it.”
“It’s a show of good faith,” Worthington said. “You need to show that you’re playing by the rules. I don’t like it, and you don’t like it, but that’s how it is. That’s what you would tell a client, and you know it.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Noah said. “If I were my own client, I’d say the police can go fuck themselves, and if they want to question you, they can come to your apartment.”
Worthington sighed. “Noah, you hired me because you trust me. Now you have to listen.”
Noah shook his head angrily and continued pacing around the lobby.
So far, neither he nor Worthington had even acknowledged my presence.
“Oh,” Worthington said finally when he saw me standing there. “Charlotte. Good. You’re here.”
Noah still didn’t look at me.
“Yes, I’m here,” I said. I held up the fresh notebook I’d grabbed from my stash on the way out the door. “I’m ready to work.”
“Good,” Professor Worthington said. He pulled a manila file folder out of his bag and handed it to me. “This is some preliminary information about the case. It’s very bare bones, and in the coming days I’m going to need you to start fleshing it out. I would appreciate your discretion in this matter, Charlotte. You’ll be working directly under me, and so you’ll be bound under the same rules of attorney/client confidentiality as I am.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Why the hell are they making us wait?” Noah raged.
“Noah,” Worthington said. “I’m sure they’ll be –”
Just then, the receptionist slid back the partition and poked her head out. “Detective Rake will see you now,” she said, her eyes never leaving Noah. “You can head back. It’s through the double doors, third door on the left.”
“It’s about damn time,” Noah said.
He pushed through the doors, Worthington hot on his heels.
I took a deep breath and followed them.
***
They put us in an interrogation room. It was just like the kind of room you’d see on TV, only slightly nicer. There was an oak desk in the middle, with a couple of chairs in front of it, and one behind it. There was a futon against the wall, folded up into couch position, the mattress covered with an eggplant-colored cushion cover.