Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(50)

Detective Brown says, “We could make you come to the station with us to have a chat.”

“Only if you’re arresting me. Which you’ve already said you’re not.”

Boy, she really doesn’t like me. Her look could peel the paper right off the walls.

“Why would you refuse to cooperate with us if you have nothing to hide?”

“Citizens are under no obligation to speak to the police. Even if they’re accused of a crime. Even if they’re in jail. Am I right?”

She says, “A judge can force you to talk to us.”

I’m pretty sure that’s a stretch, but considering I’m not a constitutional attorney, I don’t know.

Still, we’re playing chicken here.

I won’t blink first.

I say, “I don’t see a judge on my porch. Have a nice day, Detective.”

Heart hammering, I shut the door in their faces. Then I stand there shaking and trying to get control of myself, until I hear Chris’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Nat. Open up. I know you’re standing there.”

“Go away, Chris.”

“I have your purse.”

I freeze in horror.

Oh my god. My purse! I left it at the restaurant!

Don’t panic. You haven’t done anything wrong.

Hurry up and make up a lie anyway.

I open the door and look at him, standing there with my small black clutch in his hand. My mind goes a million miles per hour trying to figure out what to do.

When I don’t say anything, Chris sighs. “Four people were killed last night, Nat. Six others were injured. If you know anything, you really need to talk to the police.”

Detective Brown and Officer O’Donnell are out at the curb by their squad car, watching us talk. I know they sent Chris in because we used to date, and they think he might have a better chance of getting information out of me.

Which makes me wonder what he’s told them about our relationship.

What he thinks about our relationship. Does he actually believe he has some kind of influence over me, the girl he dated for a few weeks last summer who he never even had sex with?

Men.

“I don’t know anything.”

He holds up my purse and stares at me. “Really? So you weren’t at La Cantina last night? This just walked out of your house and showed up at the scene of a crime?”

I get the sense there’s no video of me at the restaurant. That the purse—with my ID and phone inside—is the only thing placing me there. Detective Brown would definitely have used security camera footage as her trump card to scare me into talking, but she didn’t.

Fingers crossed, because although I might not be legally obligated to talk to the police, I have no idea if lying to them is a crime.

Looking Chris in the eye, I say, “I accidentally left that handbag on the counter at the dry cleaners the other day. When I went back for it, it was gone.”

He examines my face in silence for a moment. “You’re telling me that someone stole your purse and kept all your stuff in it when they went out for dinner?”

“I have no idea what happened to it between then and now. May I have it back, please?”

His sigh is heavy. “Nat. Come on. What the heck is going on with you?”

“I’m just trying to get my purse back.”

His voice gains an edge. “Yeah? So you refusing to talk has nothing to do with your neighbor?”

My stomach clenches. I swallow, feeling my hands tremble, wishing I were the kind of person who could lie with confidence. Sloane would’ve already ripped him a new one and kicked him to the curb.

Be Sloane.

I lift my chin, pull back my shoulders, and hold out my hand. “Give me my purse.”

“I knew he was trouble, that guy. You’re too trusting of people, Nat. You need to be more careful.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about. Give me my purse.”

“You don’t know who I’m talking about? Does this ring a bell?”

From inside his jacket pocket, he pulls a folded piece of paper. Tucking my clutch under his arm, he unfolds the paper and hands it to me.

It’s a black-and-white pencil sketch of a man’s head and face. Despite my horror, I have to admit that the resemblance is remarkable.

It’s Kage.

Even in a rough, two-dimensional, hand-drawn sketch, he’s so damn gorgeous, it takes my breath away. If there were an international Hot Felon Contest, he’d win it, hands down.

“That’s a police sketch of one of the suspects in last night’s shooting. A couple of restaurant employees got a good look at him…right before he shot two guys point blank. Does he look familiar to you?”

“No.”

Chris is getting exasperated. He shakes his head, glaring at me. “That’s your next-door neighbor, Nat. The guy who threatened me right here on this very porch.”

I send his glare back to him, tripled. “Oh, you mean when you forced yourself on me as I kept saying no? Yeah, I remember that.”

A Mexican standoff commences. We’re two bandoleros with pistols drawn, facing each other across a dusty corral, neither one willing to run or shoot first.

Finally, he says softly, “Are you fucking him?”