Liz walked back into the boardroom, and I couldn’t hide my smirk as she unknowingly cut him off again.
“Officer?” I asked him.
“Can you tell me everything about that night, please? Your whereabouts, your interactions, and your comings and goings.”
“My comings and goings?” I asked as I took a sip of fresh coffee and saw his fists clench in irritation. With ease, I ran through my day of herincident, and then my evening.
“So you saw the tires?”
“I did,” I told him.
“How deep were the cuts?”
“Deep enough to let the air out,” I deadpanned.
“And do you think it was appropriate to leave Ms. Balan alone after such a violent attack?”
“Have you met her?” I asked him as I pushed my seat out and turned sideways in my chair, crossing my legs.
“I don’t understand,” he said as he sent a questioning look to Angel.
“Angel is more than capable of defending herself, should she need it.”
“You don’t think she needs defending?” the female officer asked me, and I pretended to think about it.
“Depends on my mood,” I told her seriously.
“Where were you when the tires were slashed?”
“As I don’t know when that was, I was either in my office or at Thai Palace getting my dinner.”
When he went to speak again, I cut him off. “Let’s save some time. It’s not me. I have no interest in harming Angel. I also don’t make threats.”
“What’s your sexual history with Ms. Balan?” he asked me suddenly. Trying to shock me? Shock her? He had no idea who I was.
“Spicy,” I told him with confidence. “I don’t think you’d do well; you’re probably a little vanilla for her flavor.”
“Onyx . . .” Angel protested.
“What?” I turned to her. “You’re vanilla now?” I asked curiously.
“Don’t be a dick,” she whispered furiously.
“Did you send Ms. Balan flowers?”
“No,” I scoffed as I looked at them both. They were both eyeballing me as if they knew something I didn’t. Angel was looking at her hands. “Explain.”
“I received dead flowers,” she said. “And a card.”
“What did it say?”
“Maybe you could tell us?” the male officer quipped.
I ignored him. “What did it say?” I asked her again.
“‘Everything beautiful dies,’” her voice was barely a whisper.
“Is that a threat? Or a statement of fact?” I mused.
