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Taking his time, he walked out of the kitchen and into the great room. I turned to face him but kept my back to the counter.
“Eddie Nickel, you are under arrest for the murder of Erin Mills.”
He laughed, this time a full, real one. “You’re arresting me? A woman.”
I knew the signs. Knew how he talked. Baiting me to get angry, to prove his point and then turn it around on me as being my fault. A narcissist and a sociopath.
“We can wait for the male members of the Cutthroat police to show up. That won’t change the charges. Or this.” I pulled my small recorder I used for when I interviewed people and needed to listen again or share it with others, like Nix. In this case I wanted insurance that while a confession might be collected outside of the regular channels, I had something.
“Ironic, isn’t it? You being recorded without knowing? How’s it feel?”
He cocked his head to the side, studied me. Then the real Eddie Nickel came out, approaching me with a speed that was surprising. “If it’s being recorded, then one more for old times’ sake. Fucking the detective on the case might just get me off.” The grin he gave me was pure evil. “In more ways than one.”
Before I could do more than move to the right, he grabbed the back of my neck and yanked, pulling me into him. His body was hard, sturdy, his grip strong. Hot breath fanned my face as he glared down at me. Fingers dug into my skin, and his grip was ruthless. “My lawyers will have you painted the slut, asking for it. Begging to be with Eddie Nickel. Conflict of interest wanting my dick, taking the evidence for a ride. The case will be dismissed.”
I intentionally raised my knee slowly so he’d sense what I was going to do. He turned his hips to shield his groin, and I only kneed him in the thigh. He grinned, thinking he’d bested me. Then I dropped my weight and brought my heel down on top of his foot.
Like most Montanans in the winter, he’d left his shoes in a mudroom, closet or near an outside door so as not to
track snow and mud around the house. Eddie Nickel was only wearing socks. And since I was a guest, I’d kept my boots on. Also like most Montanans, I wore sturdy leather boots with solid heels. The boots could be worn anywhere—in a stable, on the back of a horse or even in the house of a murderer.
His hold on my neck dropped, and he howled in pain as he bent at the waist. Stepping to the left, I pivoted, hooking his wrist and wrapping it around behind him. The move was just like what I’d done to Finch, but this time I wasn’t gentle. I wrenched his arm so his shoulder was just shy of coming out of the socket and forced him to the floor.
I leaned in toward his ear, my hand on his wrist, my knee jammed into his spine and all my weight on him. His face was turned to the side, and he didn’t look confident any longer. “Remember this moment, asshole. And by the way,” I said, pressing even harder into his back. “I do like it on top.”
The front door burst open. In came Finch—out of breath and eyes wild—and he watched as I grabbed my handcuffs from the holder on my belt and slapped them on Eddie Nickel.
Finch set his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. I watched as his shoulders dropped. He grinned. “Sugar, glad as fuck you’re wearing clothes this time.”
14
SHANE
My father was in jail for murdering Erin Mills. With the camera and memory card evidence, other charges would pile up. Sex with a minor. Voyeurism. I had a feeling that wasn’t all. It sickened me to think of all that he’d done, that he’d been evil to more than just me and Poppy.
“You okay?” I asked my sister.
We were at the diner, and she sat across from me. It was after the dinner rush, so there weren’t many in the place. The scent of fries filled the air, but I wasn’t hungry. She’d been stirring her coffee for the past five minutes, but I wasn’t going to comment. Looking up, she gave me a small smile. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” I repeated. I was totally okay with him being in jail. He belonged there for what he’d done to us alone. But it would take me a while to get my head around the extent of his… evil. He truly was evil. The number of women he’d hurt, knowingly and unknowingly. They’d all be identified, then notified of what had been done to them.
Eve sat next to me, Finch on her other side. Right where she belonged.
Nix and I got to my father’s house about two minutes after Finch. Nix had broken most land speed records to get there. Eve had been fine—she’d taken care of my father all by herself—while Finch had looked like he’d aged five years. I knew exactly how he felt.
My father had been transported to the station in one of the backup cars and processed. I hadn’t said a word to him, could barely look his way as he’d been dragged off. Nix had collected the camera and memory cards from Erin’s car and brought them into my father’s house. While we’d figured there wouldn’t be any videos of us with Eve on the camera since it hadn’t been turned on, we’d confirmed that before he stuck it all in an evidence bag and took it to the station.
I’d driven Eve in her car back to town. I wasn’t letting her out of my sight. Nix and Finch followed in their own vehicles. The station was in chaos when we arrived. Everyone was put on the Mills case. One crew was sent to Eddie Nickel’s house to look for evidence. Another crew was sent to mine to tackle my bedroom where all the filming had occurred. Finch and I had been questioned by the chief himself, since it was all hands on deck, taking our statements and having us sign off on them. Only then were we free to go, although we didn’t go anywhere. No fucking way were we leaving Eve.
I’d wanted to spank her ass for going to my father’s place alone, but I was too fucking relieved to find her unharmed. Once Eve was done with her work for the day, we’d called Poppy to meet her at the diner. This wasn’t information to give over the phone, and I didn’t want her to be alone when she learned the truth.
After we laid it all out for her, she didn’t even cry. Barely blinked, although I knew she was stunned. It was going to take a while to process. The mayor had a news conference scheduled for eight, and that meant the media would go nuts. They’d descend on Cutthroat like buzzards on a carcass.
“I’m going to go away. Leave Cutthroat for a while,” Poppy finally said. We looked to her, waited for her to say more. “I can’t handle the media.”
She’d been thinking the same as me.
I nodded. “Good idea.”
