“Yeah… he cut across the dog park.”
Of course he did. Maybe if the asshole had been followed immediately, we’d have a chance, but it’d already been twelve hours, and with everyone walking their dog… any shred of evidence would’ve been destroyed.
It didn’t look promising.
“Well, Mr. Warren…” Nettles tossed Bishop a set of keys. “Look familiar?”
Bishop’s hands stilled the moment they closed around them. “My keys? Yeah?—”
“Nifty little decoration you’ve got there, don’t you think so, Locke?”
I glanced to the keys and spotted what Nettles was getting at.
A fucking black feather.
Nettles then slid a small evidence bag across the table.Inside? One of the little black feathers found on the victims.
Shit.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—! Hold on!” Bishop pushed back from the table and dropped his keys. “You’re trying to connect me to the rape and murder of the Midwest Girls? Nah-uh! I didn’t do it. Not me.”
“Mind explaining this then?” Nettles picked up the keys and jangled them in his face—prick.
“My niece went to a RenFest and got me a souvenir…two years ago.”
“Any way you can prove that, Mr. Warren?”
“Other than you giving my sister a call? No.”
“Bishop, you’ve gotta give us something.” I practically begged. “I can’t help if I don’t have anything to go off of. Why were you walking that block? You live on the other side of town, and the hospital was ten blocks in the wrong direction.”
“I’m seeing someone. I was going to surprise them after work.”
“Okay. We’re going to need their name, address, and number to verify.”
“Fine, but they didn’t know I was coming.”
“That’s alright. If you’re innocent—which you are.” I shot a look to the captain. “It will all work out.”
“That may be. He’s not going anywhere until his story clears.” Nettles clamped his jaw tight, so tight I could see the muscles work, signaling that he’d made up his mind, and unless we could produce some solid evidence against his theory, Bishop was going down for another man’s crimes.
Maggie
The click of the shutter closing inside Padme’s camera was the only thing keeping me present. Otherwise I would’ve faded off dreaming of someplace in the sun to curl up with Graham. No sex. Just snuggles. Just us. Just drinking in one another—okay yeah, maybe Chester would be in Graham’s other arm, basking in the warmth of the sun and bulging biceps larger than my head, but it would be beautiful… comfortable… home.
Besides, I didn’t feel sexy enough right now to evenenjoy taking these slutty pictures Hunter demanded. The hair and makeup didn’t help. Neither did the expensive lingerie Hunter bought for me. It looked like linguine noodles doused in glitter and hopeful expectations, covered up by a pink sheer babydoll nighty with a fuzzy trim. I felt like a Playboy bunny—which wasn’t far from the truth. Only I was aViceGirl—aPretty Thing. Stupid condescending nickname. The ones that had aged out of the limelight and now were only riding on the fact that the boss still liked fucking them.
I straddled myself over the arm of the couch in the Great Room, coyly looking over my shoulder and biting my finger, the way Hunter liked, the way I hated. At least when I’d make my own videos, when Hunter’d leave me to my own devices—literally—I was free. No direction, no hair and makeup, no putting on a big show for the people… just me, my toys, and the fantasy that the one man I wanted actually wanted me back.
“Look this way, Maggie,” Padme said from between the big studio lights either side of her. “Chin down… to the left.”
Those goddamn lights were blinding. I could barely keep my eyes open, and a migraine was already brewing behind my temples—the kind that only resolved itself with copious amounts of alcohol and a warm bath away from everyone.
“Just a few more, Miss Maxwell,and we’ll get out of your gorgeous hair,” Padme’s flamboyant assistant, Ernesto, chimed. “Mr. Devereaux would like you to spread them for the centerfold.” He pointed to my thighs. “Maybe part your lips a little. You know… give the readers a good tease.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think so. They want my pussy, they can visit the site.”
“But Miss Maxwell, Mr. Devereaux strictly said?—”
