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“Theodore to you. Always Theodore.” His thumbs caress my cheeks twice before he sits back in his seat, the action abrupt while creating a bit of space between us. My lips part, the question sitting on the tip of my tongue. “After. Ask me after.”
I nod, even though he makes no sense.
“Miss Moore,” a male voice calls out before tapping twice on my room door, and my gaze turns to him. He steps inside without prompting, without explaining why he’s here, and when he notices my fingers about to press over the red button for the nurse, the stranger whips out a badge. “I’m here to talk about what happened—”
I cut him off by holding a hand up. “First, I’d like your name, that of your precinct, and under what guise you are here. If you are here to get my account, you are more than welcome to stay, but if I’m being suspected of any wrongdoing, then it can wait until I am discharged and in better form to withstand your line of questioning.”
Where my sudden bout of confidence comes from, I don’t know or question it. And while I’m guiding myself based on crime shows watched with a bit of common sense mixed in after having had a panic attack years ago—the doctor then demanding I avoid stressful situations—I wait for his reply. I doubt he’s taking kindly to my demands, his pinched face telling me as much, but I won’t back down. Something has to give after the hellish crap I just lived through.
“That isn’t up to you.” The tone isn’t one of warm regard while his posture is a bit threatening. “You are the last person to see Mr. Roy alive and—”
“That is a lie and we both know it.” Theodore places a hand on the bed right beside my own, not touching me but leaning forward. His expression is hard, eyes narrowed on the detective who’s yet to introduce himself. “Now, answer her questions and state your business. This will be her call on how you proceed, and if you want to test that theory, be my guest. The doctor can have you escorted out, citing unneeded duress being placed upon his patient and you’ll have to abide by the penal code which ties your hands on all accounts.”
“Who are you to interfere with a—”
“Theodore Astor.”
The man swallows hard, his face losing a bit of color while taking a step back. “I didn’t come here to create a problem for her. I’m just doing my job, nothing more.”
“Then answer her questions.”
My fingers drum against his hand to gain his attention. “Thank you.”
The anger of a few seconds ago vanishes the moment our eyes meet. His face softens, and a small smile curls his lips. “Never thank me for taking care of you.”
“I can, and I will.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” In that moment, everything disappears and all noises stop. I’m trapped in his stare, in the small flutter of butterflies in my stomach and how the tips of my fingers tingle from where I tapped his hand. Why does he affect me so? I’ve never been a prude, but no man has ever made me want the things Theodore does.
I’ve never wanted a man to claim my virginity. To touch me.
A throat clears then, and I feel my cheeks warm as I watch Theodore’s grin widen. He’s aware of the effect he has on me. “Miss Moore, I’m detective Ricardo Consuelos and I’ve been assigned this case. Mr. Tim Roy was found on your property this morning by you—is that correct?
“That’s correct.”
“Okay.” He takes two steps closer and pauses, pulling out a small notebook. The action reminds me of my therapist, and I frown a bit, something Theodore catches but before he can ask, I’m shaking my head. “Miss Moore, I want you to know that while I don’t suspect foul play, I do need to investigate and eliminate any possible doubt. Do you understand and agree to this?”
“Yes.”
“Do I have your permission to question you now?”
“You do, but I have something that should make this simple.” Both men look at me, one with surprise and the other with knowledge in those warm honey eyes.
“How so? Better yet, let’s start with why you didn’t call 911 immediately after finding the body.” That comes from the detective. His curiosity is mixed with reproach while I look over at Theodore.
“Do you know where my phone is? Or can I borrow yours?”
“You can use mine.” From his pocket, Theodore takes out a small device that reminds me of Tero’s second cell, which he claimed was for family, and hands it over. Nothing fancy. It’s basic. “Code is 1982.”
Nodding, I punch in the code and open the internet app once the interface comes to the screen. The search is quick and even quicker is logging in and looking for the video in question. And while I do this, neither man speaks but they watch me, and only once I turn the phone toward Detective Consuelos does he understand my rush.
The timecard started recording around two a.m. and continues in intervals as the motion sensor cameras pick up movement. There’s only a lull between videos that lasts ten minutes, but I’ll leave that up to them to investigate.
I don’t want to see him die.
I don’t want to see that image ever again.
