Page 29 of Love Her Ruin
He grins, a flash of white in the dim light. “I’ll hear the call, my queen.”
“Eddie.”
He’s already moving upstairs and heading toward the back door, the one that leads to the overgrown backyard. “I’ll come up the street, ‘just in the neighborhood.’ Give me a minute.”
Then he’s gone, the back door clicking shut behind him.
The doorbell rings yet again.
I force a breath in, hold it, and let it out slowly. I run my hands through my hair, trying to look casually disheveled, not like I was just about to commit the same crime committed against me.
I take the stairs two at a time, my bare feet silent on the wood. Crossing toward the front door, I smooth my hands over my leggings, wipe the sweat from my upper lip, and paste on the expression I’ve perfected for moments like this. Confused, a little annoyed, and mostly innocent.
I turn the lock and open the door.
Two uniformed officers stand on my porch with a gray evening sky as a backdrop, one young, one old. The younger one looks uncomfortable, his hand resting near his belt.
“Sera Vale?” the older one asks, his voice polite but firm.
“Yes?” I make it a question as I widen my eyes just a fraction. “Is everything okay?”
“We’re looking for Vincent Harrow. Have you seen him lately?”
The lie comes smooth and easy. “Vincent? No. I haven’t seen him…” I let my voice trail off and inject a hint of wary discomfort. “Why? Is he missing?”
The older cop scans my face, my posture, the space behind me. “He was supposed to check in with us. He didn’t. He’s staying at Our Lady of Sorrows, but Father Nolan hasn’t seen him.” He narrows his eyes. “He said if anything happened to him, it was likely you that caused it.”
“Me?” I cross my arms over my chest, a defensive, vulnerable gesture. “But I’ve been here all day. It’s my day off. I don’t know anything about Vincent.”
Miller’s gaze flicks past me into the dim hallway. “Mind if we come in, ma’am? Just to be sure?”
My blood runs cold. “That’s not necessary. It’s late, and I’m not comfortable—”
“It would just take a minute.”
A faint footstep sounds behind me—James in the kitchen. The air cinches tight with both his irritation and mine.
“Look, Officers, I don’t know where Vincent is,” I say smoothly. “If you don’t believe me, I have a camera right there in that tree pointing at my car in the driveway”—I point at said tree, the camera very clear from this angle—“which will prove I haven’t left here all day and that I arrived home from work late last night. The cameras at Gas N’ Go will prove I was there formost of my shift yesterday. I’ll be happy to pull those recordings for you.”
Thank goodness both James and Eddie had the sense to park their cars elsewhere. Otherwise, their vehicles would only invite more questions.
“Is there a problem here?”
Eddie’s voice, calm and authoritative, comes from the sidewalk. His hands are in the pockets of his leather jacket, looking for all the world like a man out for an evening stroll who stumbled upon a scene.
The older officer turns, eyebrows lifted. “Detective Crowe.”
“Deputy Miller.” Eddie nods, coming to stand on my front porch, a subtle, protective shift that puts his body slightly between me and the officers. “What’s going on?”
“Welfare check on Vincent Harrow. Vincent mentioned Ms. Vale by name if he goes missing. Ms. Vale says she hasn’t seen him.”
“Which means she hasn’t,” Eddie says, his tone mild but leaving no room for argument.
“With all due respect, Detective, we’d like to verify that for ourselves.”
Eddie’s expression hardens with a shift from colleague to superior. “Do you have a warrant, Deputy?”
“No, sir. This is just a check—”
