Speak No Evil_ A Novel - Allison Brennan [50]
“Whose side are you on?” Steve asked through clenched teeth.
“I want to be on yours. But do you know how bad it looks to the police if you lie to them?”
“It’s not important.”
“Hell yes it is!” Nick released Steve. “I think you should get a lawyer and talk to the police. Tell them everything—everything—about your relationship with Angie, why you broke up, when you knew about her journal, how much time you spent there, what you know about deleted comments . . . ”
“Deleted comments?”
“Yes. Everything. If you cooperate, maybe we can catch her killer.”
“Cooperate! I’ve been cooperating from day one.”
“You’ve been lying through your teeth so that you look like the hero you used to be, not the man you are today.”
Nick wanted to take the words back. The shock, the hurt, on Steve’s face hit Nick in the gut.
They stared at each other in silence. “I’ll talk to them. Tomorrow morning. Set it up.” Steve turned and walked toward his bedroom. Looking over his shoulder he said, “You might want to find another place to stay. My couch isn’t very comfortable.”
He slammed his bedroom door.
That certainly hadn’t gone as Nick planned.
As he packed up his laptop, Nick realized Steve didn’t think of himself as a thirty-eight-year-old man. He held close to the image that he was a young, twenty-one-year-old war hero who fit in at college. And in some ways he did, because he certainly acted like an irresponsible, immature kid. Dating college-aged girls was Steve’s way of holding on to the illusion that he was young. Since he’d given up his own college years to the military, this was Steve’s way of changing the past.
But fifteen years was a long time to grow up.
How could Nick help Steve see that he was living a lie? Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it would take a severe jolt to his ego to make him realize that he didn’t fit with the college crowd, that he needed to grow up, get a job, do something other than go to school for the rest of his life.
Nick just didn’t know how he could help.
As he walked out the door, Nick felt a deep chill penetrate his bones, and not from the late-afternoon breeze.
Steve had never answered his question about whether or not he’d killed Angie.
FIFTEEN
WILL DROPPED THE PHONE in the cradle and turned to Carina. “Masterson just got back to town. His neighbor called.”
“Let’s go.” Carina shoved her notes in the drawer and jumped up.
They were heading out the door when Nick Thomas walked in, looking a little worse for wear. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He didn’t answer her question. “I set up the meeting. Steve will give a formal statement tomorrow morning and answer any questions.”
“You didn’t have to come all the way back downtown,” said Carina. “You could have called.”
“I didn’t have a choice. My brother kicked me out of his apartment. Know a decent hotel in the area?”
There was more to it than that, but Nick was a man of few words and Carina didn’t press.
Will spoke up. “Why don’t you ride with us? Masterson just got home. I’d sure like to know what he’s been doing since Friday night.”
“I appreciate it.”
The afternoon commute had just started and it took them thirty minutes to get out to the San Diego coastal community of La Jolla. Masterson lived in a small, poorly maintained house near the campus, about a mile from Steve, though he wasn’t a student.
“Easier to sell drugs if you’re close to the buyers,” Will mumbled.
Carina filled Nick in on Masterson’s criminal history as they approached his door. “He seemed to have skipped town with a girl Sunday night. Considering he’s Angie’s last-known boyfriend, his behavior raises serious questions.”
Carina fidgeted as Masterson took his sweet time answering the door. Will acted his usual casual self, though looks were deceptive: his hand was only inches from his gun. And Nick looked all cop, standing tall, face blank, a Stetson on his head. Must be part of the uniform in Montana.
She’d never realized a cop in a hat could look so sexy. She needed to get out of the city more.