Page 90 of Knot Your Business

“The Fallons are content with this explanation.” The detective is neutral, but I can almost swear there’s a thread of frustration underlying the comment.

I lean against the counter and tip my head back.

“All right. It’s a decent explanation. I saw the way my own partners changed in the span of a heartbeat when they smelled her perfuming.” I close my eyes, remembering the shock cross Rylan’s face as we entered the hallway.

The man murmurs an agreement, and the line drops to an uneasy quiet. After a moment, he says, “I’ve done some looking into Ms. Fallon’s past since you were unsure of her previous heat cycling. It turns out she had a heat in March. She used the Haven. According to their records, she stayed for six days and was helped by two Alphas.”

March.

I count back the months, and my stomach drops. “That’s not long enough. It should have been in January at the earliest.”

The detective makes a noncommittal grunt.

Horror settles in my gut. “It was triggered?”

“It appears so.” The detective sighs, and the sound of rustling papers cuts through the phone.

“And her parents are content with not pushing for further information?” I ask.

It doesn’t make sense. Johnathan was beside himself. It was only the understanding that Violet had made it out of the hotel mostly unharmed and with Rylan that kept him from completely losing it. And when Kurt and Phillip find out?

Fuck, Kurt’s going to be livid.

“As they are not her immediate kin at this juncture, they have not been informed of the update.”

Oh God. Right. We’re matched. We're her immediate kin now.

I clear my throat. “Sorry. It’s still an adjustment.”

“I’ve been told those thirty days are a whirlwind,” he says, his voice filling with wry humor. He drops back to the important information. “The Alpha has been charged with assault and attempted forced bonding. He’s not fighting the charges, though I believe he expects to manage some kind of plea deal with the court given his cooperation with the investigation and it being his first offense.”

I grimace. “There’s no way in hell that dipshit is the one that drugged her.”

I don’t mean to say it, but it’s too fucking late for me to manage any kind of filter right now.

There’s a long, heavy pause.

“I’m inclined to agree with you, Mr. Montegue,” he says. “We are willing to keep the investigation open if it’s what you’re wanting.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that of course we want to get to the bottom of who set the love of my life up for being raped at a public event.

Detective Forrest continues before I can manage to say it, though, and his words cut through me with the precision of a blade and the iciness of the fucking Puget Sound.

“I want to warn you, though, that while we may be able to piece together what transpired, it’s quite likely that we will not be able to do so with enough substantive proof to lead to any sort of conviction in court.” A tapping cuts through the phone, like he’s messing with a pen. “Ms. Fallon’s testimony is likely our best information, but it will hold little weight in a trial given that she was already in the throes of the heat cycle, induced or not. She, for all intents and purposes, was impaired. Her information will be considered tainted.”

Fuck. Me.

“Did the asshole mention if he recognized the other woman leaving the bathroom?” I ask unable to keep the question to myself.

Violet had been feeling uneasy but was still cognizant when she left for the bathroom. What had happened while she was in there to push her over into the depths of the heat? And why had no one noticed her being followed into the bathroom? The rooftop was event access only. Someone would have noticed if a random dipshit had followed her in.

My chest tightens, a damning realization settling on me. My mind races, putting together pieces I’d rather not notice.

Sienna’s strangely indifferent demeanor toward me when I’d expected outright hostility or disdain, her comment about Violet being unchaperoned when I’d literally been holding her hand, her giving Violet a glass of white wine when even I knew it was one of her least favorite drinks.

“The description matches that of Mrs. Fallon.”

God fucking damn it.

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