Page 73 of Best Laid Plans

I wanted to insist on driving my car, but I didn't want to take that fight. Damn it, the second day in a row I'd be getting into a fucking police vehicle. Working with Anson had brought this upon me. My life had been simple, good, and he fucked it up. That's who he was.

The ride to the station was a blur. When we arrived, I was led to an interrogation room, stark and cold, with a single table and a few chairs.

"Please take a seat, Miss King," Detective Camp instructed.

I sat, trying to steady my breathing. The room felt suffocating, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I could hear the murmur of voices outside the door and the occasional ring of a phone, but inside, it was eerily quiet.

The two detectives both sat across from me.

"My lawyer will be here shortly. I'm not saying a word until—"

As if on cue there was a knock on the door. A uniformed policeman nodded to let the detectives know to come outside. The detectives left me alone, and I took the opportunity to gather my thoughts.

They left me there for over an hour. Finally, the door opened, and a sharp-looking blonde woman in her early thirties walked in, exuding confidence.

"Nova, I'm Lemon Goodwin," she said, extending her hand. "I'm your attorney."

I shook her hand, relief washing over me. "Thank you for coming, Miss Goodwin."

She sat next to me, her expression serious but reassuring. "Let's get through this. Tell me everything you know, and we'll figure out a way to clear your name."

"I don't know anything. They mentioned something about discrepancies with Larue Homes' financials."

"Do you have access to Larue Homes's financials?" she asked.

I shook my head. "They gave me access, but I handed it over to my finance department. Wanda Bethel's been managing the budget part of the project."

"Is that normal?"

I shook my head. "I…I have a history with Anson Larue. Seven years ago, he accused me of stealin' from him, and I worried that…well, I worried that I'd be accused again, so I talked to legal and finance, and they set it up this way. I have no access to anything."

She nodded, and then started to type into her phone. I didn't ask what she was doing. After ten minutes, she set her phone on the table, face down.

"Well, isn't this goin' to be fun," Lemon smirked. She went to the door and opened it. "Detectives? Let's get this done. I have theater tickets for eight thirty."

We were done way before opening bell at the theater.

Lemon Goodwin was a force to be reckoned with. She ripped the detectives new assholes and did it with a smile and a flutter of her eyelashes.

I liked Lemon. She reminded me of Luna but with a Mae West inflection.

"She has access to nothing," Lemon told the detectives. "You can confirm this with Nina Davenport, who is waiting outside."

I stared at Lemon. Nina was here? She ignored me.

"As is Wanda Bethel, who will confirm that Miss King here did not have access to Larue Homes financials."

"Is that normal?" Detective Camp asked.

"How does that matter?" Lemon snapped. "Now, unless you're goin' to arrest my client, we're gonna go."

"Wait, a minute. Miss King has a history of stealin'." Detective Birchmore slammed his hand on the desk. Both Detective Camp and Lemon rolled their eyes.

The detective's tough guy act was getting old, real fast. He knew that there was no evidence against me, but he wanted to be a hard ass because that's how he got his jollies.

"You got some evidence about this history, Detective?" Lemon asked in a sing-song voice.

He looked at his partner, who shook her head. "Thanks for coming in, Miss King. We apologize for the inconvenience."

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