Page 87 of Skeletons in the Closet

“There is no FBI in Canada, idiot.” Apple Tosser smacked his friend’s shoulder.

“Well, I don’t know. Whatever the equivalent is.” Eyebrow scowled at his buddy.

“They were detectives.” This from a different girl, dressed in cutoff jean shorts and a crop top. Tattoos and a navel ring decorated her exposed belly. A beaded purse hung over her arm. She’d been quietly observing until then.

“How do you know they were detectives?” I asked.

She shrugged. “They had a look.”

“What did they want?” I peered among the group.

“Keep up, man,” Eyebrow said. “They arrested his ass.”

“They what?”

Eyebrow nodded. “Like I said. They must have found something in his car. Forensics takes time, so it makes sense. They showed up this morning, read him his rights, cuffed him, and took him away.”

I was about to open my mouth and ask more questions, but Diem snagged my upper arm—his hand wide enough to completely circle the appendage—and dragged me back up the stairs from where we’d originally come, taking them two at atime. I barely managed to thank the group and keep up as I stumbled after him.

“We really need to talk about this dragging me around obsession,” I muttered as we hit the landing on the third floor.

The minute the stairwell door slammed behind us, I dug my heels in, stopping Diem’s momentum, whispering, “Did you hear that? Shore was arrested. For what? Do you think it’s about Beth? Oh my god. He killed her, didn’t he?”

Diem didn’t respond or release me. It wasn’t the first time he’d physically tugged me along to places unknown. Alas, it was part of the whole Diem Incommunicado Package. I went along with it for now, but we would have a lengthy chat about it later.

We landed back at David Shore’s office. Only then did Diem let go of my arm. When I rubbed the spot in question and made an overly dramatic display of being wounded—I wasn’t—he seemed to realize what he’d done.

Wincing and fisting his hands at his sides, he muttered, “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I chuckled when he clearly didn’t believe me. “Really, though. You’re a bit of a bully. Tone down the alpha mode, and we’ll get along great.” I paused, considering. “Actually, I don’t mind a bit of alpha in the bedroom.” I wiggled my brows. “It’s kinda hot.”

Diem squirmed.

“Good grief. Pretend I didn’t bring up sex. My bad. I should know better. Talk to me, D. What are we doing?”

“Keep watch,” he grumbled, then paused and added, “Please,” under his breath before dropping to his knees and digging his lockpicking kit from his jeans pocket. Did he carry it everywhere?

I whipped my head around, but the hall in both directions was empty. It was an administrative wing of the building, but still. “Is this wise?”

“They arrested him. He’s not exactly coming back in five minutes.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“We’ll be fast.”

“What if he shares an office with someone?”

Diem tapped the decaled name on the door’s window that clearly stated he didn’t.

“Diem, anyone could come along and—” The lock clicked, and the door swung open. “Christ, you’re fast.”

No response, but I earned a smug expression, one I’d never seen on Diem, one that almost contained the tiniest trace of humor.

We entered.

The office was bathed in afternoon sunlight streaming from the uncovered window on the far side of the room. Dust motes hung in the air, as did a faint hint of something musky and familiar. It made my nose twitch.

“Weed,” Diem said, putting a name to it.

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