Page 22 of Paternal Instincts
“No. It’s not her business.” Nixon’s tone suggested he was growing irritated.
“But you threatened a lawsuit.”
“Not directly. I said I would hire a lawyer and sue when I found out who was taking the money. He wouldn’t kidnap Crow, Detective. Never in a hundred years. Tell him, Genie. You know Jude.”
Imogen said nothing and only managed to look defeated. She did not respond to her husband’s plea or rise to defend his business partner.
I traced my upper lip with my tongue as I added a few notes to the iPad. Jordyn returned and gave a nod to indicate all was good.
“Let’s talk about Clementine.”
Imogen’s expression went from beaten down to nostril-flaring rage in an instant.
Chapter 6
Aslan
Ruiz showed up within the hour and found me planted in his desk chair, fiddling with a Rubik’s Cube I’d found in an overstuffed drawer. I wouldn’t ordinarily touch other people’s belongings, but the nostalgia of the children’s toy was too much to resist. The instant I’d seen it a smile broke out across my face as memories flooded my brain.
“You’re touching my shit. What did I say?”
I spun to face Quaid’s scowling BFF, clad in rugged jeans and a snuggly-fit black T-shirt, as I twisted and turned the cube to try to align the colors. “Did you know a couple of years ago at a team building day, Quaid and I were paired up and forced to work together to solve this ridiculous case our staff sergeants cooked up for fun. It was the first time I’d ever spent time with him. The first time we ever had a proper conversation. Up until then, I knew him only as the surly, anal-retentive, stick-up-the-ass detective from MPU who everyone called the corpse.”
“Are you suggesting Playboy Aslan was much better?”
“I didn’t say that. In fact, this playboy wanted nothing more than to bend Quaid over a desk and fuck him six ways to Sunday because he was hot as shit. The last thing I wanted to do was get to know him, let alone work beside him during a time-wasting event the bigwigs thought might calm the hostility between our departments.”
“Is there a reason we’re walking down memory lane? I thought you needed my help.”
I tossed Ruiz the Rubik’s Cube. “One of our puzzles that day was a Rubik’s Cube. We needed to solve it to get our next clue. Up until that point, we’d spent the day snapping at each other between annoying phone calls from his cheating ex-boyfriend. Remember Jack?”
“Mr. Wannabe Porn Star who had his face smashed in.”
“That’s him. Anyhow, we found a tutorial on YouTube that showed us how to solve that stupid thing. There’s a trick, but I can’t remember how to do it to save my life.”
Ruiz puzzled the cube and shrugged. “I’m not following. Are you saying that solving a Rubik’s Cube with Quaid changed the course of your life?”
I considered. “In a roundabout way, yes. Maybe it did. I think that was when we both realized we didn’t hate each other as much as we pretended. I kissed him for the first time that night in the parking lot outside the restaurant, and he kissed me back, no matter what he claims to the contrary.”
Ruiz made a face. He loathed romantic details of any kind. At first, I thought he still clung to a touch of queerphobia until I realized he was like that with anyone—queer or straight—who shared too many details of their bedroom adventures. Giving him credit, Ruiz was not a man who boasted or bragged about his sex life. He kept his private life behind closed doors.
He tossed the childish game back, scowling. “You kissed in the parking lot. Yada, yada, the rest is history. Beautiful story, now get the fuck out of my chair. You’re making me uncomfortable.”
“If I wanted to make you uncomfortable, I’d tell you how Jordyn caught us fucking in the supply room a couple of hours ago.”
“Enough. Move your ass, Doyle, or I’m going home.”
I let Ruiz have his spot, enjoying the sucked-lemon look on his face and grabbed the spare seat he kept pushed in the corner. It was Quaid’s special chair for when he visited, but I didn’t call him out on it because I needed Ruiz’s help, and he was sensitive at times, especially when it came to his bromance with my husband. I’d pissed him off enough for one day.
He booted up the computer and clicked around before waving a hand. “What do we got?”
“Missing eight-year-old. The parents are Nixon and Imogen Davis. They received a threatening note after their son was napped on Tuesday.” I pulled up the picture I’d taken before dropping it off in the lab to be fingerprinted since I was too lazy to do it myself.
Ruiz took a minute to read it, using two fingers to enlarge the image. His eyes widened. “Well fuck me. That’s bad.”
“Indeed. The father only showed up tonight to report it.”
“It’s Friday.”
