Page 5 of A Match Made in Coven
“Can anyone confirm your whereabouts?”
“No.” The thumping of his heart worsened. “I was alone.”
The detective shuffled another picture forward. This time he had no hesitations in looking. It was a photo of a familiar golden dagger with intricate carvings and a bejeweled pommel. “Is this yours?”
“Yes, that’s mine. A family heirloom.”
“Where do you keep this blade?”
“In my office.”
The detective pouted at that, and if the circumstances had been any different, Lorcan might’ve been fascinated by the curve of that pout. He might’ve even wanted to kiss it right off her lips. But the gravity of the situation quickly squashed away any flirtatious notions.
Detective Callidora tapped a manicured nail against the photograph. “A strange place to keep such a precious weapon, no?”
“The blade is magical.”
She raised an eyebrow at that as if to say,no shit.
He hastened to explain. “It tells the beholder whenever someone is lying.”
“How?”
“By growing hot, the bigger the lie, the harsher the heat.”
“So, you kept it in your office as a makeshift polygraph to…” she trailed off.
Lorcan worked his jaw. “Construction is a delicate business. I prefer to know when I’m being deceived,” Lorcan finished, meeting her gaze steadily. “Especially when dealing with potential new contractors.”
Her expression remained impassive, except for a flicker of doubt, perhaps, that flashed in her eyes. “When was the last time you used the blade, Mr. Black?”
Lorcan scratched his temple. “Earlier today. We had a meeting this afternoon.”
“Do you lock it away when you’re not using it?”
“No. I just leave it on my desk. It doubles as a paper knife.” He was aware he was sounding more idiotic with every new answer he gave.
“So that’s where you left it earlier?”
Lorcan frowned, trying to recall the details. “I’m not sure. The meeting was in Elijah’s office. I remember taking it in, but not out.” Sweat trickled down his spine. “I honestly can’t tell you. I could have left it on his desk.”—for someone to murder him with,Lorcan finished in his head.
“The blade was buried to the hilt into Mr. Preston’s skull,” the detective confirmed his worst fear.
Lorcan blanched, the blood draining from his face. “I certainly didn’t put it there.”
“Your prints are all over it.”
“Obviously.” He ground his teeth. “It’smydagger.”
The witch opened her pretty mouth, undoubtedly to ask him another senseless question, but was stopped by a knock on the door.
A junior officer entered the room. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear. Her scowl deepened as she listened, and then she gave a curt nod.
“Thank you, Smith.”
The detective stood up, her face inscrutable as she turned back to Lorcan. “Stay put,” she ordered before leaving the room.
And where the hex would he go?
