Page 41 of Once Upon a Curse for True Love
“Is that an avoidance technique they teach at the police academy?”
“Yes.Right after Door Demolition 101.”
She snorted, tucking the now empty package into her bag.“So you are state-certified in emotional evasion and property damage.Impressive.”
By the time they parked, Andromeda had forgotten that she was in his car by court mandate and they were headed to question a murder suspect.
“We have him in Room Two,” one of Donatello’s deputies informed them as they approached a corridor she recognized all too well.
Tall and Teasing nodded and turned to face her.“I can’t bring you in while I question Ruescher—protocol—but you can follow everything from behind the mirror.”
Andromeda nodded, swallowing the sudden dryness in her throat.“I’m familiar with the setup.”
He led her to a door marked “Observation,” opening it to reveal a small, dimly lit room with chairs facing a large one-way mirror.On the other side, a younger man was slumped in a metal chair, his red hair sticking up in anxious tufts where he’d been running his hands through it.He looked pale, frightened, and too young to be mixed up in murder.
“That’s Patrick Ruescher?”She moved closer to the glass.“Arcanet’s mentee?”
“Yep.”Donatello stood close enough that their arms brushed.“Twenty-three years old.Been working with Arcanet for about eight months, according to our records.”
Andromeda studied the young man, noting his hunched shoulders and the way his fingers tapped nervously on the table.He looked like a frightened rabbit, not a calculating murderer capable of creating a lich.
“He doesn’t look murderous.”
“Appearances can deceive,” Donatello replied.“His fingerprints are on the murder weapon, and he purchased time-sand.”
Andromeda shivered, wary of being back in this part of the station.She rubbed her arms, the memory of sitting in that same interrogation room flashing vividly in her mind.The cold metal of the chair.The harsh fluorescent lights.The weight of accusations being hurled at her by a detective whose eyes held too much intensity.
“I’m glad I can’t come.”Discomfort crawled up her spine.“Not eager to go back in there.”
Donatello’s gaze softened as he dropped his large hands on her shoulders.“I’m sorry about how that went down.Playing bad cop isn’t my favorite part of the job.”The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.It was the closest thing to an apology she’d gotten from him about that night, and strangely, it meant more than she’d expected.
But she wasn’t ready to admit all that.“Well, the whole intense detective thing worked for you.”Her tone turned sultry.“You sure I can’t talk you into playing bad cop with me again?”A few subtle double entendres she could handle.But she sucked at big emotional reveals.
He took a step forward, looking predatory.“Careful about the next words out of your mouth, Swan.This room is soundproof.”
“I promise I’ll be a good witch,” she said sweetly, tilting her head.“Or misbehave on purpose.”
In a blink, Donatello braced his hands on the wall next to her face, caging her against the mirror, his solid body pressed on hers.
He leaned in, speaking a hairbreadth from her ear.“Keep playing with fire, Swan, and you might get burned.”
She had no other reply than her labored breathing.
He pushed off the wall with the cockiest, most satisfied grin.“I should go.Watch carefully—see if you pick up on anything I miss.”He lifted her chin with one finger.“And hold that thought for later.I’ve got a few creative ways to handle repeat offenders.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice as her toes curled in her shoes.Donatello gave her one last smoldering look before exiting the observation room.The cold glass at her back not enough to soothe her sweltering body.
A minute later, he strode into the interrogation room, his expression transformed.Gone was the man who’d flirted with her with heat in his eyes.In his place stood Detective Malatesta, badge glinting on his belt, shoulders squared with authority, face set in hard lines meant to intimidate.It should have been scary.Instead, Andromeda found herself inappropriately fascinated by the transformation, her body having very different reactions to his intimidation tactics than poor Patrick was.
The contrast between cop and suspect couldn’t have been more stark.Donatello’s muscular build and commanding presence made Patrick look even more like a half-starved college student pulling an all-nighter.The young man’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously as Donatello took the seat across from him, placing a manila folder on the table with calculated slowness.
“Patrick Ruescher,” Donatello began, his voice carrying through the speaker system into the observation room.“Do you know why you’re here?”
Patrick’s hands twisted together on the table.“You think I had something to do with Magnus’s death.But I didn’t, I swear.”
“Then why were your fingerprints the only ones, besides the victim’s, on the hard drive that killed him?”
“I—what?”Patrick’s eyes widened in genuine surprise—or an excellent facsimile of it.“That’s—we worked together.I—I touched all the equipment, didn’t curse anything.”
