he’d gone to dispose of the evidence from last night. Whatever he was doing, she didn’t want to have to deal with him and questions from the cops if he got back soon. Especially if he hadn’t gotten rid of those clothes. The jackets they’d taken were easily identifiable. Not to mention that she had no clue what Jayce had done with the weapons he’d picked up from the dead APL members last night. If they were lying around December’s house, she wouldn’t be able to explain them away if Parker decided he wanted to come inside. December was the one who owned the house, and Kat wasn’t sure what the laws were.
It was definitely better to be safe than sorry. She quickly changed into jeans and a sweater. After running a comb through her tangled hair, she brushed her teeth and grabbed a small purse.
She wiped her palms on her jeans as she descended the stairs. As long as Parker wasn’t questioning her about last night, she figured she was okay. She hadn’t committed or witnessed a crime two nights ago, so she had nothing to feel guilty about—something she needed to remind herself of if she wanted to convince the sheriff that she was above reproach.
* * *
A couple of hours later Kat resisted the urge to punch the detective sitting across the table from her. Detective Chance Kinsey had rough, calloused hands. A workingman’s hands. He was also incredibly good-looking, and he’d been trying to use that against her from the moment he’d taken a seat. As if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy with the gorgeous toothpaste-commercial smile was going to sway her.
Please.
First, he definitely wasn’t her type. Second, her father was an arms dealer. Not something she was proud of, but she knew her rights and she knew these guys were fishing for information. About what, she still hadn’t figured out. As soon as she got an idea of what they wanted from her, she was leaving.
“So you’re saying you just left Scott Ford’s house because you changed your mind about sleeping with him?”
“Yep.” She kept her expression cool.
“You don’t think that’s a little odd?”
“Last time I checked, no means no and I don’t owe some guy sex because he bought me a few drinks. I changed my mind about hooking up with him, so I left.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Without a car?”
“For the third time, yes.”
“It’s January.” He said the word slowly, as if she were stupid.
She knew what the detective was getting at. Walking home in the middle of the winter was crazy. But she was a shifter, so it wasn’t that crazy. Plus December’s house wasn’t all that far from Scott’s place. There was no way in hell she was telling this guy Jayce had followed her to some human’s house and she’d left with him. Especially since she was beginning to think Scott Ford was dead. After the way Jayce had acted around that human, she was a little fearful that he’d gone back and done something. Even if he had, she wasn’t going to narc him out. Instead of responding to the detective—since he hadn’t asked a question—she sat still and waited for him to make the next move.
Finally he spoke again. “Did you ever go inside Scott’s house?”
“No.” At least she could answer that honestly.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Don’t offer up any information and keep your answers short if you’re ever questioned by the cops.
How many times had her father drilled that into her head when she was growing up? That was one of the first lessons he’d taught her and she’d only been eight. At the time she’d hated it. And hated him a little if she was honest. She’d always wanted a normal family. One that didn’t think cops were the enemy. Now she thought maybe normal was overrated.
“What about his truck? Will your fingerprints be in there?”
Her eyes narrowed as her annoyance increased. Even though she wanted to keep her cool, this was getting ridiculous. “What do you think? I rode with him from the bar to his house.
It was definitely better to be safe than sorry. She quickly changed into jeans and a sweater. After running a comb through her tangled hair, she brushed her teeth and grabbed a small purse.
She wiped her palms on her jeans as she descended the stairs. As long as Parker wasn’t questioning her about last night, she figured she was okay. She hadn’t committed or witnessed a crime two nights ago, so she had nothing to feel guilty about—something she needed to remind herself of if she wanted to convince the sheriff that she was above reproach.
* * *
A couple of hours later Kat resisted the urge to punch the detective sitting across the table from her. Detective Chance Kinsey had rough, calloused hands. A workingman’s hands. He was also incredibly good-looking, and he’d been trying to use that against her from the moment he’d taken a seat. As if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy with the gorgeous toothpaste-commercial smile was going to sway her.
Please.
First, he definitely wasn’t her type. Second, her father was an arms dealer. Not something she was proud of, but she knew her rights and she knew these guys were fishing for information. About what, she still hadn’t figured out. As soon as she got an idea of what they wanted from her, she was leaving.
“So you’re saying you just left Scott Ford’s house because you changed your mind about sleeping with him?”
“Yep.” She kept her expression cool.
“You don’t think that’s a little odd?”
“Last time I checked, no means no and I don’t owe some guy sex because he bought me a few drinks. I changed my mind about hooking up with him, so I left.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “Without a car?”
“For the third time, yes.”
“It’s January.” He said the word slowly, as if she were stupid.
She knew what the detective was getting at. Walking home in the middle of the winter was crazy. But she was a shifter, so it wasn’t that crazy. Plus December’s house wasn’t all that far from Scott’s place. There was no way in hell she was telling this guy Jayce had followed her to some human’s house and she’d left with him. Especially since she was beginning to think Scott Ford was dead. After the way Jayce had acted around that human, she was a little fearful that he’d gone back and done something. Even if he had, she wasn’t going to narc him out. Instead of responding to the detective—since he hadn’t asked a question—she sat still and waited for him to make the next move.
Finally he spoke again. “Did you ever go inside Scott’s house?”
“No.” At least she could answer that honestly.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Don’t offer up any information and keep your answers short if you’re ever questioned by the cops.
How many times had her father drilled that into her head when she was growing up? That was one of the first lessons he’d taught her and she’d only been eight. At the time she’d hated it. And hated him a little if she was honest. She’d always wanted a normal family. One that didn’t think cops were the enemy. Now she thought maybe normal was overrated.
“What about his truck? Will your fingerprints be in there?”
Her eyes narrowed as her annoyance increased. Even though she wanted to keep her cool, this was getting ridiculous. “What do you think? I rode with him from the bar to his house.
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