“Has he ever been to the restaurant before?” the detective asks her.

“Yes, once. He was at a dinner function Callum and Grant held to celebrate a new project starting.”

“Yes, that would’ve been seven weeks ago,” I add.

“Lucia, did Mr. Graves seem to be acting normally?”

“He’s always been a little . . . strange . . .”

“He’s rather intense. Very focused, you might say.”

“And did he seem to be like that tonight?” he asks Lucia again.

“He seemed on edge. Almost excited. I just thought it was about whatever he was going to be celebrating.”

“Right,” he says, looking over the notes he’s written down. The office door opens and a man we haven’t seen before walks in, holding a laptop computer. He nods at Lucia and myself before putting the computer on the desk in front of Detective Lawrence. “I think you need to see this. Footage from the bar.”

I watch their faces as they study the screen, which is unfortunately facing away from the two of us. I turn to Lucia. “You okay?” I ask, raising my hand up and gently running it through the hair at her temple. She leans into my touch and closes her eyes. When my hand reaches her shoulder, I pull her into my side and she rests her head in the crook of my neck.

The detective looks up at me from behind the computer. “Callum, are you willing to tell us who the man is that met with Ms. Malestrom tonight?”

“Of course. Anything to help,” I reply without hesitation.

He rotates the laptop to face us and the other officer leans over to press play.

“Oh my God!” Lucia whispers in horror as we watch the screen and see the man who met up with Jodi at the bar.

“Jesus,” I spit out, standing up from my chair and stalking to the far wall of the office. I run my fingers through my hair, wondering how the hell this shit just got worse.

For me, for the firm . . . and now, for Grant, who is there clear as day, sitting at a table with Jodi. They were together earlier tonight.

And going by the timestamp on the video, just one hour before she called me.

Shit.

Lucia and I got home just after three a.m. and as much as we tried, we couldn’t sleep straight away. Instead we just lay in bed, talking, touching, and enjoying the closeness that we’d both missed in the days we were apart.

Nine a.m., my cell phone buzzes on the bedside cabinet and Grant’s name appears on the screen.

“Tell them you’re sick,” Lucia groans from beside me.

“Hello?” I answer groggily. Two nights with very little sleep are starting to take their toll.

“I’ve been knocking at your door for five minutes. Let me in,” he demands

“Let yourself in; you have a key,” I retort.

“Not when I was picked up by the police this morning and your key is at my apartment.”

I sigh at the thought of leaving the warmth of my bed but roll over and out anyway. “Be there soon,” I reply before ending the call.

“Who was that?” Luce whispers.

“Grant. He’s at the front door.”

Her eyes widen and I reach my arm over to rub her bare shoulder. “He’s been with the police most of the night so I want to find out exactly what is happening. You can go back to sleep if you’d like.” Leaning down, I kiss her temple, then her jaw. She tilts her chin up and our lips meet in a slow, lazy kiss.

“I better go let him in,” I murmur against her lips.

“You really should,” she replies huskily.

“Yes . . .” I kiss her once more before pushing up off the bed and making my way downstairs and toward the front door.

I stop for a moment before I open the door, taking a deep breath before swinging it toward me and staring at my best friend.

“You look like hell,” I say with a frown. His hair is in disarray, and his eyes tired and bloodshot as he rakes his hands over his vacant expression.

“I feel like it.” He walks past me and makes his way toward the living area. By the time I’ve closed the door and followed him, he’s already turning on the coffeemaker and pulling out two cups.

He turns and braces his hands on the kitchen counter, leaning his weight forward and dropping his head down. Taking him in, I don’t miss his slumped shoulders and disheveled appearance.

I take a seat on a stool opposite him and wait for him to talk. I know he’ll explain everything to me, but he needs to do it. I’m not going to coax it out of him.

“This shit is fucked up, Cal,” he says roughly. “So fucked up . . .”

“What happened with the cops?”

His head jerks up and his body goes tense. “Oh fuck no. Do not look at me like that. You know me, Cal. You know I wouldn’t have had anything to do with drugging her. I like women, sure. I like them willing, absolutely. I do not need to fucking drug them, and I definitely wouldn’t leave a woman at a bar by herself unless she was safe.”

“So tell me what happened,” I shoot back tersely. “Because after telling the detective that you would have no reason to associate with Jodi, I had to eat my words when they showed me my best friend meeting with her an hour before she died in my fucking arms!” My voice is strained, my anger pulsing through every word.

He stands up straight and squares his shoulders. “You sorted your shit out and were finally getting back on track—with work, with Lucia, with everything. I thought I’d step in and deal with Jodi. Find out what she had to say and why she was so desperate to get in contact with you. She told me she was meeting up with someone at Georgio’s and suggested we meet there beforehand.”

I’m taken aback by his words. “You were trying to get her off my back?”

“Of course. When will you get it through your head that I’ll always have your back?” That makes me feel like an asshole but before I can reply, a sleepy but still breathtakingly gorgeous Luce comes padding down the stairs. She walks toward me and slips her body into my side. Her eyes, however, are locked on Grant. “Hi,” she says softly. “Bad night?”

“You could say that,” he says with a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What did you tell the police?” I say, interrupting them.

“Exactly what I just told you. I met up with her. We shared a drink. Once I’d finished what I had to say to her, I left.”

“So who drugged her then?”

His eyes switch back to mine. “Graves.” His voice is cold, flat and deadly.

“Shit,” I mutter and tighten my arm around Luce’s hips. “How do you know?”

“They have the barman putting him at the bar about ten minutes after I left. He bought Jodi a drink, they exchanged words and then seemed to have a fight before he stormed out and left her there.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “He just fucking left her there.”

“So do they have him?”

“An APB has been put out for him. The cops told me he went into the restaurant last night. Was he okay with you?” he asks Luce.

“He didn’t do anything—just seemed excitable, not right, you know?”

Grant nods and turns to pour the coffee. “You want a cup, Lucia?”

“Yes please.”

He brings all three cups to the counter in front of us and I tilt my head toward the lounge suite, knowing it’ll be more comfortable. When we’re all situated, I’m about to ask him what else he was questioned about when he gets there first.

“There’s more, Cal, and you’re not going to like it,” he warns before explaining. “Fuck, I can’t believe she’s dead. I was only talking to her last night. She was alive and breathing and . . . shit.”

“Did she say why she’d been trying to contact Cal?” Luce asks from beside me.

“She was worried about you. Seems Graves gave her a bad feeling and after that dinner she came to with him, she said he started acting strange.”

“What do you mean strange?”