She takes a deep breath. Long and audible, she breathes in, finally, drawing her eyes to me from the window. “I know. But it isn’t that easy.”

I take my purse from the sofa I was sitting on and pull my card from the silver holder. I hand her the thick rectangle containing my details. “Here’s my card. If you think of anything, and I mean anything, day or night, pertaining to our investigation, please don’t hesitate to call me.” I meet her eyes, and I hope I can portray the message I want to. I hope I can tell her that she is worth more than the piece of shit she’s married to. “Even if I’m busy, I’ll make sure to return your call. My assistant is on there, too, so if it’s urgent, she’ll be able to contact me immediately.”

Alyssa takes my card between her finger and thumb. “Thank you,” she replies softly. “I sure will.”

I put my untouched glass on the counter, sling my purse over my shoulder, and make my own way out, all too aware that there’s so much crap building up into this investigation that we’ll need a miracle to wade through it all.

The truth will out.

The truth will out.

What does that even mean?

My mind is full of both Nick’s and Alyssa’s words. His certainty that everything will come and Alyssa’s insistence of her knowledge of her husband’s infidelities.

The question, though, is if she knew about Natalie. He may tell her every time he sleeps with someone or goes to D.O.M., but would he really tell her that he was sleeping with their daughter’s best friend? There is a line, after all, and that crosses it, doesn’t it? It’s one thing to sleep with your brother’s best friend or your best friend’s sister, but your child’s best friend?

That’s really screwed up.

That’s like my Dad sleeping with Bek.

And now, I’m traumatized.

I sip my coffee and flick through another one of Natalie’s contracts.

Do Alyssa and Nick know each other? Would they have met at some point during his relationship with Natalie? She was adamant that she only saw her when necessary, but she wouldn’t be the first person to have lied here.

I sigh and close the contract. These are going to be dead ends. That’s for sure. If erotic asphyxiation is against the club’s rules, it won’t be in a contract anywhere. This is a total waste of my time. I could be talking to Madison McDougall right now. I could be drawing up profiles of motivation and opportunity for everyone we’ve met so far.

Screw it. I’m going to do that instead. It’s a far better use of my time than reading this bullshit.

I shove the contracts to one side. One falls on the floor, but I leave it there and grab my whiteboard Sharpie. I wipe off the reminder to myself to order more printer ink and uncap the pen. Then I write four names at the top, separate their columns with lines, and underline the names.

Mayor McDougall. Motive: If he knew about the baby and Natalie wasn’t trying to have an abortion and was throwing her pills away instead, then yes, absolutely. Opportunity: Yes, either before or after Alyssa left Natalie’s hotel room.

Alyssa McDougall. Motive: If she knew about her husband’s affair and that Natalie was pregnant, hell yeah, that’s a motive. Opportunity: When she was in her room with her. The second figure could have helped her, whoever it was.

Madison McDougall. Motive: If she knew about her dad’s affair and the baby, yes. Opportunity: Well, she was the one who found her. Supposedly. She could have been the unidentifiable figure on the camera.

Nick Lucas. Motive: Goes without saying. Opportunity: Again, could have been the figure on the camera.

I’m really no closer than I was twenty minutes ago. Hm. I cap the pen and walk back, perching on the edge of my desk. Tapping the pen against my lips, I read what I just wrote. I read it again. And again.

“Hey,” I call to Carlton, catching him walking past my office.

“What’s up?” He hovers by the doorway, his hands in his pockets.

“Do you have any close female friends?”

“Sure. Why?”

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed off would you be if you found out your dad was sleeping with one of them and had them knocked up?” I glance at him, and upon seeing the horror on his face, I quickly add, “Hypothetically. I swear.”

His shoulders drop as he relaxes. “If he was still married to my mom?” I nod. “I dunno. Probably fifty or somethin’.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “What if one was totally cool and one hundred was murderous. Would you still be fifty?”

“There’s a point to this, yeah? You’re not tryna scope me out as a potential murderer?”

I laugh. “No, I swear there’s a point.”

He shrugs. “Probably. I’d be mad enough to want to throw a rock at his face or somethin’, but not mad enough to actually do it. Does that make sense?”

“Sure. One day, I’ll introduce you to my grandmother and you’ll understand how often I come close to eighty on that scale.” I smirk. “Okay, so let’s switch this. What if your girlfriend slept with her best friend’s father and got pregnant? Then where would you be on the scale?”

“Probably about the same. I dunno. I’m pretty laid-back. I think I’d be more betrayed than angry.”

And betrayal leads people to do more impulsive, stupid things than anger does.

“Thanks, Carlton. Hey—I need some records, actually.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“A lot. I need everything you can get on Natalie Owens, Nick Lucas, and the whole McDougall family.”

“The mayor’s family?”

“Yep.” I meet his eyes. “Probably best to keep that one quiet.”

“No shit,” he mutters. “All right. I’ll try to get some to you by the end of the day.”

“Thanks. Natalie Owens is most important right now, more specifically her medical records.”

He frowns but nods in agreement anyway.

I guess only a handful of people actually know about her being pregnant. I’d rather it stays that way, too.

My eyes drift back to the whiteboard. Speaking to the mayor so early about his relationship with Natalie without any more tangible proof is asking for disaster. And to be fired, which is the last thing I want. Not even because of the money, but because then Drake and my brothers will withhold every bit of information they can. I don’t care what Drake says. He’s still not happy about this situation.

I pick my phone up and dial Madison’s number.

“Hello?” she answers.

“Hi, Madison. This is Noelle Bond. I was wondering if you were free to talk.”

“Sure. I’m at the town hall building.”

“I’m on my way.”

I get out of my car, having squeezed into the tiniest parking space known to man. Why these business guys need big-ass trucks that take up two point five spaces, I’ll never know. I assume they’d be too afraid to crease their suits, but maybe it has to do with their egos. Bigger is better and all that.

Such a pissing contest.

I walk in and go to the main reception desk, which was closed last time I was here. “Can you tell me where I can find Madison McDougall?”

The woman barely looks up at me. “Floor three.”

“Thank you.” I make it across the lobby and into the elevator before the doors shut.

The button for three is already pushed, so I simply wait until it shudders to a stop and announces our arrival at level three. Almost immediately, I spot Madison sitting at a desk and looking incredibly bored.

“Hey,” I say quietly, approaching her. “Am I interrupting anything?”

She looks up with a sad smile. “No. Looking at funeral stuff.” She takes a deep breath. “She has no one to plan it except me and I…” she trails off as her voice thickens. Then she shakes her head and focuses on me. “Your brother said you’d be by to talk to me soon. What do you need?”