Page 11 of Seduced By the Billionaire
She took another deep breath and let it out slowly. She’s okay, she thought to herself. Mom’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay. Right now, she’s safe—unlike me.
“Are you sure you heard a man’s voice?” he said, the car purring as he maneuvered up the road. “I mean, is it possible that the killer is a woman?”
“Well, I mean, the voice I heard was really low.” She covered the lie by leaning the back of her head against the seat. Her insides felt like they were melting into the heated chair. “If the killer was female, she’d be more likely to use a blunt force object or poison, but the latter wasn’t exactly convenient in this circumstance…” She trailed off at the shrewd look in his eye.
Juliette clamped her lips shut. The way he was asking her questions in that silky voice felt more like a conversation than an interrogation, but that was exactly what this was. She’d been interrogated enough times to know that he was baiting her—and she was falling for it.
“I agree with you,” he said. “In theory. But if she knew the victim, saw him kissing you, reacted in a jealous rage… maybe it was the woman in the office with your boss.”
Fuck. Was he suggesting that she’d seen this woman stab Jason and had let her get away? Or that the woman had snuck up on Jason after Juliette left? She couldn’t exactly ask, and Waylon’s words were ringing in her brain—You didn’t see shit, Jenny.
“There was no one in the office with Waylon. Not that I saw.”
“Does he usually take his dick out when he’s in there alone?”
There was no accusation in his voice—just curiosity. “Yeah, I think jerking his gherkin is probably his biggest pastime. Thank god I’ve never walked in on that tiny pickle party.”
Ronan snorted. A half smile. “One of your… stripper friends said that she heard Waylon arguing with the victim. Do you think that might have been the argument you heard?”
What? There had been no argument at all—dead silence until Jason hit the ground.
But she shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I can’t be positive.”
Ronan shifted in the seat. His elbow didn’t quite brush hers, but she felt the heat of his skin through his suit jacket, little tingles of electricity running up through her shoulder. It seemed that being starved for affection was making her body react insanely to any hint of kindness.
She needed to get control of herself. She didn’t know that he was kind. She was sure that he was a cop, probably a dirty cop with the way he tossed that money into their lockers. And Shonda… the last time anyone had seen her was with him.
Juliette shifted against the window, away from his heat. Her lungs expanded. Her heart settled. Paranoid. She was being paranoid.
“I also hear that your boss gambles—a lot. That bookies are often hanging around. Do you think the victim might have been there in that capacity?”
What the hell? Where was he getting this information? But if that was true… could the altercation really have been over a gambling debt? Was it possible that this wasn’t about her at all?
“I honestly have no idea. I’m not sure I’d be able to tell a bookie from some other lecherous asshole.”
Ronan hit the blinker, his jaw tightening. “None of the pieces of this story make sense together. No money was taken. I think our victim was there for you, and I know he didn’t follow you to the back. Your lipstick was on his mouth, which is damning. But the other women say the vic had nothing to do with you, that he was arguing with Waylon. And neither you nor your boss saw anyone else in that room or the alley, but the back door was wide open. We have no murder weapon. And why would anyone wait to enter a club packed with witnesses to stab a man?”
Her heart locked in her chest. Brittany hadn’t told them that Jason asked for her. But Ronan was right about the lipstick.
“When you put it like that… it does seem stupid to kill him there. Even the alley would have been better.” She should feel something for Jason—feel sad or even sorry that he was dead.
But all she felt when she imagined his body was concern about what his presence in the club meant. For her own well-being.
“Perhaps the killer chose the location for another reason.” He glanced over. “Does anyone have it out for you, Jenny?”
She blinked. “What?”
“I’m just thinking aloud here, but if you had nothing to do with the murder, if you didn’t kiss him as a distraction?—”
Her heart launched into her throat. “No, I’d never?—”
“Then someone waited until after he was covered in your lipstick to plunge a knife into his heart. I’m just wondering if anyone out there hates you enough to cause you trouble. To make you look guilty. Maybe a jealous ex?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “No,” she said. A blatant lie.
“What about Waylon?”
“He didn’t kill anyone. He didn’t have a drop of blood on him—you saw him right after.”
