Page 7 of Seduced By the Billionaire
Juliette cut her gaze to the body, squinted at Jason’s face. Blood had never bothered her, but she winced because it should bother her. And Detective Ronan Duffy was right. The dark shade she wore—a reddish-maroon that changed the shape of her mouth—was smeared across Jason’s lips beneath the thin ruby lines of gore. She hadn’t even noticed with the blood.
“He kissed me,” she said. “I pushed him away, told him to get out, then went into the locker room. I heard a thud, and when I came back, he was on the floor. I touched him to see if he was…”
She shook her head and raised her hands, showing him her fingertips. If she was guilty, there would be more blood. There would certainly be a murder weapon. And he’d not find that here.
“Did he say anything before he kissed you?”
“He…” She swallowed hard. “He said that he liked me.” But he hadn’t. She’d seen only disgust on his face when his eyes had lit on her scars.
The detective blinked. “What about you?” he asked Waylon.
“Same.” But he had a smug look on his face, almost like he was daring the detective to ask him more. He probably was.
They’d all heard the rumor a few months back. Shonda said they’d passed a law that made it illegal for cops to enter adult venues. It was nonsense—at least Juliette thought so—but it was possible that the precincts were cracking down. Detective Duffy might be in trouble just for being here.
He cocked an eyebrow at Waylon. “You were also in the locker room after kissing the deceased?”
Waylon frowned. “No, I mean, I was in my office, I heard them talking”—he gestured vaguely at Juliette and the body—“then a few minutes later, I heard a scuffle, came out, and he was on the ground.”
“He’s right about the scuffle,” Juliette said. “I heard him arguing with someone right before that thud.” The lie slipped from her lips so cleanly that even she heard it as truth.
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a fact?”
No, that was definitely not a fact. But she needed him to believe it. Sirens wailed in the distance.
“I heard that too,” Waylon cut in. “Someone with a low voice.”
Juliette nodded. “Yes, definitely—a low voice like yours, Detective.”
There had been no argument. No low voice. But she and Waylon had good reason to protect the other, even if she didn’t know exactly what it was she was protecting Waylon from. What the fuck had he been doing in his office? From the state of his unbuttoned pants, she could guess.
The sirens were a constant wail now just outside the building. Lights flashed down the alleyway, and then they were right outside the door, painting the corpse in sickly shades of blue as if he’d been dead far longer than five minutes.
“Let’s get you two out into the main room,” Detective Duffy said. “The crime techs will be here soon. And we’ll need to question everyone separately.”
Waylon’s nostrils flared—angry. “I can’t afford to keep this place closed all night! I’m losing money right now! Can’t you just load this asshole into an ambulance and?—”
The detective raised a hand. “In the main room now, or I’ll take all of you to the station and question you there. Would you prefer that?” His voice remained low but not aggressive. Confident. Because he knew Waylon had no choice.
Her heart launched into her throat, choking her, but she forced out, “I’m happy to answer your questions here, Detective. Anything I can do to help.”
Please believe me. Please don’t take me to the station. Please.
Waylon’s nostrils flared like an angry bull, but he did as asked and pushed into the main room. Juliette followed at his heels, careful to avoid Detective Ronan Duffy’s piercing gaze on the way past.
A cop. A fucking cop.
Her heart was beating far too quickly, her chest on fire with panic. But what more could she do? It was too late to make a run out the back door. She certainly couldn’t go to the station. Jenny wasn’t her real name—Waylon knew it. And if the cop figured out that the name she used here was fake…
None of them would get out of this alive.
Chapter 5
Ronan
Ronan dragged his gaze from Jenny’s back when his cell beeped with a text: Out back, dickhead. Then a loud booming voice called out from the alley, “Fancy meeting you here.”
Ronan almost smiled—might have under other circumstances. But Jenny’s tight eyes had burned their way into his brain.
