I never suspected her. Fuck, I thought she was a lesbian. I’d catch her looking at me a little too long, and I thought she was eyeing me up but turns out, she was plotting my demise.
“But all of this for what?” I ask the unresponsive killer and grab my purse from the living room, taking the pictures and the sticky notes out. I leave the gun and place the bag on the chair, farthest away from her. “Jealousy?”
On the floor, the pan I hit her with tempts me for another blow, but I resist the urge and relocate the pan to the sink, away from swinging distance. I open the junk drawer in the kitchen, grab the tape and zip ties, and drop the packet near her head. Blood trickles onto the manila file, tainting the blank page with blood.
A proud sense of accomplishment fills my lungs as I pull the zip ties from the packet. Stefanie’s feet had been up against the legs of the chair. I slip the tie around her ankle and the wood and repeat the action twice. Once the legs are secure, I remove her gun and the badge she doesn’t deserve, and place them on the kitchen island.
I wind the tape around her ribs and the back of the chair, securing her, before tying her arms together at her back and using her handcuffs to bind her wrists.
Her head dangles and flops down. Latching on to her ponytail, I yank her head back, pinching her nose until her reflexes kick in, and she gasps for air.
When she comes to, she’s livid and wincing from the pain in her head.
“What are you doing, Eleanor?” She struggles against her restraints. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Yes,” I answer, “and my heart, my life, and my badge.”
She cuts her gaze to me, picking up on the accusatory tone.
I nod, answering her unspoken question. “I have a distinct feeling, I’m looking at the person who helped empty me.”
Her head whirls around to me as I grab her gun from the island behind her. “What are you doing?” she asks again and then goes into defense. “I haven’t done anything. Why are you tying me up?”
“Because you’re not innocent.”
“What are you accusing me of?” she asks, her eyes narrow on me.
I take a seat on the edge of the table in front of her, sliding her phone toward her.
She throws her head back as if repulsed by the evidence: a picture of Kace and her, hugging each other. With a pinch and release of my thumbs, I expand the image, so they’re faces encompass the screen. “When was this?”
“First day of police academy,” she answers. “Why are you looking through my phone?”
Even killers and liars can tell the truth sometimes, I just need to pry it out of her. “Everyone has something they want to hide on their phones,” I remind her. “It’s one of the things all cops are trained to look for.”
“I’ve been a cop longer than you have,” she spits out. “Don’t you tell me how things go down.”
“Maybe I know how to do my job better than you do,” I goad her into anger, so her reactions are natural and instinctive. The reptile brain doesn’t lie.
“Please, just because you’re good at interrogations?” She laughs and arches her brows. “I mean, used to be good. You’re worthless now.”
“Think so?” I fiddle with the phone, thumb centered on the screen and bouncing the corners off my thigh.
“Oh, you want to lie detect me?”
“No. I already did that,” I say nonchalantly and pull up another photograph.
She slants her eyes and flattens her lips, an expression of anger I happily respond to with a shit-eating grin.
“When was this?” This photo is of the two of them dressed up and acting like was prom.
She smiles, and her expression softens at the sight of it. “Police Ball. After graduation.”
I flip to the next one.
She spits out, “At my birthday.”
And the next.
“Halloween.”
Another picture. Another announcement. It doesn’t matter where the photos were taken or what memory it immortalized. Motive. That’s what I held in my hand. “Were you sleeping with Kace the whole time?”
“Not lately.” She chooses her words wisely. Vagueness offers a lot of room for interpretation.
“Not for a very long time,” I correct because all these pictures had one thing in common, age. “The police ball for you, was what? Six…seven years ago?”
Her upper lip tenses and coils back before her lips smash against each other.
“Ah, so want to clarify how long you’ve been sleeping with Kace?” I offer no room for lies. “Because there’s a whole lot of “no responses” here. Both of us know you haven’t slept with him in a long time.” I didn’t know, but pretending like I do helps get my answer.
“We almost did this morning!” She throws it out there to shock me, which it does. It also hurts a lot. “We were both naked and ready.”
“So why not?” I pop my shoulder while stifling the pain. “I mean, if you were both naked and ready to fuck, why not get it over with?”
“Because people started calling into the information line about receiving bullets, and Kace left the bathroom before I could even put my shirt on.”
“Cool. I don’t care.”
“I bet you didn’t know he spent the night. At my house. All night. With me.”
I’m better at this game.
“And you didn’t have sex?” I prod further. If they had, she’d be claiming at the top of my lungs and probably asking if I could smell him on her. “Damn…” I won’t stop until her eyes bulge and there is more white than blue. “He must really not be attracted to you.” I curl my lip in disgust. “Makes sense, you’re not exactly girly.”
“I’m more woman than you.”
“Maybe, but have you ever wondered why all the guys call you Frank?”
“Everyone’s called by their last name.”
“No… they’ve never called me Devero or Eleanor. I’ve always been Elle or Ellie. Not that it matters, anyway.” I grab the envelope the Bullet Man sent me with the bullet. I hold one of the pictures up to her. “I know Kace was with you,” I point out. “The Bullet Man told me.”
Her face blanches as I hold the bullet I swiped from Cap’s desk in my hand, careful to hide the engraved name.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Evidence,” she deflects. “Which you’re tainting, and if you’re working with him, you’re going to go to jail.”
“Kace told you I wanted to find him?”
“Of course, he did.”
I smile and shrug my shoulder, clamping my fist around the bullet and pointing at her. “But the Bullet Man found me.”
“What?”
I get up, and with my other hand, hold the bullet to her belly. “Right around here,” I say, trying to position it right about the same place the bullet pierced my son’s stomach. “You killed my son.”
Her eyes widen with shock, and she swallows down her words. She leans back, trying to topple herself over. With the force of my foot, I drag her chair against the island. The back of her neck hits the granite countertop.
She winces. “The Bullet Man’s fooling you, Devero.”