Page 8 of Crocodile Tears

Josiah was busy securing his captive’s wrists behind his back when Reed arrived, breathing heavily, his dark brown skin shiny with sweat.

“What kept you?” Josiah asked, grinning as Reed flipped a finger at him.

Josiah turned his captive over and his grin faded as he found himself staring into the face of the model from the holopics. The dark hair was shorter, but the pale skin, sensuous lips, and stone-grey eyes were unmistakable.

The man stared back at Josiah intently, and they gazed at each other for a long moment, oddly transfixed. Finally, Josiah cleared his throat, shaking himself out of the strangely intimate moment, and hauled the man to his feet.

“Are you Elliot Dacre’s indentured servant?” Reed demanded.

“Yes.” Their captive moved his head so that the gold ID tag on his necklace was visible, with its expensive designer hallmark.

“What’s your name?” Josiah asked.

“Christopher,” the indie replied. He had a deep, cultured voice that went some way to explaining his high price tag. Clearly, he wasn’t just a pretty face.

“Christopher…” Josiah paused. “Reed – wasn’t Christopher the name of Dacre’s husband? The one who died in the AV drowning accident?”

Reed frowned. “You’re right, sir. Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“What’s your real name?” Josiah demanded.

“Thatismy real name,” the indie said firmly. “Elliot had it registered on the IS Agency database, so that’s my name.”

“What was your name before you were indentured, then?” Josiah pressed. The indie looked at him searchingly, with that oddly intense gaze. “Don’t fuck with me.” Josiah jerked his head impatiently.

The man’s expression changed instantly – his eyes suddenly becoming completely blank, as if a veil had been drawn over them. Josiah blinked, startled.

“Like I said, I’m just an indentured servant, nobody important,” the indie said flatly. “You should speak to Elliot. He’ll answer your questions.”

“I’m asking you.” Josiah took out his ID and held it up. “I’m Senior Investigator Josiah Raine from the Inquisitus Investigation Agency.”

“Oh, I know who you are,indiehunter,” the man retorted, much to Josiah’s irritation; his reputation always went before him these days.

“And this is Investigator Reed,” Josiah added. “Why did you run when he called out to you?”

“I was startled. I didn’t know who you were. Listen, whatever you think I’ve done, Elliot will be able to clear me.”

Josiah leaned in close. “Well, that might be a problem. You see, we’re here to investigate Elliot Dacre’s murder.”

The impassive mask dropped, the colour draining from the indie’s face. Either he was a brilliant actor, or he’d genuinely had no idea that Dacre was dead.

“Elliot’s been murdered?” he whispered. “Poor Elliot.” His look of shock was replaced, almost immediately, by one of realisation. “And you think I did it?”

“Did you?”

The man met his gaze, stonily. “No, of course not.”

“What time did you leave the house, and where have you been all day?”

“I left at around nine a.m. to visit my personal trainer.”

Josiah glanced at his watch. “And that took you four hours?”

The indie hesitated. “No. I left the gym at around eleven forty-five.”

“Then where have you been for the rest of the time?” Reed demanded. “Just driving around in that fancy duck?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

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