Page 134 of Knot Unwanted: Part Two

“Excuse me?” The man’s voice is incredulous. “Get out of my way. I’m on police business, and you don’t want trouble. I’m a police officer.” He tries to sidestep, but Stone’s hand shoots out, gripping his arm firmly.

“Oh, I know what you are. I think my brother and I would like a word.”

In the dim light from the street lamps, I can now see the man’s face more clearly—middle-aged, with sharp features and the alert, wary eyes of someone accustomed to assessing threats. He’s still clutching something in his hand—a small object that looks like a USB drive.

“Let me go,” he demands, his voice carrying the authoritative tone of someone used to giving orders. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh,” I counter, stepping closer, “I think we do, detective.”

His eyes widen slightly at the use of his title—a confirmation as good as any verbal admission.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, attempting to pull away from Stone’s grip. “I’m just leaving work.”

I almost laugh. Didn’t he just say he was an officer of the law?

“At the Weekly Whisper?” I ask, my tone making it clear I know he’s lying. “Funny, I didn’t realize the police department had relocated.”

The detective’s expression hardens, his free hand moving toward his waist where I suspect he’s carrying a concealed weapon. Stone notices the movement as well, twisting the detective’s arm behind his back in a smooth, practiced motionthat immobilizes him without causing serious pain. He’s strong, but Stone is bigger.

“I wouldn’t,” Stone warns quietly. “This conversation can stay civil, or it can get very uncomfortable. Your choice, detective.”

“What do you want?” The man asks, the bravado fading from his voice.

“The truth,” I reply simply. “About your relationship with Veyra Heath. About the evidence you’ve been tampering with. About your role in protecting her operation.”

He goes very still at the mention of Heath’s name. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Let’s not waste time with denials,” I suggest, nodding toward the object in his hand. “What’s on the drive? The files Hailey Ironwood supposedly left detailing Heath’s operation? The ones the Whisper is planning to publish tomorrow?”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face—the first crack in his professional facade. “How do you know about that?”

“Because we’re the ones who planted it,” Stone informs him, his grip remaining firm. “A carefully crafted trap that you walked right into, detective.”

The detective’s expression shifts rapidly from uncertainty to calculation. “You can’t prove anything. And you’ve just assaulted an officer of the law. When my colleagues hear?—”

“Colleagues like the police captain?” I interrupt. “Or the Head of Police? I wonder how many of them are on Heath’s payroll, too.”

It’s a shot in the dark, but his reaction—a momentary widening of the eyes, a subtle tensing of his shoulders—tells me I’ve hit close to the mark.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he insists, but there’s less conviction in his voice now.

“I think we do,” I counter, stepping closer. “We know about the evidence that’s disappeared from the case files. The witness statements that were altered. The surveillance footage that mysteriously corrupted. All to protect Heath and her operation.”

He says nothing, his jaw tightening stubbornly.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I continue, my voice dropping to ensure our conversation remains private. “You’re going to tell us everything—how you’re connected with Heath, what she’s asked you to do, what evidence you’ve destroyed. In return, we ensure that when this all comes crashing down—and it will—you’re offered protection.”

“Protection?” He scoffs.

“From me,” comes a soft, almost musical voice from the shadows.

The detective stiffens instantly, his head whipping around toward the sound. A tall figure emerges from the darkness of the alley—Connor Ashgrave, his pale, almost colorless eyes gleaming in the dim light like chips of ice. He moves with the fluid grace of a man who has never needed to rush, never needed to assert dominance through obvious displays of strength.

“Connor,” I acknowledge.

The detective’s reaction to Connor is immediate and visceral—a sharp intake of breath, a sudden stillness that speaks of recognition and fear. Interesting. He knows who Connor is.

“Detective,” Connor greets, his melodious voice incongruously gentle for someone who carries such an aura of danger. “How unexpected to find you here, so far from your jurisdiction, engaged in what appears to be...evidence tampering.”

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