Page 11 of Conflicted Lies

“Fuck.” She stomps her foot. “It was supposed to be a fun night.” I give her a warning glare. Charlotte is immature. She’s used to getting everything she wants when she wants, and when consequences are being rolled out, she throws a tantrum. She exasperates a sigh when I don’t agree with her. “Ugh, fine. I’m leaving,” she grumbles, dismissing herself and closing the door behind her.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting the rhythm of the classical music take over.

Everything is going to be okay. I’ll deal with the investigation bullshit later. Hopefully, the questioning about the murder is a one-time thing, but I have a nagging suspicion it won’t be the last time I see Braxton Hero.

I release a heavy sigh.

I’m going to have to call the buyer of the sculpture and tell her there’s been a delay.

I hate that.

I’m never late.

I’m always on time.

I have a feeling this is only the start of my time being encroached upon as a certain detective sniffs too closely. If my family catches wind of this, he won’t make it out alive. I’m trying to make the point to my parents I can stand on my own two feet, so I absolutely refuse to ask for help.

I can handle this asshole myself.

CHAPTER6

Braxton

I’m sitting in my car when Charlotte exits the building a few minutes after me… alone. She pulls out her phone and starts quickly typing.

I get out of the car and approach her. She raises her head just as I reach her. Her brown eyes meet mine, and they’re nothing compared to the magnetic blue of Hope’s, which are so striking with her vibrant red hair and porcelain skin.

She clutches her phone tightly to her chest and blurts, “I’m going to try to find the wallet.”

“I should hope so because I’d hate to bring you down to the station,” I tell her, and she pales. The thing with these people is they always think they’re above the law because they can pay to make any problem go away. And although that might be true, if I really wanted to, I’m sure I could find far more to pin them with.

“Charlotte, how long have you known Hope Ivanov?”

“About four years,” she answers.

“How did you meet?”

“We went to high school together, and now we’re attending the same college.”

Interesting. I assumed she had been focusing on her career alone, and though I saw she’d enrolled in college, I thought with her busy schedule there was no way she could balance both. Unless, of course, she does mostly everything online.

I wonder why she felt the need to go to college. Not only are her parents wealthy, but she also earns enough from her sculptures to maintain any sort of lifestyle she wants.

“Would you like to explain to me what you were doing on the night we last met?”

She darts a glance to the car waiting for her. “Umm, we just went clubbing. It’s not usually Hope’s thing, so if there’s too many people, she’ll often drink a lot. I did, too. And then we left, and we, umm… Well, you know the rest.”

I show her a photo of the victim who was murdered at the club. “Do you know this man?”

She studies it. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Really? Because this camera footage shows you making out with him on the same night.” This makes her a prime suspect, although fortunately for her, he also made out with another two women from the same class, and she was too busy causing mischief, mugging my partner alongside Hope.

She pales as she stares at the photo of the two of them in a lip lock. “Honestly, I had so many drinks that night. I made out with a few guys. It’s kind of my thing. But I swear to God, I didn’t hurt him.”

“Of course not,” I say sarcastically. She goes even paler. I’m not above using intimidation tactics on women; if they’ll crack even just the slightest bit to give me a new lead, I’ll uncover it, no matter what. These two girls are trouble, but only one of them is related to a family of killers.

“There were other people there from the sculpting class that night,” she quickly adds. “Like a bunch of us. They all wanted to hang out with Hope. You know, get pictures and stuff for their social media pages.”

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