I gestured them to the couch away from where Bailey sat on the rug. She regarded them with a serenity I envied. I tried to don the confidence of my slut persona, but the props and setting were all wrong.
“How can I help you?” I asked, a touch too loud. Damn.
“You’ve been seeing Colin Murphy,” Blue Eyes said, more a statement than question.
I snorted. “I’m living in his house. Yeah, we may have run into each other a time or two.”
A slight smile tugged at his mouth—gone just as quickly. “Mr. Murphy is a person of interest in a number of ongoing investigations with the CPD.”
My heart beat faster, mostly with worry for Colin and whatever trouble he may be in, but, to my shame, there were other emotions too. Relief that they weren’t here about Andrew. And, because I guess I’d always been selfish, fear of what this would mean for me and Bailey.
“He’s not here,” I hedged.
A note of smugness marred the other one’s face. “We know that.”
I affected an amused look, as if I’d thought of something naughty. “Were you watching us?”
Blue Eyes remained impassive. What was his name? Detective Cameron. “We know his schedule.”
“He’s not usually out of the house by now.” I clamped my mouth shut. Could not believe I’d just said that. Even if it was something they could easily find out, I didn’t have to help them.
Shaw’s eyes glittered with triumph at the slip. He knew he could play me now. This Detective Shaw was stockier than the other guy, coarser, and an asshole besides. Like the kind of guy I’d pick at the club if he wasn’t hiding behind a badge. Cameron was leaner, quieter, with those watchful blue eyes. Both dangerous in their own ways.
Detective Cameron leaned forward, just a smidge, but immediately Shaw subsided. So, we had a leader. And it wasn’t the mouthy one either. Interesting.
“Are you aware of what he does for a living?” Cameron asked.
“He owns a restaurant.”
“He does own a restaurant,” he agreed. “It’s a very nice restaurant that he spends a few hours a week on. What does he do the rest of the time?”
“Knitting?” I suggested.
“You think this is funny,” Shaw snapped.
Dick. “No, I don’t think it’s funny that you’re in his house and making accusations.”
“We haven’t made any accusations,” Cameron said. Crystal blue eyes scanned me, cataloging my words, my reactions. I straightened.
“Where does Colin go out at night?” Shaw asked.
“He’s with me.”
“Every night?” he prodded.
“Pretty much. Is this some sort of interrogation technique? Divide and conquer. It won’t work.”
“There’s been an increase in illegal trafficking the last couple of months,” Cameron said, interrupting Shaw’s words. “Shipments at night, that sort of thing.”
“Then Colin’s not your guy.” I let suggestiveness color my next words. “He’s with me all night.”
Shaw opened his mouth, but Cameron cleared his throat.
“Why don’t you leave your cards? I’ll let him know you stopped by.” I gave them my best smile, otherwise known as a baring of teeth. I may not like what Colin did for Philip, but let there be no confusion about whose side I was on. If they came here looking for an in, a mole, thinking because I was new here, I wouldn’t know what was up, then they were shit out of luck.
Shaw sneered, but Cameron stood. I stood myself, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably as they paraded out the front door to the porch.
The quiet one turned back, a card between his forefingers. “I’ll be around if you ever want to talk.” He glanced past me toward Bailey. “You may not be safe here.”
A shiver wormed through me, and I took the card.
“Nice cat,” I heard just as I slammed the door shut.
What cat?
I glanced back at Bailey, whose fingers were clamped around the tail of a big orange cat. Must’ve slipped in when those idiots had taken forever to leave.
“Shit,” I said.
“Sit,” said Bailey.
Double shit. I stomped around toward Bailey, and the cat darted away. Apparently Bailey had chosen that moment to let go. Of course she’d side with the litter pooper.
I tiptoed into the kitchen where the big cat was licking a sticky spot of syrup on the counter that had escaped my morning cleanup.
“Bad cat,” I said. Which turned out to be stupid, because the cat leaped off the counter—with surprising grace for his size—and ran back into the living room.
“Sit!” cried Bailey as I made a wide dash around her toys to follow the cat up the stairs.
Fifteen minutes later, panting and sneezing, I tumbled the cat out of my arms and onto the front porch.
“This isn’t a shelter,” I told those big, glassy eyes.
I shut the door.
That wasn’t quite true. It was a shelter, but it was full. No vacancies.
I turned around and shrieked. “What are you doing here?”
Shelly pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against. “You said to go around back.”
“I know. I meant how long have you been there. You could have helped.”