Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 34: Interrogation #2

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Of course. Lead the way."

As we follow Officer Davis and Logan to an interview room, I can feel Logan’s eyes on me. The weight of his gaze is almost physical, and it takes all my willpower not to meet his eyes.

Nope. Not playing whatever weird games he wants to play. He rejected me. And yes, he saved me. But he made it clear that he wants nothing to do with me, and I’m not about to pine after crumbs of his attention.

The interview room is small and stark, with a table and four chairs. It looks just like the last room I was in. Maybe it’s the same one.

I sit down, Penelope taking the seat next to me. Logan and Officer Davis sit across from us, and I can’t help but notice how Logan’s presence seems to fill the room.

"Ms. d’Armand," Officer Davis begins, his tone gentle. "We understand you’ve been through a lot recently. We appreciate your willingness to speak with us again."

I nod, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. "I want to help in any way I can. Scott didn’t deserve to die like that." He deserved a lot of bad things, but not that.

Logan leans forward, his green eyes intense. "You mentioned some questionable files with Mr. Bower’s name. Why didn’t you bring it to the SED before today? You were made aware of this ongoing case."

It’s like he’s tiptoeing around the fact that Logan’s the one who told me about the case. Is he trying to make it seem like he doesn’t know me?

That’s laughable, since there are rumors flying that I’m his mate.

Then again... the front desk lady hadn’t known who I was until I was looking for Logan. So maybe no one knows I’m that elusive, mysterious mate of his.

I take a moment to collect my thoughts, aware of Logan’s scrutiny.

"Yes," I begin, my voice steadier than I feel. "I discovered some discrepancies in our client records. Scott was listed as a consultant on accounts he shouldn’t have been involved with. There were also inconsistencies in the services provided and e-mail conversations between me and our clients."

"But why didn’t you bring this to the SED earlier, Ms. d’Armand?" Logan presses.

I guess he’s the bad cop this time, and Officer Davis is the good cop. It seems silly that I just realized how I played right into that dynamic yesterday. Of course it’s good cop/bad cop. That’s how interrogations go in the movies, too.

"I was investigating these accounts on my own, because I wasn’t sure what they meant."

Officer Davis clears his throat, his charming smile warming the cold interrogation room. "I can understand not wanting to report something until you were sure it was a problem, Ms. d’Armand."

His kindness would be sweet, if it wasn’t so obviously fake.

"Thank you," Penelope snaps, scowling in Logan’s direction as she speaks up for me. "It’s good one of you understands."

Logan ignores her, his eyes never leaving my face. "Did you bring the files with you?"

Of course not. My apartment’s a crime scene. But instead of giving in to my sarcastic inner voice, I just say, "No. They’re still at home."

Officer Davis and Logan share a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. I wonder what they’re thinking, what conclusions they’re drawing. Are they suspicious of me? Do they think I’m lying?

"Ms. d’Armand," Officer Davis says, his voice gentle as he turns back to me. "Could you tell us where exactly in your apartment these files are located?"

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to picture my apartment. "They’re either on the kitchen table or the coffee table," I say slowly, opening my eyes. "Near my laptop."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see another look pass between Logan and Officer Davis. My stomach twists uncomfortably. What does that mean?

"Thank you for that information," Officer Davis says, his smile returning. But it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. "Now, can you walk us through what you found in those files?"

I take a deep breath, trying to organize my now-scattered thoughts. "Well, as I mentioned before, there were several accounts where Scott was listed as a consultant. But that didn’t make sense because he wasn’t involved in consultations. His role was more administrative."

Logan leans forward, his green eyes intense. "And you’re certain he wasn’t supposed to be involved in these accounts?"

"Yes," I say firmly, meeting his gaze. "I handled all the consultations personally. Scott’s name shouldn’t have been anywhere near those files."

"What else did you notice?" Officer Davis prompts.

Twisting my fingers in my lap, I try to ignore how Logan’s eyes bore into the side of my face. They’re like lasers. "These same accounts were clients who declined services after their consultation, but were listed as having installations or upgrades before they even declined them."

What else was there? I wish the papers were in front of me. "Um. Oh, they were all paid with the same payment information. The last four digits were the same on each one."

"Can you give us the client names, Ms. d’Armand?" It’s Logan this time, sliding a notepad and pen my way.

I take the pen, my hand steady despite the tension in the room. The names and addresses flow from memory onto the paper. Each name carries weight, a potential link in this mess I’ve found myself in.

Silence hangs heavy as I write. Only the scratch of pen on paper breaks it.

When I slide the notepad back toward Logan, he reaches for it.

Our fingers touch.

There’s a jolt—like static, but more.

I yank my hand back, my heart racing.

"Ms. d’Armand," Officer Davis says, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "How exactly did you come across these specific accounts?"

"Um." Kicking myself for getting distracted by Logan’s pheromones— freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Wait.

There are no pheromones wafting in here.

So what was that electric thrill when we touched? The broken mate bond?

"Ms. d’Armand?"

Shit.

Shaking myself mentally, I smile weakly at Officer Davis. "I’m sorry. Ah, the names were given to me by another client. They were concerned about rumors of recent security breaches, involving murdered clients. However, I found no reported deaths online and only suspicious information in the files. I wasn’t sure what to do with what I found."

"You should have brought this to SED attention immediately." Logan’s voice is tight, even cold. "A murder investigation is nothing to fool around with."

Penelope scoffs. "Alleged murder. Where are the bodies? We couldn’t find any obituaries with those names."

"Thank you, Ms. d’Armand," Officer Davis interrupts, with his fake kind smile. "We’ll look into this. Try not to do any investigation on your own and leave it to the professionals. We don’t want to put you in any danger."

"Of course, Officer—"

"What’s the client’s name?"

Logan’s interruption is downright frigid.

"Excuse me?"

"The client who gave you these names." He taps the pad hard. "Who is the client?"

"Ah—" Shit. If I bring up Mr. Fernsby’s name here, the police will question him. Rich clients can be finicky about their privacy. Especially if they’re linked with a murder investigation.

But what’s the point of retaining a client if I end up in jail?

"Jonathan Fernsby."