Page 27 of Bram

He wrote that down, too. I watched his hand, the pen, the tension in his fingers. He wanted to press, but not too hard. Not yet.

He looked up. “You know she’s missing?”

I didn’t answer. I stared at the paint. He let the silence work.

“She left her car on Avenue K,” he said. “Driver’s door wide open. No sign of her.” He waited. “She ever do that before?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He leaned in. “You and she have a thing?” He fucking hated that we did. It was clear he wanted to be the one fucking her. He knew I didn’t have her. This was his warning to stay away from the woman he loved. Typical asshole stuff.

That got a reaction from me. I smiled, small and cold. “We have a thing. A thing that’s going to last a very long fucking time, Ruiz.”

He smiled back, the kind of cop smile that meant nothing. “Are you a jealous man?”

He let that land, then wrote another note. I watched his hands, steady as mine.

“While you’re sitting here trying to prove your dick is bigger than mine, which I very much doubt, we could both be out trying to find her.” I pointed at him. “I’m jealous of no man, but I will kill any man who lays a finger on her.”

His jaws clenched, and he took a minute to calm himself. Yeah, my dick was definitely bigger

“She ever mention the Scorpions? You know she’s got a history with them?”

I shrugged again. “Everyone in this town’s got a history with someone.”

“This shit’s getting us nowhere, Bram.” He slammed a fist on the table, losing control. “Do you fucking know what happened to her or not?”

He sat back. He knew the drill: keep the questions broad, wait for the slip.

I kept my face clean.

The door creaked behind him. Feldman swept in, carrying more suit than body, eyes ringed with the kind of red you get from sleeping in your car. He didn’t say hello, didn’t look at Ruiz. Just dropped into the chair next to me, set his own legal pad on the table, and clicked his pen.

“Don’t say another word, Bram,” he said, his voice a drill sergeant’s rasp.

Ruiz spread his hands. “Just establishing timeline.”

“Timeline’s irrelevant unless you charge him,” Feldman said. “Are you charging my client?”

Ruiz stared at me, then at Feldman. “He’s not under arrest. Just a conversation.”

“Then this conversation’s over,” Feldman said. He smiled, a flash of teeth. “Unless you want to violate Miranda on the record?”

The cop and the lawyer, dance partners at a shitty wedding. They went back and forth, rules and exceptions, the kind of talk that’s supposed to make you forget the clock’s still running.

I ignored them. Let my eyes drift to the mirror. Thought about Julie.

Ruiz switched tactics. “You mind if we get your prints, Bram?”

“Depends,” Feldman said. “What for?”

“Car was wiped,” Ruiz said. “But the driver’s side has prints, partials; we think they’re his. Just need to confirm.”

Feldman shook his head. “You have a warrant?”

“Not yet.”

“Come back when you do.”