Page 29 of Too Close To Home

“And you left?”

“Midnight-ish.”

Harrison peered up. “So, after Miss Fisher finished her shift.”

“Looks that way.”

“Did anyone see you leave?”

“Jesus Christ, are you actually questioning me on suspicion?”

“I’m questioning you, as I will every person who was here last night. You were also at her last known location earlier this morning.” Harrison tilted his head. “I’m establishing facts. And, as I’m sure you can appreciate, time matters in cases like this. Your cooperation would be helpful.”

Jake pressed his lips together, and he darted his gaze at Brodie before he could stop it. “I didn’t leave alone.”

“Okay.” Harrison’s expression didn’t change. “Then I’ll need the details of who you left with.”

And right then, perhaps for the first time in Jake’s life, admitting to a one-night stand made him feel like a complete fucking idiot. Heat crawled up the back of his neck. He hated it instantly. He didn’t embarrass easily, and he certainly didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about who he shagged or how often he shagged them. Two consenting adults. Nobody else’s business.

Except, apparently, it became somebody else’s business when a girl went missing and the detective asking where he’d spent the night happened to be a man he’d noticed far too much from the second he’d met him.

But he had to tell the truth. “I didn’t get his number.”

“A name?”

Jake opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Fuck’s sake.

He gave a slight shake of his head.

Harrison looked down and wrote whatever it was in his notebook. No judgement. No raised eyebrow. Not even a pause. And Jake stared at the top of his blond head, shame prickling hot beneath his skin in a way he wasn’t used to. He’d done this dozens of times. Sometimes names came up. Sometimes they didn’t. He’d never once lain awake afterwards worrying about what that said about him.

Now, standing in front of DI Harrison Black, he suddenly wanted to explain himself.

He hated that.

Not that Harrison knew he’d gone home with a stranger, but that Jake cared what Harrison thought about it.

“Description?” Harrison asked.

Before Jake could make this whole fucking conversation any more humiliating, Pete stepped in.

“Pete Hargreaves. Landlord.” He offered his hand across the bar to Harrison. “Jake was on stage most of the night. Drummer. I can confirm that. As far as I’m aware, he didn’t cross paths with Emily at all. And I saw him leave with a lad in a Nirvana T-shirt.”

“We all heard him leave with him,” Brodie added from behind the bar.

Jake shot him a look sharp enough to strip paint.

Pete glanced over his shoulder. “Think I hear the delivery truck, Brode. Why not sort it, aye?”

Brodie rolled his eyes, pushed off the counter and stalked out the back, hips swaying with enough attitude to make sure everyone knew he’d been dismissed against his will.

Harrison looked back at Jake. “Nirvana T-shirt?”

“Weren’t real merch.”