Remember Ramsey by Cynthia Eden

Chapter Twelve

Observation notes: Ramsey has a secret hobby. Though I don’t know that “hobby” is the right word. I found out about the activity by accident. He had bruises on his knuckles, and I asked him what happened.

Ramsey told me that when he’d been a teen, he’d been desperate for money. He only had his fists as a way to survive on the streets. He fought, brutal fights that didn’t end until his opponent was on the ground…and couldn’t get up.

Even after all these years, it seems that he still fights…

***

“So, Ramsey…” The detective lifted her eyebrows. “Want to tell me what happened to your knuckles?”

“You absolutely do not have to answer that question,” his lawyer interjected crisply. Aspen Gray gave the detective a cold smile. “And, seriously, Melissa, I hope this little chitchat doesn’t take much longer. Because my client and I are both growing bored. We’ve been here forever as it is.”

Aspen Gray was the best criminal defense attorney in the area. She’d only been out of law school for a few years, but she’d shot to the top of the game very easily. Mostly because she’d gotten kickass referrals.

Referrals that had come from Ramsey.

Once upon a time, her father had been one of Ramsey’s bartenders—and bodyguards. When Saul had died, Ramsey had stepped in to pay for Aspen’s college and her law school. And on the day she’d graduated, she’d told him that she would be paying off her debt.

She’d kept him out of jail, so he figured she’d been doing a stellar job.

“Your client was seen leaving the house of Ronald Rudolph this morning at shortly after ten a.m.,” Melissa announced, delivering what she no doubt thought was a major bombshell.

“Seen by whom?” Aspen immediately purred back. “And, side note, isn’t it such a shame the way eyewitness testimony can be so very unreliable?” She made a tut-tut sound with her tongue. Obviously, she was ready to rip apart the eyewitness.

And, about that…Aspen was about to get pissed but…keeping his eyes on the detective, Ramsey said, “We both know he was dead by then.”

Melissa practically salivated. “You admit you were there.”

Aspen shot him an are-you-insane glare.

But Ramsey knew the game. He also knew that Melissa wasn’t as bad as she pretended to be. “I was there. I had some questions for Ronald.”

“Questions that relate to Dr. Augustine?”

Whitney had been separated from him once they’d been brought to the station. Ramsey very much did not like that situation. It was why he was talking. The sooner he got this mess cleared up, the faster he’d get back to her. “Yes. Though you already know that, so let’s cut through the BS, shall we?”

Melissa nodded. “I would love to do that.”

Aspen shoved back her chair. The chair legs screeched against the floor. “My client has nothing—”

“Ronald recently delivered some flowers to Whitney,” he said smoothly. “I wanted to see if he knew anything else about the person who’d hired him to make the deliveries. I went to his house, but when I arrived…” A shrug. “Ronald was dead.”

“You went inside his house.” Melissa watched him like a snake that was ready to strike.

“Um.”

“How could a dead man let you inside? Unless you are confessing to breaking and entering?”

“The door was unlocked and open.”

“Good Samaritan!” Aspen declared with a jerk of her chin. “My client was simply being a Good Samaritan who rushed to the aid of a victim.”

Melissa slanted her a fast glance. “Then why didn’t he call the cops when he found the dead body?”

“But I did.” When she looked at him again, Ramsey offered her a slow smile. “Like any good, concerned citizen, I made a call to the police department. That’s how you knew to go to his house.” He’d been the one to give the cops the tip.

The faint lines near Melissa’s eyes tightened. “If you made the call, then you should have waited—”

He put a hand to his chest. “With a potential killer on the loose? You wanted me to just stand there? No way. I was afraid for my life.”

Melissa snorted.

“Ronald Rudolph had previously told me he was hired to deliver roses to Whitney. I’m sure you already figured that out when you found his phone and tech equipment.” Ramsey knew exactly what to say and what not to say. “I’ve been afraid this mystery individual may have an obsession with Whitney. I’m sure you are aware her house was torched last night.”

Melissa’s nostrils flared. “I’m aware.”

“Then when I found Ronald dead, you can understand why I immediately rushed to her side. I had to make certain she was safe.”

Her glare cut to Aspen.

Aspen patted his arm. “Such a good citizen. After everything that Whitney Augustine has been through recently, isn’t it wonderful that she has someone looking out for her now?”

Hell, yes, he’d be looking out for Whitney.

“But…” Aspen winced. “I must tell you, detective, it doesn’t look very good for you to have hauled Whitney in the way you did. Everyone loves her and her story of survival, but here you are…treating her like she’s some sort of common criminal.” She glanced around the small room and wrinkled her nose. “I bet you have her just sitting in one of these unfortunate interrogation rooms.”

“I have questions for her,” Melissa snapped.

About that…Ramsey straightened in his chair. “Seeing as how Aspen is Whitney’s lawyer, too, you won’t be asking those questions without her being in the room.”

Melissa’s gaze sharpened on Aspen. “You’re her lawyer, too?”

“Did I not mention that?” A vague flutter of Aspen’s hand in the air.

“No, you did not.”

Probably because Aspen hadn’t realized she would be representing Whitney, not until that very moment.

“Ramsey, I want to know how you got the bruises on your knuckles.” Melissa redirected with tireless energy. “And, yes, my ME is telling me that the vic was dead for hours, so I know you didn’t kill him at ten a.m.”

“Good of you to proclaim my client’s innocence,” Aspen declared brightly.

Melissa kept focusing on Ramsey. “He was killed last night. Probably between midnight and three a.m. My ME will narrow it down more for me, but I have to ask, do you have an alibi for that time?” Her cold grin said she didn’t think he would.

But Ramsey nodded. “Of course.”

“And…?”

“You don’t have to say anything more,” Aspen declared flatly.

This was important. He wanted to say this. He wanted word to spread. “I was with Whitney Augustine. She can verify my alibi.”

Melissa’s stare glinted. “What sort of game are you playing with that woman?”

“I’m not playing.” He never had been. “And I’m done with the interrogation. Take me to Whitney.”

“What happened to your knuckles?”

He hadn’t used them to beat Ronald Rudolph to death. He stared down at the bruising.

“Ramsey…” Aspen warned.

He looked up at the detective. “I punched a wall.”

“And why would you do that?” Melissa wanted to know.

“Because the wall had it fucking coming.” He rose. Pressed his hands onto the table. “Where is Whitney?”

***

She’d been in plenty of police stations. She’d interviewed cops. Sat in on interrogations. Whitney knew how the scene was played. The unnecessary waiting. The uncomfortable chair. The too many cups of coffee that were supposed to make her squirm because she needed to use the bathroom and if she answered the right questions, then maybe she’d get out…

Oh, yes, she knew all the tricks. So she didn’t fall for them.

She didn’t touch her coffee.

She didn’t take the wobbly chair. Instead, she sat on the table and swung her legs to stretch them out as time ticked past. She focused on breathing—nice, deep breaths. And she tried not to think about the fact that Ronald Rudolph had been beaten to death.

When did the bruises first appear on Ramsey’s hands? She tried to remember. She pictured the events of the previous night. His hands had been all over her. He’d touched her so carefully. She’d felt the faint calluses on his fingertips. She’d reached for his hand—

He had bruises last night. The image popped into her mind.

Her breath whooshed out just as the door opened.

Detective Melissa Wright paused. She took in Whitney’s position on top of the table. “Guess you made yourself comfortable?”

She swung her legs. “Ramsey did not kill Rudy.”

Melissa made a face at the familiar name.

Crap. Should I have called him Ronald?

“How do you know?” Melissa asked.

“Because Ramsey—”

Melissa’s laughter cut her off. “Please. Spare us both. Do not say that Ramsey isn’t a killer. We both know he is. Just as we both know that the man is very, very good when it comes to covering his tracks.”

Whitney pressed her lips together.

“What is the nature of your relationship with Ramsey Hyde?” Melissa put her hands on her hips.

The door had been left open behind the detective, and a woman dressed in an elegant suit, with pearls wrapped around her neck, walked inside. Her high heels tapped across the floor. “Do not answer that question, Dr. Augustine.”

Whitney lifted her brows.

“As Dr. Augustine’s attorney,” the dark-haired woman continued as her heels tapped, “you should know that I don’t want anyone talking to my client unless I am present.”

This woman was her attorney? Since when?

But then Ramsey appeared behind the lawyer.

Ah, okay. That explained it. The sharply dressed woman was there because of him.

“It’s not like I’m asking for any sort of state secret.” Melissa released a brief laugh. “I merely inquired about the nature of her relationship with Ramsey Hyde. Considering the alibi that he gave to me, I thought it was an important note.” Her head tilted as she studied Whitney. “But perhaps his alibi was a lie, and that’s why you don’t want to tell me about the nature of your relationship with—”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Whitney lifted her chin. “Ask me your questions. I’ll answer them.”

The lawyer pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should have stayed in bed today.”

Grim satisfaction flashed on Melissa’s face before she demanded, “What is the nature of your relationship with—”

“We’re sleeping together,” Ramsey growled before Whitney could answer.

Melissa didn’t look his way. “I was asking her.”

Whitney swallowed. Her dress was so loose and flowing that it completely hid the growing curve of her stomach. She didn’t think that Melissa realized she was pregnant. “Ramsey and I are personally involved.”

“Are you now.” Not a question, more of a statement.

But Ramsey said, “Yes, we are.”

Melissa’s eyes remained on Whitney. “Since when?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake…” The lawyer marched forward. “The detective is trying to see if you can confirm Ramsey’s alibi. Will you please just state for the record where you were last night and what you were doing?” She sniffed and shot an annoyed glance toward Melissa. “Happy?”

Melissa waited. She did not look particularly happy.

Whitney released the breath she’d been holding. “I was at Ramsey’s house. He took me there after my home was torched.”

Melissa nodded. “And you were there all night?”

“Yes.”

“Could you see Ramsey during the night? Could you verify—”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the table. “I slept with him, so, yes, I can verify that he was there. Ramsey didn’t leave the house all night.”

Over Melissa’s shoulder, she saw Ramsey frown.

Why was he frowning? She’d just alibied him.

Ramsey crossed to her. His fingers curled around her waist. He carefully lifted her off the table and lowered Whitney to her feet. His warmth seemed to wrap around her.

“Aren’t you curious about what happened to his fingers?” Melissa asked softly.

“He had the marks on his knuckles before he even came to my house.” She was pleased with the confident sound of her voice.

“Just what time did he arrive at your home?”

She tried to remember. “Nine-thirty. Maybe ten.” Around then. Whitney glanced over at Melissa.

The detective’s expression had tightened. “And you didn’t ask him how he got the bruises?”

“He’s a fighter. He’s been involved in boxing since he was a teen. I figured he’d just gone and done a bare-knuckle bout at the gym.” Whitney forced a shrug. “Isn’t that what happened?”

A gleam lit the detective’s eyes. “No, that’s not what happened. According to your boyfriend, he hit a wall.”

What? Whitney’s stare jumped back to him. Why would Ramsey be punching walls? Why would—

He found out I was pregnant. She knew he’d been upset. So upset that he’d started punching walls?

“Well, I think we’ve cleared up quite a bit of information.” The lawyer—Whitney still hadn’t learned her name—brought her hands together in a quick clap. “Dr. Augustine has verified both that Ramsey was with her last night and that he’d sustained the injuries to his hands before your victim was killed. I believe we are now done.” Her smile flashed, but it was icy. “If you have more questions, you will, of course, make certain I am present before you interview my clients.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Ramsey murmured to Whitney, “we’re done here.”

They began walking for the door.

But Melissa rushed to step in their path. “You were given a second chance,” she gritted out as her stare raked Whitney. “And you’re going to throw it away on someone like him?”

Anger burned through Whitney as she stared back at the other woman. “You don’t know Ramsey. You don’t know me. How about you focus on doing your job and finding the man who actually killed Rudy? Leave innocent people alone.” She curled her fingers with Ramsey’s and tugged him toward the door.

“There is nothing innocent about Ramsey!” Melissa called after them.

Whitney hesitated in the doorway. Then she glanced over her shoulder. “There’s nothing guilty, either, or he would have been locked up years ago.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Melissa seethed.

“No, you are because you’re focused on the wrong man. But then, I guess if you can’t find Rudy’s killer, Ramsey and I will just have to do the job for you.”

“What?” Shock.

But Whitney was done. She kept her grip on Ramsey and she marched through the station with him. He was silent and so was she as they made their way to the station’s main entrance. As they passed the bullpen, she could feel stares on her. She could also hear the tap, tap, tap of the lawyer’s high heels.

Then they were outside. The sun shone down on them, but it did nothing to chase the chill from Whitney’s body.

“That was…interesting.” The lawyer swept an assessing stare over her. “Hate to tell you, but I think you went from being the celebrated victim…to becoming a new target on Detective Wright’s hit list. You just made yourself an unfortunate enemy.” She held out her hand. “I’m Aspen, by the way. Aspen Gray. And I make enemies every single day.”

Whitney let go of Ramsey’s hand and curled her fingers around Aspen’s. “I wasn’t looking to make an enemy.”

“No, you were just looking to protect him.” Her head inclined toward Ramsey. “And that is not something I see often. Most people would rather throw him under the bus and let him pay for every sin in the world.”

Whitney pulled her hand back. “Ramsey doesn’t need to pay for my sins.”

“You don’t have sins.” His rumble.

“Maybe she didn’t,” Aspen murmured. “Until she stepped into your world.” Her phone pealed and she hauled it out of her bag. “Got to take this. Look, I’ll check in with you both later, okay? Do not talk to any annoying detectives without me.” She turned away and brought the phone to her ear as she hurried down the street.

A limo pulled to the curb near Ramsey and Whitney. She frowned at it—and at the man who’d just hurried out of the driver’s side and around to open one of the rear doors. He looked familiar…as in…she’d seen him just a few nights ago.

He was the bouncer who’d been outside of Ramsey’s bar.

“I was waiting for you, boss. Just like you said.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” Ramsey tugged her toward the limo. “Take us to my place, would you?”

“Absolutely.” Jimmy winked at her.

She stopped by the limo’s open door. “Why are we taking a limo?”

Ramsey’s lips brushed over her ear. “Because I haven’t had the chance to pick out a new car yet, and this is safer for you than the motorcycle.”

Safer. Her head turned. Their mouths were so close.

“It’s bullet-proof, baby. Until I find out who we’re dealing with, no chances will be taken with your safety.”

He thought she was in danger of getting shot?

“The detective is watching us.” His mouth pressed lightly over hers. “So if you’re about to argue with me, how about you save it for the car?”

Oh, she had plenty to say. But he was right. They were being watched. Whitney decided to give the detective a show. She curled one hand behind Ramsey’s head and locked her lips to his. Her tongue thrust into his mouth. She teased and savored and she let the kiss linger because she wanted to make sure the detective got the message.

I’m with Ramsey. He’s with me.

“Get in the car,” Ramsey rasped against her lips. “Because I want to fuck you right here.”

Okay, that wasn’t something she wanted others to watch.

Whitney slid into the car.