“He’s probably right.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side, here,” Ty grunted.
“I’m on the side of the righteous, babe; means I’m rarely on your side.”
Ty barked a laugh.
“What kind of time span are we talking here?”
“I asked him the night we got here,” Ty said as he began to play with one of Nick’s extra pens. “Before the dinner.”
“You’ve asked him to marry you three times in thirty-six hours?”
Ty smacked his hand on the bar again. “If I had you on the balcony of a castle with the motherfucking wilds of f**king Scotland out the window and I asked you to marry me, wouldn’t you say yes?”
Nick shook his head. “No.”
“Damn it!”
“It’s not the location that’ll reel Zane in, Ty.”
Ty looked almost desperate when he realized Nick was willing to give him advice. He leaned forward. “What do I do?”
“Well . . . he said you hadn’t thought it through. So think it the f**k through for him. Let him know you’re serious and you’re thinking about life instead of just wearing a ring. You know him. I mean, think about it, how would you propose to me?”
Ty waited a beat, then said, “Season tickets at Fenway and a ring in your beer during the seventh inning.”
Nick waved a hand. “And I’m yours.” They both laughed. Nick was still smiling when he dropped his voice to a more serious note. “What are Zane’s season tickets? What’s the thing that will tell him you’re in it for the long haul and you want him there with you? It’s sure as hell not a beach in Scotland.”
Ty nodded, his gaze losing focus. Nick let him ruminate for a few seconds, until Ty finally snapped out of it. “Thanks, Irish.”
“He’ll say yes eventually.” Nick looked back down at his notes, trying to remember where they’d been in the interview. “Okay, so you were on the beach getting shot down by the love of your life.”
Ty grumbled wordlessly.
Nick smirked and fought to recover a straight face. “Did you see anyone else while you were out there?”
“Yeah, there were two people walking. Guy and a girl. We passed them.”
Nick frowned at his notes. He paged through them. “What time was this?”
“Maybe . . . half past midnight.”
Nick pulled out every page of interview notes with a woman. No one, man or woman, had mentioned being out on the beach for a walk. “What’d they look like?”
“I don’t know.”
Nick glanced up, eyes going wider. “You don’t know?”
“I didn’t . . . look at them. I don’t know. The girl was wearing a dress.”
“Ty, every woman on the island was wearing a dress last night.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t pay attention to them.”
“Were they young, old? Flustered, composed? Hair color, height? Were they hot, not? Were they bloody and carrying a very large rock?”
“I don’t know!”
“Tyler!” Nick dropped his pen and rubbed his hands over his face. “Do you realize you may have seen the killers and you can’t even tell me what f**king color their hair was?”
“I’m sorry! I guess I don’t check people out like I used to.”
Nick groaned. “I’ll be sure to inform Garrett that your eyes don’t wander. Did he see them as well?”
“Yeah.”
Nick shook his head in disgust, glaring at Ty. “You’re the worst witness ever.”
“I know.”
Nick grunted and picked up his pen again. “Anything else you didn’t see?”
“No, but you don’t have to be snippy about it.”
Nick fumed for a second. “What time did you return to your room?”
“One, maybe.”
“And who was with you?”
Ty sighed.
“Ty, just answer the f**king questions, okay?”
Ty rolled his eyes. “Zane was with me.”
“And you remained there?”
“Yes. I got tied up in the curtains.”
Nick squeezed his eyes closed. “Why would you tell me that?”
“No, I mean I literally got tied up in the curtains. I got stuck. Zane left me there.”
Nick glanced up, frowning.
Ty rolled his eyes, blushing a little. “I got tangled in the curtains and I couldn’t stop laughing, so Zane left me there and I fell asleep.”
“You mean you passed out drunk.”
“If that’s what they call ‘sleeping’ in Boston, sure.”
“So . . . could Zane have left the room at any point?”
Ty frowned, shifting on his stool. “I guess.”
Nick gave a curt nod and jotted it down.
“Did you just write that down?” Ty asked with an accusatory point.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m writing everything down, Ty.”
“You didn’t write down that you and Deacon were getting high in the garden!”
“Because it wasn’t pertinent to the murder.”
“Neither is Zane leaving me passed out drunk in the curtains!”
“I thought you said you weren’t drunk.”
“Don’t try to confuse me to get a confession, damn you!”
“Tyler, come on!”
“This is police brutality!”
“I swear to God, Beaumont . . .”
Ty glowered for a moment. “Okay, so is that all?”
“Yeah.”
“Your turn?”
Nick’s stomach tangled up, but he nodded and slid the pad across the bar top. “Go for it.”
Ty ran through the same questions Nick had been asking all morning. With every answer, Nick got more and more nervous. He’d probably fail a f**king lie detector test at this point.
“What time did you return to your room?” Ty asked.
“Just after midnight.”
“And you were there the remainder of the night?”
“I was.” Nick watched as Ty’s pen moved across the pad. He swiped his palms across his knees, trying to steel himself for what was coming.
“What did you do in your room the remainder of the night?”
Nick swallowed hard. “I was in bed.”
Ty raised his head. “You were in bed or you were sleeping?”
Nick stared at him, holding his breath. “I was in bed.”