Page 39 of King of Praise

“And you provided that protection?”

“Of course.” Some of my carefully maintained control slips, anger bleeding into my voice. “He was hurting her. My own son or not, I couldn’t let that continue.”

She watches me with that sharp detective’s gaze, but there’s something else there too—approval maybe. “How long ago was it that Naomi came to you for help?”

“Maybe three, no four months ago,” I say, keeping my answer short.

“Sandra said Naomi was staying with you,” she adds.

“Yes.”

Detective Archer stares at me like she’s waiting for me to say more, but I don’t. “Did she see Lucas at all during that time?”

“No.”

She makes a few more notes in her notebook before she continues. “Were you aware of any changes in Lucas’s behavior before his death? Any new associations or unusual activities?”

I consider my response carefully. The truth—that Lucas had become increasingly violent and unstable—needs to be established without revealing too much about that final confrontation with Naomi.

“Like I said, I hadn’t seen him in months. But he was—” I search for the right words. “Volatile. Angry. Always had been, so nothing you find out would surprise me. But we weren’t close enough for me to know details of his life.”

“What about his connections to local drug trafficking?”

Good.This is the official narrative that needs to stick. “I knew he was involved in some illegal activities. But the specifics,” I spread my hands in a helpless gesture, “he didn’t exactly confide in me.”

The questioning continues in this vein—how often did I see Lucas, what did I know about his movements the day he disappeared, had he mentioned any threats or enemies. I provide answers that are technically true while obscuring theheart of the matter. It’s exhausting, maintaining this perfect balance between helpful witness and grieving father, all while protecting Naomi.

Even here, in this sterile interview room with a detective across from me, the thought of her creates a dangerous warmth in my chest. Her strength in surviving Lucas’s abuse, her vulnerability in seeking my protection, the way she trusts me despite everything.

“As I said, Sandra doesn’t believe his death was drug related,” Detective Archer says, watching my reaction. “She’s quite insistent this was Naomi’s doing. Do you believe Naomi is capable of something like this?”

“Sandra needs someone to blame besides Lucas,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “She can’t accept that her son might have been involved in dangerous activities. It’s easier to blame Naomi than face the truth about Lucas.”

She nods, making another note. “And you have no idea where Naomi is currently?”

Careful now.“She needed somewhere safe to recover. Somewhere Lucas couldn’t find her, and Sandra couldn’t harass her.” Not technically a lie.

“You’re protecting her.” It’s not quite a question.

“Wouldn’t you?” I meet Detective Archer’s gaze directly. “After everything Lucas did to her? After everything Sandra enabled?”

Something flickers in the detective’s expression—something I can’t quite interpret—before she looks back down at her notes.

“I need to talk to Naomi,” she says, closing her notebook. “I appreciate your need to protect her, but her statement would be helpful.”

“She’s not here.” My voice sounds more clipped than necessary.

“Where is she?” she asks.

“She’s been in hiding for months. She doesn’t have anything to add to your investigation.” I push to my feet, signaling the end of this interview. “She’s been through enough. It’s best if you leave her out of this.”

She holds my gaze, narrowing her eyes. For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to let this go. “Very well. For now. But if Naomi happens to return to the city, I’d like to talk to her. To close all loose ends.”

“Naomi isnota loose end,” I say, voice low and dangerous. Too dangerous for this interview. “She’s a survivor of domestic violence, and she’s earned her peace.”

Detective Archer’s eyes widen slightly at my tone. She gives me a single curt nod before standing, her chair scraping loudly across the floor. “Let me show you out.”

She escorts me through the station’s maze of corridors, past desks where other detectives work on their own cases, and out the main entrance.