Ryley shook her head and returned to look out the front window. “You mind if we listen to the radio? This silence is giving me a headache.”
“Rudeness. Now I know I didn’t teach you that.” Stretch gasped, vanishing from sight and taking the chill with her.
“You’re weird.” Crews was quick to answer without giving in to her request.
“Yes, but weird without a headache is better for everyone, don’t you think?”
Apparently, he didn’t agree. But regardless, Stretch had gotten her panties in a twist and hadn’t stuck around to find out. The ride to the police station was filled with quiet contemplation. Crews parked in front of the building and then escorted her inside, doing a perp walk with a hold on her arm.
The police station smelled like old coffee and sweat. Some officers sat at their desks and taking reports from people in the uncomfortable chairs across from them, others on their phone leaned back, relaxing like they didn’t have a care in the world.
A man in an old-timey uniform was watching her from across the room. A hard scowl marred his face, reminding her of the ghosts of the dead cowboys buried in the cemetery. A tarnished star was attached to the black duster that reached his spurred cowboy boots and a gun belt circled his waist. He caught her looking at him, and squinted, as though trying to decide if she saw him. Ryley averted her gaze. The last thing she needed was a spirit who’d been hanging around for decades to think she could help him.
The old sheriff watched their movement as Detective Crews opened the door to an interview room and ushered her inside. Crews unhooked the handcuffs, and dumped her purse on a table out of reach before pulling out a chair. He reattached a cuff from her wrist to the bar on the table like she was a common criminal.
“I want a phone call,” Ryley said.
“And I want answers,” he said.
“Fine. I’m trying to help your mom since you won’t.”
His eyes flashed in aggravation. It didn’t matter. She’d hadn’t lied.
“Don’t pretend to think you know the first thing about my mother just because she was your shrink.”
“And don’t pretend to know anything about me because I was her patient,” she answered, as the cowboy appeared in the room. Dammit. She hadn’t fooled him.
“You got a mouth on you.” The ghost cop sneered.
Ryley rolled her eyes. “Looks like we’re going to be here all night. Can I at least get some water? Please.”
Crews rose from his seat and left her alone in the room. Exhaustion settled into her bones as she stared at the two-way mirror into the room before dropping her gaze so they couldn’t see her lips moving.
“If I get locked up because they think I’m talking to myself, so help me God, I will dig up your bones and send you into the light.”
“I could throw you in jail, young lady. You’d be wise to show me some respect.”
She glanced up in his direction. He looked meaner standing this close. The star on his duster suggested his name had been Marshall Boswell when he’d been alive.
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure those keys on your belt no longer fit these locks.”
The Marshall turned around and disappeared straight through the wall.
Ryley used her untethered hand and rubbed at the headache forming at her temples. This wasn’t how she’d planned for the night to go.
The door opened, and another man in uniform walked in, holding bottled water. This uniform was present day, although his handlebar mustache looked like he should have lived in a different time. He uncapped the bottle and handed it to Ryley.
“Detective Crews didn’t poison it, did he?” Ryley asked before taking a sip.
Ryley drank half the bottle and put it down. Dealing with ghosts had a way of draining her energy and leaving her dehydrated. It was a phenomenon she couldn’t explain. The mustache cop picked up her bottle with gloved hands and grinned. “Not poisoned, but he did ask that I get your prints.”
“Wouldn’t he anyway if I were under arrest?”
The man grinned. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Great, why don’t you send him back in and while you’re at it, tell him he has ten minutes to beat answers out of me before my ride gets here.”
The cop’s brows dipped as he left the room.
Five minutes went by before the door opened again, and Crews stepped back into the room. He looked perplexed, and she couldn’t blame him.
“Let me guess, I didn’t exist before twelve years ago,” she said, knowing what would come out of his mouth. That had been the last time she’d been moved thanks to her daddy finding her again.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
“Someone who’s worried about your mom. Your mother was qualified to help me years ago, and now she needs my expertise. I’m returning the favor. That’s all you really need to know.”
“How much did she pay you?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You won’t believe whatever I tell you anyway, so go ask her.”
The interrogation room door opened again, and a familiar face walked in. She hadn’t even had to call for bail money. Her fingerprints being ran would have alerted him she was in trouble. They always did.
Marshall Freddy Gray was dressed in jeans, wearing an agitated frown on his face. She’d caused that look more than once. He’d been the guy in charge of their Witness Protection relocation.
“Uncle Freddy, it’s so good to see you again,” she said in a bright, cheerful voice that just made Freddy’s frown deepen even more.
Standing next to him was her brother, dressed the same way, only holding his briefcase.
“Either charge her or let her go,” Tucker said.
Detective Crews rose from his seat. “Freddy, what are you doing here?”
“You heard her. I’m Uncle
