“I’m going to need you to come to the station,” Hernandez informs me, a crease etched on his forehead. “Am I under arrest?” I laugh, delirious. When he doesn’t answer, I snap my gaze around the room, then back to him. “Oh my god, I am, aren’t I?”
“No, but you do need to come answer some questions.”
“She’s the victim here,” Stephan grinds out, stepping up and resting a hand on my shoulder.
“And you are?” His tone is silky smooth, strong.
“I’m her friend. We spoke before about Abigail.”
“Ah, yes. Well, I’m afraid this is a murder investigation and I have to follow protocol.”
They both turn to look down to me when I speak out, almost hypnotic. “This whole time, she was here. When? How could he have put her…” Sickness threatens again.
A cup is placed in my hands. “Drink up,” Jack tells me with a reassuring nod of his head.
“And you were here when she found the bag?” Hernandez turns his attention to Jack.
“Yes. I removed the bath panel. I stayed the night.” Jack’s eyes flick to Stephan’s, his words a claim and warning.
“I see. Well, you’re all going to need to give statements, so stick around. I’ll get some officers to escort you down to the precinct.
I find myself once again in an interrogation room. Dull yellow lights. Dirty white walls. A crap chair that’s cold. “Am I a suspect, Detective?” I ask, pushing away the rancid coffee he places in front of me.
“This is just—”
“Protocol, yeah. I heard you the first few times. I think doth protest too much.”
“Stephan said you called Mr. Clark by the first name Jack,” he digs, trying to get inside.
“He misheard.” My tone hardens, teeth clashing.
Pointing to my cut, he frowns. “What happened?” Is that a genuine concern? Probably not.
“Fell.”
“I’m here to help you, Lizzy. I’m not your enemy.” The words are just that: words.
“No? Then why am I here and Willis is still out there killing?”
Silence.
Pushing the words through clenched teeth, I ask, “Are we done, or are you going to charge me with something?”
With a firm nod, he says, “We’re done.”
I stand. “But you can’t go back to your apartment. It’s a murder scene now.”
I peer over at him, my muscles tensing. “You think he killed her there?” Scenarios play without permission through my head. How? When?
Unbuttoning his jacket, he pushes it aside and buries his hand in his pocket, the gun holstered to his ribcage. “No, but we need to be sure.” How easy would it be for a Willis of the world to tackle him and relieve him of it?
“Lizzy?” I jerk my head from his gun to his eyes.
“You’re free to leave.”
When we get to the foyer, my stomach dips. It’s dark outside. How long have we been here? “Do you have somewhere to stay?” he comes around me, opening the door.
“Yes,” I lie. I haven’t even thought about where I’ll go. I just want out of here.
When I step out onto the street, Stephan and Charlotte are there waiting for me. “We thought he was going to keep you all night. Do they really believe you could have something to do with this?” Charlotte looks tired. Dark bags swell beneath her eyes.
“It’s routine. Don’t worry,” I try assuring her, but there’s no conviction behind it. I’m not sure what I believe anymore.
“We should go,” Stephan blurts out, and a wave of déjà vu blasts through me. We’re here again, going around and around the bodies piling up.
“Where are we going to go?” Charlotte shivers, rubbing her arms.
“Maybe I need to get out of town,” I announce. “It would be safer for you all.”
“No,” Charlotte snaps, tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder. “Don’t let him drive you into isolation.”
“Who’s he?” Stephan asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Are there things you’re not telling me?”
“Yes.” Charlotte narrows her eyes on him. “Of course there are. You’re the friend who has a crush on her, I’m the best friend who is more like a sister, so she tells me more.”
Grabbing her wrist, Stephan grits his teeth. “You’re over the damn line again.”
“Ouch, you bastard! Let go!” she moans, tugging to no avail.
“Stephan,” I warn, shaking my head and pulling his arm away from her.
“Whatever. I’m sick of this bitch. I’m out,” he sneers.
Spinning on Charlotte, I growl, “Do you have to antagonize him?”
Raising her chin, she jerks her shoulder, calling out to his retreating form, “Yo, Stephan.” When he turns, she flips him the bird before turning to me. “Yes, I do.”
Irritated, I jerk down on my sleeve. “What are we going to do now? He was our ride.”
Tapping me on the shoulder, she turns my body. “We have another.” Jack. He’s sitting at the curb in his car, his eyes glued on me. “Come on.” Charlotte yanks me. “For the record, I don’t trust him, but it’s cold, and I don’t want to sleep in my crappy car.”
Smiling over at her, I slip into the car, grateful she took the backseat this time.
Twenty-Three
The yellow tape covers our closed door as we pass it on the way up to Jack’s apartment. It still feels too close—that poor woman stuffed into a duffle bag beneath the place where I shower. A tremor vibrates through my body as I linger my gaze on the door. Jack’s large hand encompasses mine, squeezing. “Come on.” He nods his head to the stairs.
Once inside, Charlotte whistles, turning in a circle in the center of the room. “Wow. You’re a neat freak?”
“I like order. My upbringing was chaotic,” he tells her, placing his keys in a decorative dish and going into the open-plan kitchen, getting out some glasses. “I have water, wine, whiskey.”
“Ohhh, wine for me, please.” Charlotte grins, running her hand down the drapes as she moves around the room.
“Thanks again for letting us crash here tonight.” I take a seat on the stool opposite him.
“Of course.” He uncorks a bottle of red and pours two glasses,
