The interrogation room is too familiar.
Officer Daniels sits in a chair across from , as if we’re friends. The table is scooted off to the side this ti, I guess to give a more intimate atmosphere.
But it’s all fake.
My skin itches and burns, leaving shifting restlessly in my seat, even as I chide myself to stop. All that movent’s going to make look guilty.
But it’s frustrating. Why should soone innocent ever have to worry about looking guilty?
Maybe it’s being a little too much poor , but seriously—it’s ridiculous. I’m a victim, too. I might be alive, but I seriously need to spend a solid month on a therapist’s couch with a gallon of ice cream daily and so soft squishy stuffed animals to cuddle with.
Biting back the hysterical giggle bubbling up at that thought, I focus instead on Officer Daniels’ words.
"And what is the nature of your relationship with Officer Everett, Ms. d’Armand?"
Sliding a hand through my hair in frustration, I ask, "What does that have to do with the attack on Officer Nancy?"
Apparently her last na is Stewart. Officer Nancy Stewart. But that sounds weird in my head, so I keep calling her Officer Nancy.
"He seed pretty ready to jump to your rescue when I was just asking a few innocent questions. I’m thinking there’s a reason for that, isn’t there?"
Yeah, there are. But I’m not going to throw him under the bus, even though it’s pretty clear by this point that he’s going to be taken off my case.
"Maybe he realized sothing weird’s going on and he wanted to be an upstanding officer of the law," I drawl, kicking myself ntally for my antagonistic sarcasm.
Officer Daniels, still playing friendly, leans forward, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. "Now, this shifter you claim you saw—"
The door to the interrogation room opens, and the familiar face of Officer Davis pops in. "Mind if I join in, Daniels?"
"Not a problem."
Officer Davis takes the only remaining chair in the room, flashing a warm smile. "Hello, Ms. d’Armand. I’m sorry to hear about what happened."
"Thank you." My answer is chanical. Automatic, really.
Officer Davis leans forward, his eyes softening with practiced concern. "Do you need anything, Ms. d’Armand? Water? Coffee?"
I shake my head, exhaustion seeping into my bones. "No, thank you."
Officer Daniels clears his throat, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Let’s revisit the black panther shifter you ntioned. We found no trace of anyone else at the scene. No scent, no footprints, nothing to suggest another person was there."
"His DNA should be on Officer Nancy. There has to be a paw print or sothing in blood. He didn’t appear out of thin air."
They share another look, this one heavy with skepticism. Officer Daniels leans forward. "There’s nothing, Ms. d’Armand. Can you explain why that might be?"
I shake my head. "No. I can’t." I really have no idea at all, and the way they look at each other with aningful gazes only makes my heart rate escalate. Logan’s words co to my head. "Do I need a lawyer?"
Officer Davis hesitates, his expression carefully neutral. "Well, that’s entirely up to you. We’re just trying to get to the bottom of what happened."
Officer Daniels nods, but I can see the frustration simring beneath his professional deanor. "If you feel you need one..."
I’ve seen enough cri dramas to know where this is heading. If even Logan’s warning to keep my mouth shut without a lawyer, I’m going to end it here. "I’d like to go ho now. I’ve already given my statent."
They exchange another look, this one tinged with annoyance. Officer Davis sighs. "Alright, Ms. d’Armand. You’re free to go for now. We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions."
I stand, my legs shaky beneath . As I make my way to the lobby, my mind whirls with questions. How could there be no evidence? I saw it happen. I was there. Traces of people don’t just disappear.
Damn. I should have asked about my car. Surely they saw the giant panther-sized dent in it back then. Proof he really exists.
Lost in thought, I nearly collide with soone in the lobby. I look up to see Ethan, his eyes fixed on with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Seriously, does this guy live here or sothing?
I know it’s his workplace, but there’s no reason for to run into him every ti I’m here. I’d think he was my stalker if I didn’t already know he has a massive thing for Penelope.
Officer Daniels, who’s followed out, nods at him, speaking politely. "Officer Lewis."
Lewis? My brain struggles for a second. Logan calls him Ethan. Why would Logan use his first na when everyone uses last nas around here? It’s a detail I didn’t notice before, but now seems strange, especially considering everything Penelope learned about them.
Ethan hates Logan, but they’re close enough to use first nas? It doesn’t seem right.
The creepy vampire officer’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. "Need a ride ho, Nicole?"
And now he’s calling by my first na. Like we’re acquainted.
Every instinct screams at to stay far away from him. "No, thank you. I’ve already called for one." I haven’t, but I can call up a rideshare with a press of a button on my app. I wouldn’t get in this man’s car if I was paid a million dollars.
What’s the use of a million dollars if you aren’t alive to use it? I have a healthy sense of self-preservation... sotis.
Hurrying past him, I can feel his eyes on until I’m out the door and into the crisp night air.
Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s like I’ve stepped into so twisted alternate reality where up is down and nothing is as it seems. And soone has a serious vendetta against , but what the hell did I do to deserve it?
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