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“You can tell that to your lawyer, and they’ll figure out what to do about it. But you’ve missed your last two parole appointments.”
Fuck.
I thought about that when Vannah and I first got to the safe house, and then it simmered on the back burner where I didn’t notice it again.
“Look, I’ve got a damned good reason for all of this.”
“You can tell it to your attorney, tell it to the investigator when they take your statement. We’re just here to bring you in. Turn around please.”
I take a look at Leif.
But he shakes his head slightly at me.
These cops are both armed. So are we, but our guns are hidden, and they can sure get to theirs quicker than we can get to ours. If I’m resisting arrest, they can shoot me in cold blood and no one will pay the price.
“Fine.” I turn around.
And I wince at the click of the handcuffs in place again.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the cop says, turning me around. “Anything you say can and will be held against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”
“Do I fucking ever,” I say. I meet Leif’s gaze. “Take care of her. Please.”
“You got it. Who should I call?”
“Call my father. He’ll get an attorney to see me right away.”
“You got it.”
I walk out, led by the two deputies. They open the backseat of their squad car and shove me in. I resist the urge to bitch about the force that they’re using.
How did they find me?
They couldn’t have followed Leif or me. I was on high alert when Savannah and I drove here.
Doesn’t fucking matter.
They’ve got me.
And they’re right. I have violated the terms of my parole. Which means they can throw me back in the fucking slammer.
And then who will protect Savannah?
About twenty minutes later, we get to the local station. They take me in, put me through intake, take a mug shot and my prints.
Then into a holding cell I go. A couple of drunks and a meth head are in with me.
Christ.
A large bearded man sits on the steel toilet in the corner, farting and shitting. The putrid stench makes my eyes water.
Six cots altogether. I’m the sixth in the cell.
Guess they’re thinking I’ll be here all night.
They can think again.
I don’t talk to the others. I just plunk my ass on an empty bed and lie down. Stare at the ceiling.
