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“Miss Parks,” Detective Rochel greets. “As you know, we brought Mr. Russo in on suspicion that he may have been the one to assault you.” I nod, wondering if they can hear the drumming of my heartbeat. “This is just routine questioning. Unless he gives up substantial proof, he’ll walk out of here after this.”
“But what if he’s guilty?”What if he walks out and comes after me again?
“We’re going to do our best to figure that out. We ask that you listen. If there’s anything that rings a bell, any sound, mannerism, anything that links him to that night, speak up. It may be hard to watch. You can walk out at any time.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Okay.” I look up at Tate. His face remains blank, but he rests his hand on my lower back and guides me closer to the window. A minute later, the detective enters the room.
“Mr. Russo, we have some questions for you. Answer honestly, and you’re free to go.”
“I didn’t do shit. Do I need a lawyer?”
“Only if you think you do.”
“Fuck that. Ask away.” He leans back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest.
“Where were you five nights ago at approximately two in the morning?”
“At the studio. Just got done working. It was a great night, too. Lots of heavy petting.” His smug smile churns my stomach.
“Can you confirm who you were working with that night?”
“Oh, yeah. Mindy Parks. She’s frisky. Always wanting more. Had to tell her to chill.”
“That’s a lie,” I blurt out.
“What did you do after you were done filming?”
Chad licks his lips. “I showered off her sweet scent, grabbed some food at the diner across the street from the studio, then went home and crashed.”
“Is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts?”
“Yeah, the diner. Check the fucking camera footage leaving the studio.”
“The cameras were off that night.”
“What?” I turn to Tate. “How come you never told me that?”
“You didn’t need to know.”
“Why is that?” I snap.
He doesn’t answer, his eyes trained on the mirror.
“Listen,” Chad starts, “I heard what happened to Mindy. That bitch thinks her shit doesn’t stink and has had a stick up her ass since she started, but newsflash, I don’t want her bad enough to try to fucking rape her.”
“So, you admit you want her?”
“Fuck, I’d let her suck my dick, yeah. But I don’t need pussy that bad.”
“So, not bad enough you would harass her on the job? Possibly send her something that would lead her to believe you wanted her—?”
“Dude, just said I don’t want her—”
“Maybe you sent her flowers with notes, wishing you had her, wanting to do specific things to her?”
