“She likes being in charge.” He sends Anthony a wink over my shoulder.
“For God's sake!” I shout, shoving him into the house.
I turn around, but Anthony is halfway down the path toward his cruiser. I chase after him, not sure whether or not I owe him anything. We’re friends, but he wants more, and I said I wasn’t ready. And now it looks like Jonesy is getting comfortable in my house.
“Hey, could you wait just a minute...” I pullhis arm back so he spins toward me.
“I’ve been waiting longer than that, and you damn well know it, Katie.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m not lying when I say I’m not ready. Last year changed me. It’s not something I can explain right now.” I bite my lip. I’m still trying to figure it out in my head. Trying to figure out what it means for me not only in relationships, but in my career, my whole life.
“Are you in love with him?”
“With Jonesy? God, no,” I laugh.
“Not with him. With Thomas Vale.”
My heart freezes. Literally freezes in my chest. I can’t breathe. My lungs have stopped working as the blood drains from my face. It’s all in my feet. Big, blobby clumps of blood congealing thick and fast, so my feet are heavy and immovable.
“Wh . . . what? Of course not?” I splutter.
“I know he writes to you. The prison guard told me he sends you letters every week.”
How the ever-living hell does he know that? Thank God he sends them to the precinct and not my home address. Even though the man isn’t getting out until he’s in a wooden box, the thought of him knowing where I live makes me feel sick.
“Katie, I know this is your profession, but I think it would help if you talked to someone. I could help you if you just let me in.”
This is too much. He’s getting too close, andI’m not sure I could dare admit the truth to him. He was too involved. Too close to the devastation that was Thomas Vale. The chaos that encumbered him. The gut-wrenching agony he inflicted on those women and their families, their friends, their entire lives snuffed out. No, I'm not in love with him. But what I am is something far more twisted. Far more sinister, I’m not sure I’m even ready to admit it to myself.
“Goodbye, Anthony.” I turn away from him, my heart pounding, returning to the one man who broke my heart.
Chapter Six
Jonesy
“You mentioned in your interview with Detective Williams that you couldn’t remember the events of the night in question, May fifteenth. Have you had any memory blackouts before?” Katie asks Connor Maddox, the suspect who has no cuffs on him, whilst he’s in the room on his own with her. What kind of security is in place for her safety? This place is a joke.
I’m sitting behind the window again, this time without her as she conducts the first psychological evaluation. The purpose of this is to build some trust, some rapport, and get a sense of the suspect’s current mental state, maybe a little of their family history. It’s a broad range and really depends on where the suspect leads the conversation.
I sit nose to glass, my elbows resting on my knees as I lean as close as possible. I’m watching him. Waiting for him to show one single clue that he means to hurt her. He could have theopportunity. It would take someone at least fifteen seconds to get him off her if he decides to pounce. Too long. But Katie insisted. It’s standard procedure, she says. Fuck standard procedure when a killer is sitting two feet across from you.
“No, I’ve never had that before.” Picking at the skin around his fingers, he flits between wanting to overexplain himself and shutting the hell up and not saying anything. It’s confusing; he’s hard to read because his fear is genuine. But whether he’s scared he’s gotten caught or scared he’s being held for a crime he didn’t commit remains to be seen.
“Can you run me through the night until the moment you black out?”
“Some of it’s fuzzy. I remember the beginning,” he says, his voice wobbling.
“Then let's start there. We have all the time we need, so don’t rush.”
I huff out a breath and run my hand over my mouth.
Fuck that.
Get in, get the answers, and get back behind this glass where he can’t reach out and touch you. I’m aching to talk to her, to remind her that there are people out there who care for her deeply. Alfie, Lottie, Caleb...me.
“We went out for Jarred’s birthday. He was turning twenty-four.”
“You were also just promoted, I heard. Were you celebrating that too?”
