This time, I can’t hold back the eye roll. Of all the things. I won’t have any of this derailing Jack’s career.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. A third grader could point out how unlikely that is. Why aren’t you focusing on Jerrica and Chad? You arrested them, right?”
“They were released.”
“What! Why? She had a gun! She tied Chad up. ChadknewBrandon!”
“Carrying a permitted weapon on a wilderness hike is not a crime, and they said they were with each other at the time of death. Chad declined pressing charges against her.”
“This is ridiculous,” I continue to protest. “Show me the photo.”
Owen gives the tiniest nod to his colleague before Mary flips open a folder with an enlarged picture inside. He turns it so it’s facing me, gently placing it on my lap.
It’s a slightly grainy eight-by-eleven print featuring yours truly, standing over a very obviously dead man, a rock suspiciously held in my hand.
I lookrough. Hair in disarray, clothes that have begun to match the color of the rocks, and enough injuries that one would assume I had only recently gained the use of my legs. I’m a teenage mermaid on land, minus the flawless skin and hair.
I lift the page, noting the rest of the photos behind it—crime scene photos.
“I wouldn’t look at th?—”
“I’ve already seen it in person,” I cut him off to say, but I still grimace as I scrutinize the high definition print of the memory that will haunt me for weeks to come. I don’t think you ever forget the first time you see a dead body.
It’s a weird feeling, knowing Brandon’s dead. I’m not under any illusions that he was a good person, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him murdered. I’d prefer he had a life-changing, repentant encounter with goodness and joy and realize the error of his ways instead. But here we are.
My eyes trace every detail of Brandon’s lifeless form, his head tilted slightly to his right. A dark crimson liquid seeps into the sand on his left, making it look like a ponytail swishing in the wind.
I gaze over the photograph to the officers’ pensive expressions. “Please tell me you see how obvious this is?”
“How obvious what is?” Owen fidgets, his brows dipping.
“Your murderer is left-handed,” Ideadpan.
“And?”
My head inches forward as I bug my eyes, lifting my injured left arm. “I’m five-five on my best day, right-handed, and have had this arm in a sling for the past two days. Explain how I could’ve reached high enough and hit hard enough to do this?”
Mary dips his head, an amused smirk sneaking onto his lips. He scratches the side of his head, giving a side glance to Owen in a very told-you-so manner.
Owen clears his throat, shrugging his shoulders back. “We’re aware of how slim the possibility is. But there’s due process. And it’s not out of the realm of possibility if you had help.”
“Help?!” I screech. “You can’t seriously think Jack and I had anything to do with this?” I take in the tightness in his neck, the way he adjusts his shoulders every few seconds. And those shoulder seams in his jacket are doing him no favors.
“You have no clue who’s behind this, do you?” rumbles a deep voice.
Jack appears at the door, his eyes zeroing in and scrutinizing my face like he’s searching for things I can’t hide. “You okay?” His expression softens as he approaches the bed.
“I’m good,” I fib.
“We done?” He glares over his shoulder at Owen. “Willow needs to rest.”
“Yeah, we’re done.” Owen releases a sigh with the kind of strain that says he’s had years of too little sleep and not enough vacation. “We have your contact information. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
“That’s it?” I ask incredulously. “No,don’t leave town,or anything? What about the FBI? Won’t they need to speak to me too?”
“Maybe, but they’re the FBI; they’ll find you. For now, rest, and stay safe.” Owen adds the last part with a pointed look at Jack, making me shiver, because while the idea of having Jack asmy protector for a little longer makes my toes curl, it’s also a reminder that there’s a murderer out there who may be feeling a little extra murdery toward me.
“You’re finished?” I turn my gaze to Jack.
