“I’ll be right there, okay. This’ll be over soon.” He cups my cheek before standing and helping me move to rest against the headboard. He drapes a blanket over my legs, then lifts my hands, frowning at the red carpet burns. With aching gentleness, he presses a kiss to each palm before turning and leaving me nearly catatonic.
How am I supposed to form coherent sentences after that?
I hide my trembling hands under the blanket as Detective Bacon moves a chair and takes a seat directly opposite the bed, crossing one leg over the other with a notebook in his hand.
“Please tell me your first name rhymes with Kevin?” I begin, hoping to break the ice.
“It’sDevin.”
I gasp. “You’re kidding me.”
“I am,” he deadpans. “My name is Chris.”
I can’t help but smile. “Any chance your middle name starts with aP?”
His eye twitches just the slightest before he clears his throat. “My turn to ask the questions now, Miss Sinclair,” he drawls, and then he proceeds to grill me. I’m beginning to think Bacon isn’t his last name but a nickname for how hard he’s digging and asking the same questions over in different ways.
My stomach begins growling, and the bats are no longer squeaking outside, and we’ve only made it to the point in the story where Jack and I got to the top of the canyon to be greeted by the sunny faces of Mary and Owen. I’ve completely wrapped myself in the blanket that was draped over me, forming a protective cocoon as my bones are more chilled by the minute.
The sound of Chris’s pencil scratching over his notepad stretches the silence to its breaking point. I want to scream for him to hurry up and finish this already. Just when I don’t think I can hold in my frustration any longer, Jack walks into the room, handing me a water bottle, a protein bar, and pain meds.
He must not like the signs of fatigue on my face as he turns a scowl to Chris.
“Thirty minutes. Then you’re leaving.”
Chris doesn’t look at him, only quirking one side of his mouth as he sends a finger salute to Jack’s retreating back.
I’m picking up the bits of chocolate chips that fell out of my protein bar and trying hard to ignore the feeling of the walls moving closer with each minute that Chris continues scribbling in his little notebook. It feels like that pencil isinsidemy head.
I’ve emptied my brain for this man. He’s milked every detail my eyes have witnessed, and I’m just praying he’s done soon. He hasn’t even gotten up to pee, and I’ve gotten up three times to use the restroom.
Apparently, I have a nervous bladder, but I think being accused of murder will do that to a girl. I know I’m not a suspect anymore, but those smug yellow letters on the back of his jacket mock me from the chair it’s been draped over. If someone wanted to paint me as being involved in all of this, it would be my word against theirs until we could prove that Bonnie was behind it.
A lot of people could set me up as the bad guy if they wanted to, except they could search every inch of this room and they wouldn’t find the diamond.
The diamond onlyIhave seen.
Welp.
I pop a chocolate chip into my mouth as Jerrica’s tiny smirk hovers in my subconscious.
“You remembered something.” Chris narrows his eyes, his scratchy little pencil pausing. “What is it?”
“Jerrica…she didn’t want Jack’s backpack. She wanted mine…”
“Yeah…” Chris waits, allowing the pieces to emerge in my mind.
“She knew about the diamond. That’s why she wasn’t phased about not getting the spearhead. Or being caught. She had a bargaining chip to offer Chad…but why?”
Chris doesn’t say anything; he just lets my brain work while a toilet flushes in the room behind us. I picture Jerrica as if she were in front of me, scrutinizing every detail of her appearance. There’s something I’m missing.
My eyes widen, and Chris smiles, a smidge of pride in the curl of his mouth. Not in me, but in his process. Allowing the facts to reveal themselves.
“Jerrica and Bonnie are related,” I whisper. Those niggling inconsistencies in her appearance are flashing on giant billboards in my mind—the most glaring one lit up like the prize ina game show. Beneath that dark brown hair dye was the emergence of her natural-born tone, fighting for recognition—the same bright red as Bonnie. Who would cover such a gorgeous auburn?
“If you find Jerrica, you’ll find the diamond. Either she or Chad collected it from the cleaning cart. I’m guessing Jerrica, ‘cause she can more easily disguise herself as a cleaning lady.”
“Well done, Miss Sinclair.” Chris nods, making a note before pulling out a phone to send a text.
