Page 83 of Dirty Reads

TWENTY-FIVE

Jess

10:40 p.m. the day of the heist

I stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. I didn’t want to go back into the interrogation room, I wanted to buy some more time.

“Youdo realize it’ll be in your best interest to tell us everything you know, right?” Necktie asked.

I shot him a confused look. “I don’t know shit. I’m fucking drunk.”

“I know some things,” he said with sarcastic tone. “I know you’re in a hell of a mess.”

“I danced with some hot guy. I tried to buy a diamond. I got up to pee, and my fucking head started spinning. I peed and thought I was good to go, and halfway back to my seat, I got a case of bubble guts. I went outside for fresh air. No crimes committed, Officer.”

“There’s more to it than that. Your story might change when we get back in the interrogation room.”

“What about that coffee?” I asked.

My tongue felt dry and calloused. I repeatedly pressed it to the roof of my mouth to try and clean it off, but each time I felt like I was going to puke as a result. Coffee wouldn’t cure me, but it damned sure couldn’t hurt.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“10:40.”

He got me my coffee, and I followed him back to the interrogation room. He pushed the door open, and upon entering the room, I got two nice little surprises.

One, Tribideaux was waiting.

And two, I identified the smell that caused my nostrils to flare in the supper club.

Cinnamon.

I acted uninterested in Tribideaux’s presence. “It smells like fucking Christmas in here,” I said.

“Sit down,” Porn ‘stache demanded.

I tried to steady my cup of coffee. “I’m working on it.”

I sat down and glanced at each of the three men. I had no idea where they were going to go with the conversation, so I decided to start my own.

I shot Tribideaux a sultry grin. “Did you bring the diamond?”

“Shut up, I’m asking the questions. Mrs. Preston Wheeler, my ass. Where’s your I.D.?” Tribideaux snapped.

I took a sip of my coffee and tried not to smile. “I have no idea.”

“Where’s the diamond?” he asked.

There were two too many mustaches in the room. I turned to the side and tried to focus on the necktie-wearing cop. “I gave it to my attorney when I went to the bathroom.”

Necktie slapped his hand against the edge of the table. “What did you do with the diamond?”

I wasn’t scared of their good cop – bad cop routine. I met his gaze with my best drunken laser sharp glare. “Weren’t you listening?”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Lying to an officer in the course of an investigation. Five years. Theft of a $4,000,000 diamond. Ten years. Obstruction of justice. Twenty-four months. Want me to continue?”

I took a sip of coffee and wondered where Seton was. I didn’t like hearing how many years they were going to lock me up for. Even if it was bullshit.