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Motherfucker. This guy is a damn good actor. Maybe I should’ve expected it though, considering how many fucking secrets he’s got. He’s probably had plenty of experience with lying over the years.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t.” He runs a hand over his still damp hair. “I may know someone who does, though, if you need me to inquire. I’d be more than willing to help your investigation in any way I can.”
“No, that won’t be necessary, Mr. Montgomery.” Banning shakes his head, darting a glance my way before turning back to Alan.
He asks him a few more questions, but they’re all softball questions with easy answers, and he never presses Alan for any kind of follow-ups. It occurs to me that the very same fear of power and authority that Gray leveraged to get Banning to come here is keeping him from pressing too hard now. He doesn’t want to risk pissing off the man who controls half of Hawthorne.
My hands clench so tightly that my fingernails dig into my skin, but Alan keeps his cool the entire time, maintaining an air of confident patience as he answers Banning’s questions.
Finally, the officer stands and shakes his hand. “Thank you for being willing to talk to us. We won’t take up any more of your time today.”
Alan gives a small nod, and my heart drops to my stomach.
No. He can’t just get away with it. It can’t be that fucking easy.
But apparently, it can. Apparently, money can buy more than just yachts and fancy houses.
The bruises and marks on me came from somewhere. Detective Banning has to know that. But he clearly doesn’t believe Alan Montgomery had anything to do with it.
“Let me walk you to the door,” Alan says politely, rising and gesturing for us to follow him.
I feel like I’m sinking in sand while trying to walk, my thoughts and my steps muddled. I feel a hand brush against my arm to steady me, but I’m not sure who it is, not sure how I’ll make it to the door and down the front steps without passing out or lashing out. Detective Banning and Alan make polite small talk, but I don’t hear any of it. All I can hear is a dull rushing in my ears.
I don’t understand how this could just happen. How someone could get away with that. Why don’t they believe me when the evidence is all there?
As we near the front door, Alan suddenly halts in his steps, interrupting my thoughts.
“Actually.” He draws the word out as he turns toward me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s remembering something. “I believe I was mistaken earlier. I do know who this girl is, although we’ve never formally met.” He stares at me for a long moment, nodding as if he’s piecing things together in his head. “Yes, I do. She goes to my son’s school, Hawthorne University. She attacked my son.”
Detective Banning blinks, his eyebrows shooting up. He pulls the notepad from his pocket and jots something down.
“That’s not true.” My words are barely intelligible. I’m so overcome with rage that it’s almost impossible to speak. “That’s not—”
“Yes, she attacked him.” Alan cuts me off, his eyes going hard. “She attacked him unprovoked. Put him in the hospital. I can get you the admission records, as well as the medical files.”
Banning looks at me with narrowed eyes, and my heart sinks.
Fuck. Coming here was a bad idea. Going to the police was a bad idea.
Not that we had any better ideas, but all we’ve done is give Alan a chance to build up his credibility and tear down mine. The longer Alan talks, I can see every ounce of belief in my story being wiped away, being replaced with distrust and even a little anger.
“We declined to press charges at the time,” Alan says, rubbing at his forehead as if fighting off a headache. He purses his lips. “Despite the injuries Cliff sustained, he decided he’d rather just move on from the incident, to try to put it behind him. I believe Miss Wright was almost expelled for her actions,” he adds, cutting his gaze toward me. “At the time, I thought leniency was best, but now I’m wondering if that wasn’t just a one-off incident like I assumed. Perhaps it was a part of a larger pattern of violent behavior.”
His gaze rakes over the bruises on my skin again, and this time, there’s something almost like disappointment in his eyes. As if I somehow brought this on myself. As if I went looking for trouble. As if I chose to fight.
Before I can force my stunned mind to form any more words, the sound of the front door opening catches my attention. We’re only a few yards away from it, and when it opens, all of us turn in that direction.
My shoulders stiffen as I lock gazes with Cliff. For a second, something unpleasant crosses his features. Then he glances at the cops, the Sinners, and his father. I don’t know if he has any idea what’s going on. Did Alan tell him? Does he know about what his dad did to me?
But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Whether Cliff knows everything or not, it doesn’t change the fact that he hates me—or that he’ll back up everything his dad says about the night I beat the shit out of him in that alley.
“What’s she doing here?” Cliff asks, closing the door behind him.
Alan frowns at me. “There were some issues with the police,” he says. “They came by to ask a few questions. Apparently, Miss Wright here got herself into another altercation with someone.”
Of course that’s a fucking lie, but the police don’t even protest at the way he phrases it as if it’s my fault.
Cliff’s nostrils flare. “She attacked me,” he tells the cops, like a whiny little boy who’s used to getting whatever he wants. “She was like a wild animal, scratched up my face.”
