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“Miss, are you okay?”
In my head, I’m screaming no. I’m far from okay. But I bite my tongue and force my head to nod. “Yeah, just please. Hurry.” I twist back to look out the window to make sure we’re not being followed. When we finally pull up to a police station, I’m shaking uncontrollably.
I jump out of the man’s car, sputtering off a thanks, and run up the stairs to the building. “Help! Please, someone, help me!” I race up to the front desk. “Please! I need to speak to someone about a murder. And an attempted murder—”
I scream at the sudden hand that reaches for me. My body trips backwards, and I throw my hands up in defense.
“Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Officer Bauer.”
I nod frantically. “Okay, okay. I need to speak to you about a murder. I was attacked. I think he may be following me.”
The officer puts her hands up in surrender, so I understand she isn’t there to harm me. “Okay, we can do that.”
“Now! I need to speak to someone now!”
“Miss, just calm down. You’re safe now.”
“I’m not! There’s this guy! He’s trying—he tried—he shot her right in front of me.” My bottom lip trembles so bad, I can’t finish my sentence. I shake my head, the pain in my hand throbbing violently. I look down, realizing I’m dripping blood on the floor. “Shit…I mean shoot…” I peer around the station. I’ve caused a scene. People are staring at me. “I need to—”
“Okay. Just relax.” She attempts to reach for my hand, but I pull it away. “Miss, you look injured. Do you need medical attention—”
“No!” I cry out. “I need someone to arrest him! He shot her right in front of me. Francesca Vaughn. He’s at her house. Go!” Another officer comes to assist.
“Okay. Let’s get you into a private room, and you can tell us the details. Is that okay?”
I nod. “Yeah—okay.” She wraps her arm around me for comfort and walks us down a long hallway. I’m on alert, waiting for Chino to jump out of the shadows and snag me. A man with his head down and a hood up over his head passes us, and I lean in closer to the officer. A badge flashing from his waist eases my paranoia. A faint, sweet scent has me looking over my shoulder, but he’s already turned the corner.
“Just in here.” The officer opens the door to an interrogation room. “Take a seat. I’ll be right back with some bandages.”
My foot taps rapidly against the cement floor. A chill washes over me, and I wrap my arms around myself but wince at the pain in my hand. I pull away. I’ve smeared blood all over Logan’s shirt. “Shoot.” I try to wipe it off but only smears it in more. The door opens, and I jump in my seat.
“Sorry to startle you, Miss…”
“Atticus Finch—just Addy.”
“Ah, like the book. Harper Lee fan?”
“Uh…yeah, my mom loved…listen, you have to help me.”
The man takes a seat across from me and places a cup of water on the metal table. “Addy, I’m Special Agent Jake Bishop. I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He nods. “Thank you. So, I understand you’ve been through an ordeal. Can you backtrack and tell me what happened?” The female officer returns with a first-aid kit and kneels beside me. I allow her to tend to my hand.
“Yes.” I try to catch my breath. “Yes…well…it’s a long story, but I stole an invitation to this gala. It was for a story, and I got caught up with this guy, Logan Justice, and he…”
I don’t stop until I’ve spit out every detail, from the stolen invitation to Vincent Leoni and his drug and trafficking business to Francesca’s brains being splattered across her fancy kitchen. “You have to find him. He’s going to kill me!” By the time I finish, the chair is rattling against the cement I’m shaking so bad.
Agent Bishop stops scribbling notes and closes his notepad. “Miss Finch, do you mind if I step out for a bit?”
Confused, I shake my head. “No.” He smiles and leaves me alone. The clock tells me an hour has passed before he returns. This time, he’s not alone. The officer who first approached me and—
“Logan.” I start to stand, but the agent stops me.
“Miss Finch, stay seated.”
“What? Why? Did you check the house? Logan, tell them.” I shoot up, glaring at Logan, but his blank stare stops me in my tracks. “Logan? What’s going on? Did you tell them about Vincent? About the girls?”
I can’t pull my eyes away from him. He’s dressed as he always is, but there’s something out of character. My eyes fall to the waist of his jeans. A badge.
