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His hands wrapped around my middle and he held me tightly, my back to his chest so I couldn’t get away. He hadn’t stopped touching me in some way for the two hours we’d given our statements to Ridge. And I was perfectly okay with that. In fact, I never wanted him to let me go ever again. We were going to be attached at the hip. Forever.
I’d officially developed separation anxiety.
After surviving everything we did, and if this was truly the end of my troubles, I’d make my next mission in life to become the most attached girlfriend ever. MTV could make a reality show out of me. I’d never let Corbin out of my sight.
Every time he wasn’t around, something bad happened.
Hopefully, he was okay with an attached girlfriend.
Big, bulky men came in and out of the conference room all night. They’d been relaying messages to Ridge and checking details in our story, trying to piece the evening together. They passed papers between each other at various times, and Corbin scribbled his name on a few pieces. I heard a few complaints about the paperwork, but the mood in the building remained light.
Happy almost.
What kind of people laughed and chitchatted after a night of debauchery and bullets?
Mostly, I’d been answering questions as they floated between Corbin and me. I hadn’t asked many in return. There were many pieces to the puzzle of what happened with Corbin and the Grandmaster, some of which I wasn’t sure I’d ever figure out.
Because Ridge hadn’t been able to locate all the Grandmaster’s crew, they only had Thumbs to interrogate. His status in the gang wasn’t high, and therefore he only had limited information to provide. Plus, last time someone asked him questions, he lost his thumbs. I wasn’t hopeful he’d sing like a canary.
After hours of going back and forth, I had a question no one took the time to confirm or explain. “Why aren’t we at the police station?” I asked during the first lull in the conversation.
Detective Anderson, wearing his long tan trench coat, came in about thirty minutes earlier and asked that same question. No one answered him either.
In a huff he’d taken a seat at the conference table and asked me a new set of questions. If he repeated one and I explained I already answered it for Ridge, he’d shoot a nasty death glare in the man’s direction.
The look was similar to the one he wore when I asked about the police station and then twisted into a grimace. “That, my dear, is not a good topic,” Anderson answered.
“Is there not a police station in Pelican Bay?” It was a tiny town. It wouldn’t be unheard if they just used the county police.
Anderson’s teeth slammed together so quickly I heard his jaw snap. “Yes, we have a police station, but Ridge got to you first. Again.”
The man in question, Ridge, laughed. “I always get to them first,” he said.
Ridge seemed like a nice guy, if not a little intimidating. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because I constantly met him under distress. If a person saw him out in the open in Pelican Bay, did he act like a normal citizen?
Probably not. Nothing about any of these men seemed normal.
Not even Corbin. From the first moment you looked at him, you knew he hid more than you’d ever be able to figure out. Good thing I had the rest of my life to peel back Corbin’s layers.
The detective shoved his little notebook and pen into his pocket and shook his head. “Yeah, because you have a fucking SEAL team and I have three officers and an inept chief.”
I studied the two men as they stared at one another, letting the conversation die.
Ridge lifted an eyebrow. “You said it, not me.”
The detective took a deep breath and then closed his eyes, rubbing a finger over his eyebrows as if he had a headache.
“Where are you on evidence recovery?” he asked when he opened them again.
“Spencer is analyzing the data from the spreadsheets now, and we’ll turn it over to the FBI and probably Interpol in the morning.”
The sun had been peeking over the horizon as we’d ridden to Ridge’s office in his Escalade after the confrontation with the Grandmaster, but after the questions, it had to be almost lunch. Maybe he meant tomorrow morning. I didn’t plan to argue or ask. Only someone stupid argued with Ridge or Anderson.
And then, as I contemplated everything that happened, I gasped when I processed Ridge’s words. “I thought you destroyed your laptop?” I asked, adjusting my position to face Corbin.
He said he set his computer to auto-wipe three minutes after we left and he tossed my thumb drive to the Grandmaster in the woods. How did they have the files for the FBI?
Corbin tilted his head and gave me a look I learned meant many things. It depended on the situation. The current look had an I-can’t-believe-you-think-so-little-of-me tint to it.
