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“Crew’s parents are looking for him. Right now, Knight Corban is the only suspect.”
My mouth went dry and I stared into the woods. This wasn’t possible.
“On what grounds? That’s absurd.”
Kimble didn’t answer me.
“Get him out,” I snarled into the phone. “Now.”
“Where are you?” he repeated.
“I can find a way out of here, but he can’t be in jail. No. No.” I shook my head, trying to fight the image in my head of Knight locked up behind cold metal bars.
“I’m coming to you. We’ll get on this. Don’t move. Don’t let anyone see you,” he instructed. If only knew that he sounded exactly like Knight.
“All right.” I quickly told him the location of the stables and where I was lying low so no one would spot me on the property. It was enough for Kimble to find me. I hung up and started scrolling through the texts, missed calls, and the breaking news headlines on my phone.
None of it seemed real. The close-up pictures of Crew next to Knight. The words were dark and ugly. The accusations ruthless. I closed my eyes, trying to think how we’d recover from this.
* * *
Kimble pulledinto a space in an alley near the police station. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he grumbled.
“I knew you wouldn’t. But I have to see him.” I looked up at the building. He was in there. I needed him to know I was doing everything I could to free him.
I opened the passenger door of the SUV. I slid the sunglasses over my eyes and stepped out of the vehicle. Kimble was immediately next to me. I saw a glimmer of his gun when his jacket moved.
“You can’t go in with that.” I pointed at this chest. The metal detector would go off before he was ten feet near it.
“I’ll walk you to the stairs and wait outside.” He wasn’t going to go unarmed anywhere. I was surprised, however he felt I was safe enough anywhere without his eyes on me.
I nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’m not the one behind bars,” I reminded him.
Kimble checked the cars next to us, surveying the front and backseats for lingering onlookers before escorting me to the back of the building and around the side. There was an entrance for high-profile citizens. He held the door open for me and I slipped inside.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had nerves like these. My fingers trembled as I handed the woman behind the counter my license. I didn’t smile. I didn’t want to acknowledge the people who had taken Knight in like a criminal.
“Through there,” she muttered, shoving my license into a folder and hanging it on the wall.
“Don’t I get that back?”
“No,” she snapped. “Only when you leave.”
I barged through the door that was labeled waiting room. There were a few green vinyl chairs scattered in an open space. I didn’t want to sit. I wanted to see him. See that he was okay.
Twenty minutes later an officer came for me. “Ms. Martin?”
“Yes.”
“This way.” He had a slow Louisiana drawl, that should have been comforting. Nothing in this place brought a sense of warmth. It was a hell hole.
He loped down the hall without the sense of urgency I had. He had a limp that kept him from going any faster. I wondered if this was his only job, toting people back and forth from the waiting room to talk to the arrested. The keys jangled on the side of his hip. I wanted to push him in the back. Propel him to move faster. Get me to Knight as if he realized I couldn’t breathe until I saw him.
He stopped to hike up his pants. I was surprised when he opened a door. “You can go in.”
My heart beat faster. I rushed in, but the room was empty. I spun around to question the guard, but he had already started to close the door and lock me inside.
I walked around the table. I noticed the cameras in the corners of the room. The mics, planted on the walls. The square one-way mirror, as obvious as any surveillance I’d ever seen. I was in the one place I should never be. So much could go wrong.
