AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Finally, he settles on a frown. “I was here. You know that, I was on a call with you. Hung up, bed, got a call from the station and came to pick you up—”
“No. Not tonight.”You moron, she adds mentally. “The night of the vigil. The night Gigi died. Where were you?”
Trevor gives a sheepish grin, one that’s strained, so obviously forced unlike the blush creeping along his cheeks in blotches. “Cops pulled me over driving home from the bar. They brought me in.”
Kate eyes him long and hard. “And Preston bailed you out?”
With a shrug, he says, “Within the hour.”
Her eyes narrow. Lashes lower over those cutting shards of pebbles she calls eyes.
Trevor matches her stare. His jaw starts to harden. And with a tone flatter than poor side, he asks, “You think I did this?”
“Of course I do!”
He’s frozen only for a moment before he cracks. “Fuck you, Kate. I can’t believe you would fucking accuse or eventhinkthat I—”
“How can I not think you had something to do with this, Trevor? After what happened, whatwedid—”
“And that’s all we did! One thing, one time, and for good reason. Your idea, if I recall. We did it, we moved on.”
“Prove it.”
He blinks stupidly. “What?”
“Prove that you moved on, that you didn’t kill Gigi. You were in the drunk tank, right? Preston had to come pick you up. I know you and your family. There’s no chance in hell the cops would book you—”
“You think I lied about that?” He scoffs and fishes his phone out from his back jean pocket. He dials, each key beeping loudly, and keeps his eyes on hers.
Kate stops him with a curt, “If you’re calling Preston, don’t bother. He’ll lie for you. Not exactly an alibi I can trust, Trev.”
Still, as if stunned, Trevor just parts his lips, but no sound comes. Mute, he lifts his hands, palms-upright, and his gesture says it all, “What the fuck am I meant to do, then?”
“Call the station,” Kate decides.
“It’s three in the morning,” he grumbles, but still does just as she orders. Dials the keys that glow green,beep beep beep.“And you know as well as I do, the station won’t have any physical record of booking me that night.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “Is there anything your daddy’s money doesn’t buy you?”
“Money is power. So,” he sighs, “what now? Call Preston? Mike? Dick? Call everyone who was at the Joint and saw me that night? What do you want me to do?”
A bulge in her cheek swells as she chews on her thoughts.
Their stare is a silent standoff.
“Call the station,” she echoes, firm.
“Fine.” Trevor sighs a sound of annoyance, like this whole debacle is wearing him thin, a cheese grater on his patience. And he continues to smack his thumb on the cell’s keys over and over, a singsong of disjointed tunes.
He hits the call button. The line rings.
As it does, Trevor pushes up from the foot of the bed and wanders the three steps to Kate on the window bench.
Just as he drops down beside her, the line cuts—and someone answers.
“Deputy Wade,” Trevor’s monotonous tone interrupts the dispatcher on the other end. There’s silence for a beat. The line rings again. And this time, it’s picked up by the familiar, gruff voice of the deputy.
Trevor lifts the cell to hover between himself and Kate. Her narrowed eyes are still glued to the side of his face, eyes marred with unveiled suspicion, but tension found in the twisting of her fingers on her lap.
