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Blake steps into the building and waves to me. I unfold from the chair and join him. Like me, he’s dressed in a suit, but I can guarantee he spent more on his than I did on mine.
We step to the side, out of range of the man leafing through the magazine.
“We’ll tell the officer what you’ve told me. If they give a damn about doing their job properly, they’ll look into it.” Blake jots something on his phone.
We head toward the reception desk. Three officers are having a discussion on the other side of the glass partition. The officer manning the desk glances up from whatever he was doing.
“Hello,” Blake says, showing the man his ID. “Is Officer Mitchell here?”
The man swivels to his colleagues and repeats the question to them. One of them replies, and the officer turns back to us. “Can I ask what this is regarding?”
“Someone attacked my client, Lucas Carson, Friday evening at Barside Brewery. Officer Mitchell responded to the nine-one-one call. We have some additional information for him.”
The man nods, and a minute later, the officer from Friday steps out of a door farther down the corridor and approaches us. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing better. Thanks. I just wanted to check what’s being done to protect Robert and Tuuli Wakefield. Like I mentioned before, it’s possible they might inadvertently be linked to what happened to me on Friday night. I want to make sure I told you everything that happened. I was dealing with a concussion at the time, and it’s possible I might have missed telling you something important.”
“And you would be…?” His question is directed at Blake.
“Blake Wright. Mr. Carson’s lawyer.”
Mitchell leads us to a room that contains nothing more than a table, a couple of wooden chairs, and a mirror. It’s the same room I was in when I was arrested. This chair is the same one I sat on, my body sweaty from my run. From what I’ve heard, they also have a comfortable interview area that resembles a small living room. Clearly, he doesn’t think this call warrants that.
He has us sit. His expression fails to reveal what he’s thinking, how he feels about talking to us. Is he interested? Distrustful? Bored? Or is he mentally reciting the list of groceries to be picked up after his shift? “Okay, let’s go over your statement again.”
I fill him in on the sequence of events on Friday night, the conversation I overheard between Sebastian and the other man. I also tell him about the property my brothers and I want to buy from the Wakefields and how Sebastian’s parents are also interested in purchasing the same land.
“I don’t know if the two are connected, but if they are, I’m worried what it could mean to his parents and the Wakefields.” I get the feeling that Sebastian is playing with fire, but his parents or the Wakefields will be the ones getting burned.
Mitchell writes down the information. “Most of this you had already told me when I spoke to you on Friday. But I appreciate the additional information you provided this time.”
I push my fingers through my hair, taking care not to touch my stitches. “Does this mean you’ll keep an eye on the Wakefields? Make sure nothing happens to them?”
“I’ll talk to them and apprise them of the situation.” He stands. Conversation over.
Outside, Blake walks me to my SUV. He stops, turns to face me. “I told you to stay out of trouble, Lucas. How can following Sebastian outside the bar, after what happened, not be considered getting into trouble?” He levels an exasperated glare at me.
“In my defense, I didn’t know someone was going to hit me on the head while I was talking to Sebastian. At the time, I was only concerned about one other person, and Patrick, the bouncer, was escorting him off the premises.”
Blake shakes his head. “Okay, well, I’ll have one of my private investigators look into everything you told them in there. But can you promise me something?”
“What’s that?”
“Try not to let anyone else attack you. I won’t do you much good if you’re dead for your trial date. I mean it, Lucas.”
I release a snorted laugh. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
My phone rings and I check the screen. Drew. “I’ve gotta get this,” I tell Blake.
“I’ll talk to you soon.” Blake walks away, leaving me standing by my SUV. A mother and her two kids are walking on the sidewalk near me. The little blond girl is about six years old, her brother three. Both are eating chocolate ice cream, which is melting on their faces and dripping onto their T-shirts.
My heart squeezes at the sight of the little girl, so happy and carefree. Even her brother doesn’t seem to have a worry in the world, other than eating his treat. But I’ve long since learned outside appearances can be deceptive.
I accept the call from my old captain as I continue to watch the trio. “Hey, what’s up?” I can’t help the concern that leaks into my tone.
“Hi, Uncle Lucas.” Not Drew. It’s his daughter, Ashley.
“Hey, Sweet Pea. How’re you doing?”
