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Chapter Eighteen
TRISTAN
The officer pushes me down in the chair in an interrogation room. I expect them to remove the cuffs—actually, no. I expected that as soon as we arrived at the station. My boiling blood runs cold when they unlock one, only to attach it to the bar on the table.
“Don’t I get a phone call?” I snap, glaring at the guy lounging against the wall. The other one comes around the table and drops to the seat in front of me.
“No. You’re not under arrest,” he says.
My gaze drops to the restraints anchoring me to the table, then darts back to him.
“So what the hell is this?”
“We just wanted to chat. Any idea why we found Pierce Harrison’s wallet with your belongings?”
He slams a wallet on the table, and I stare at it in confusion.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“So you’ve never seen this before?”
“No!”
“Huh. Interesting. So how’d it end up in your locker at Shelton’s?”
“Probably because Pierce Harrison planted it there,” I hiss.
“So he just walked into your place of employment, found your belongings, and put his wallet inside,” he says in a dry tone.
“Yes! That’s exactly what happened. Or he had someone else do it, I don’t know. This is bullshit. He’s been trying to get me locked up since the day we met!”
The officers exchange a look, and my breathing accelerates when reality sets in. Shit. This isn’t even a real arrest, is it?
“But you know that, don’t you. Youknowthis is bullshit!”
I rest my head in my hands, rubbing hard at my scalp. Cold metal scrapes my wrist in a silent taunt with every movement.
“How much are they paying you?” I say, glaring back at them. “Or is it more of an extortion thing? What’s the price these days to get someone in your pocket?”
He smashes his fist on the table, but I barely flinch as my eyes narrow on him.
“Is that even on?” I ask, nodding toward the camera in the corner of the room.
The man collects himself and leans back with a casual shrug. “Doesn’t have to be. You’re not under arrest.”
I shake my head with a bitter laugh. “Right. So this isn’t even happening, is it? That’s why I didn’t get processed. That’s why you picked me up in the middle of the night when no one was around.”
They don’t respond, and I yank the restraints in frustration. “So what’s the plan then? You’re gonna keep me here and what? Wait for me to die of old age? Starve me to death? Plant more evidence so you can actually charge me with something?”
They exchange another look, and my pulse pounds when the guy across from me gets up. He moves toward the door.
“Hey! You can’t just leave me here!” I bark at them.
He returns a venomous look. “Amber was my girlfriend, you fucker. You shouldn’t evenbehere. You should still be locked up with all the other trash!”
With that he yanks open the door and slams it shut behind them.
Once I’m alone, the adrenaline drains into an icy mist I can’t shake. I rest my head in my hands again, trying to control my breathing as the familiar panic returns. Suddenly, the metal around my wrist feels like it’s cutting off my circulation. The air in the room is thin and unbreathable. The light is too bright. Not bright enough. The walls are shrinking, the floor pressing up and the ceiling pressing down.
