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Tick.
Tick.
All I can hear is the deafening tick of the clock on the wall, that and my racing thoughts condemning me to a life in prison for not coming forward with key information. So much for excitement and adventure. Unless, of course, this is what the universe has dished up for me. I’m close to hysteria when the door clicks open, making me jolt in my chair. I look up, worried.
Him?
Jamieson.
I stand gripping the table for support.
“Jamieson?” I whisper, my eyes stinging with hot tears.
He’s a cop? Will he help me?
“I...” I wonder if he thinks less of me, too. I know I didn’t imagine the attraction between us.
Recognition flares in his eyes, his fist grips the handle until his knuckles are a deathly white. His jaw locks and I peek up at him, guilty, but what shocks me more is that he growls. He’s livid.
There’s something about the way he moves, the way he stalks in, leaving me thoroughly confused. His attire doesn’t look like something an officer or detective would wear. His eyes glint with a harsh burn and my heart stutters with awareness. Something’s not right. I lower to the seat once more, shaking.
“You have two choices,” he begins, once again in that educated drawl.
“Excuse me?” My eyes flit to the door. I don’t understand. Is this some kind of police tactic? When he cracks his neck, a shiver runs along my spine—he looks so sinister all of a sudden. “Do you work here?”
I look for his badge, but he’s not wearing a uniform. Maybe he is undercover? I try to rationalise the situation, but something innate is warning me I’m in grave danger. That Jamieson is the danger.
“You have two choices, Avery. Leave with me now,” he continues, and my eyes widen.
Why on earth would I leave with him? Where the hell is the other officer, Detective Langridge? Surely, this Jamieson guy isn’t the detective. I’m getting a seriously bad vibe from him.
He places a gun on the table and my heart skips a beat.I see a knife slipped into his belt. No cuffs. He’s not a cop. The subconscious part of my mind is screaming at me to get out of here.
I swallow nervously.
“You don't work here, do you?” I whisper. I want to look back at the door, but I’m too scared to take my eyes off him.
He shakes his head.
“You can leave here now, or you can leave, period.” His lips flatten with indifference.Period, as in dead?
My eyes widen just like Jeff’s did. I look at the camera on the wall.
“You’re on camera,” I tell him. I’m grasping at straws, the sense of danger is suffocating, and I will do anything to keep myself alive.Jamieson couldn’t care less.
He shrugs.
“Oh, no,” he mocks. “You have ten seconds and I rarely grant anyone the luxury of an offer like this.”
“Luxury? You’re threatening my life!” I cry, terrified. I stand from the chair, overcome with emotion, and he taps the table with his gun, bringing my watery eyes back to him.
“Tick-tock, Bluebird.”
Bluebird?
“I don't know what’s happening. I feel sick.” I gasp and gulp, trying to make sense of everything.
“What's happening is you’re either walking out that door with me or I end your life in this room. It’s as simple as that, Avery. If I don't, someone else will.”
