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He only shrugs and lowers his head. But I see his smirk. His devil-may-care arrogance that makes my stomach fizz. It’s ridiculous, really, to feel some kind of loyalty to him. I’ve known him barely a minute longer than I’ve known the other two, but it seems Banks and I have inside jokes already. Some kind of rapport I don’t have with the others.
And why?
Because he was a familiar face from the last time I needed help?
Because he likes to break the rules?
He must be in his thirties, easily. He’s so much older than my mere twenty-one years. He’s got a world of life experience I don’t, and this air of “don’t give a fuck” I strive for but haven’t yet achieved. It doesn’t make sense that I gravitate in his direction after knowing him for such a short time. But I’ll be damned, because for as long as I stand in this room, I know who to run toward if Vallejo’s men turn up.
“I promised her I’d be straight with her,” Drake finally inserts, bringing us back to Malone’s question. “She asked. So I told her my thoughts on the matter.”
“Your thoughts on the matter are not valid in this space,” Malone snarls. “And your loose lips in regard to my life will not be tolerated.”
Drake merely shrugs away Malone’s threat and offers me my coffee, because he knows I’m still staring. “It is what it is, Arch. Public information is public for a reason. She’s the only one here with a target on her back, so if she asks me a question that I deem relevant, I’m gonna answer it.”
“I have to go see my mom today.” I set my pastry aside and bring my coffee up as Detectives Malone and Fletcher peel their glares from Drake and stop on me. “The police station is near the hospital, anyway.”
“That’s not possible,” Fletcher inserts. “Once we make that formal identification, you’ll officially be scooped into the system and put somewhere safe until trial.”
“Chances are,” Archer adds, “feds are gonna try to take over. This is their domain, and you’re about to become their little pet.”
My eyes narrow to dangerous slits. “I’m no one’s pet, Detective Malone. And if you’re saying my formal statement leads to me not seeing my mother, then I guess there will be no statement made.”
“You don’t get to make that choice,” he growls. “You’re the only eyewitness to Lorenzo Lombardo’s murder. You have to make that statement.”
“No.”
“I can charge you,” he tries again. “Ever heard of obstruction of justice?”
I set my coffee on the counter and reach back to touch my still-tender skull. “That man body slammed me last night, Detective. Smashed my head against the tile until I saw stars.” I drop my hand and grin. “Ever heard of amnesia?”
His lips flatten into dangerous lines.
“It wouldn’t be unheard of for a woman suffering blunt force trauma to the skull to lose her short-term memory. It could last months,” I sigh. “Or years.”
“Ms. Swanson…”
“Or just long enough to see my mother.” I grab my cane and look at a smirking Drake. “I’ll eat the rest in the car. I’d like to get this day over with.”
* * *
I feel a little famous, as my entourage and I step out of the elevator and emerge into the heart of a buzzing police precinct. Uniformed officers move in every direction. One escorts a woman in sky-high thigh boots and teeny tiny shorts, while another has a man in cuffs and presents no emotion at the screamed insults his perp spits in his face.
Other police officers walk around in casual clothes. Jeans and shirts, like the three who surround me. I don’t miss the way they create a protective shield on my sides and at my back. I don’t miss the guns close to their hands, or the clips of their holsters open and ready to be drawn from.
Our progress is slow, because my entire body aches, and the one good leg I had to count on, is now bruised all the way around.
“Detective Malone?” A uniformed officer rushes closer, and though Malone and Fletcher remain relaxed, Drake’s hand wraps around my arm to keep me close. “I have those men in three, like you requested. And I’ve set up conference room twelve for your meeting.”
“Great.” Archer accepts a manila file and nods. “Thanks, Clay. Stick with us. Take the spearhead and lead us to three.”
“Yes, Detective.” Officer Clay is younger than the others in our group. Probably closer to my age than he is to any of the other detectives who surround me. He looks into my eyes and dips his chin in greeting, before turning on his heels and leading us toward tall escalators that cut through the building. He walks faster than us, but quickly readjusts his speed and slows right down.
“We’re gonna take you into a formal lineup,” Malone informs me. “We’ve been tugging on a few lines the last couple of days and found a few men who connect to Vallejo’s world with a handful of open warrants. That meant we could bring them in and pop them in a room for you.”
“So if the shooter is here already,” my brows pinch in thought as we approach an escalator and start going up. “If I identify him and you keep him in jail until trial, this is all over, right? I can go back to my life?”
“It’s possible. Sure. If our shooter is here—”
