Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(82)

Another double-rap sounded. “Mr. Cole?”

I rubbed my eyes, adjusting to brighter room lights than I’d remembered. “Yeah.”

A quick glance at the bed confirmed Logan was still out cold.

A uniformed police officer stepped through the opening door. Then a second followed. They took up all the empty space in the entryway near the open bathroom: bulky vests under the dark blue, black leather belts holding their guns, batons, pepper spray.

My brows furrowed. “Can I help you?”

Since when is a suicide attempt criminal?

Sudden anxiety spiked through me. What if they deemed me an unfit guardian? Would they file a complaint with social services? Could Logan get shipped off to a foster home?

I shot out of the chair so fast, the officers alerted, bodies tensing. The lead officer raised his hands. “It’s okay, Mr. Cole. I’m Officer Day. This is Officer Blanchard. We just need to follow up on a complaint Logan made.”

“My sister?” Now I was really confused. “She made a complaint?”

They both gave a nod. The lead officer gestured an arm toward the hall. “Mind if we talk outside?”

I glanced back at the bed, then checked the time on my phone: 1:42 a.m. Logan wouldn’t be waking anytime soon, according to the nurse. But whatever we had to discuss was probably better said outside of her earshot. “Yeah.”

When we entered the hall, they kept walking and I followed. They stepped into a waiting room just before a set of double doors. Once inside, surprising scents hit me: brewing coffee, fresh-baked muffins.

My stomach growled and mouth watered as I passed a table covered with platters of cookies, snack bars, bagels, and muffins. A large bowl held bananas and apples. I poured a cup of coffee, grabbed a blueberry muffin and a banana, then took a seat in the corner that the officers had claimed.

After testing the coffee and finding it hot but not scalding, I took several gulps then tore into the muffin with a large bite. While I munched, I stared at them, waiting.

“Did your sister call you at any point last night?” Officer Day asked.

I swallowed the enormous mouthful, almost lodging it in my throat. “No.”

“Well, it seems your sister was at a high school party. No adults present. Underage drinking.”

Sounded typical. Like parties I’d gone to a few years back.

“A girl at the party called 9-1-1.” He glanced down at a clipboard he held. “Monica Schafer. Do you know her?”

I shook my head. “Logan doesn’t talk much about her friends.” I wasn’t sure she’d had any in the past couple of years.

“Does Trevor Donaldson ring any bells?”

“Yeah. She mentioned him a couple of times.” And speaking of the f*cker, the guy who was supposedly interested in her, why wasn’t he here with her?

Officer Blanchard leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs as he glanced over at Day’s clipboard. “According to the girl who made the 9-1-1 call, and several other witnesses at the party, Trevor burst out of the upstairs bedroom he and Logan were in. He allegedly shouted ‘Logan is as crazy as we thought. Bitch just downed a whole bottle of pills.’ as he ran down the stairs.”

My chest grew heavy as I struggled to listen.

Officer Day nodded. “Thankfully, that girl called for help right away. Paramedics found Logan unconscious at the scene.”

I scrubbed my hands over my face. “There’s got to be more. Logan told me she’d never kill herself.” Truth. And if the officers didn’t already know about our mom’s and Logan’s rooftop visits, they weren’t going to.

“There is,” Blanchard replied.

My paper coffee cup gave a loud crinkle, and I looked down to find it warped in my hand. I downed the rest of it, even though it nearly scalded my throat, then crumpled it the remainder of the way before tossing it onto a side table.

“We followed the ambulance to the hospital,” Day said. “She regained consciousness shortly after they stabilized her. When we asked for her side of the story” —he flipped a couple of pages over on the clipboard, scanned down the page— “she said Trevor gave her a red plastic cup of beer that she drank from before he led her to the upstairs bedroom. When she pulled away from his hold and said she still wasn’t ready to have sex with him, he locked the door, turned around, and told her that he’d ‘roofied’ her drink and she would do everything he wanted her to.”

“Roofied,” I repeated, breaths suddenly coming in short bursts.

“Rohypnol,” Blanchard clarified. “The date-rape drug.”

I knew what it was. Rapists used it. Trevor was a rapist.

The world began to tilt. I gripped the wooden chair arm. “Was she raped?” My voice cracked on the last word.

“No, not according to your sister,” Day replied.

“Have you arrested him? Is he in custody?”

“Not yet,” Blanchard said. “We’ve contacted his parents, but he hasn’t returned home.”

A buzzing sound filled my ears and the room fuzzed out, turning a reddish color.

Another cup of coffee appeared in front of my face. I hadn’t realized Officer Day had gotten up. “Here. Drink. There’s more.”

“More?”

“Turns out your sister did swallow pills. She’d only started feeling woozy when he admitted what he’d just done to her, but she panicked, grabbed her purse, and downed the whole bottle of pills.”