Love Me (WITSEC #3)(65)
The sheriff and his lackeys had brought me to the police station and held me in a locked interrogation room all day.
As soon as I’d been brought in here, I had been questioned by a Detective Miller, who was an older man with graying hair and a large mustache, and Sheriff McAllister.
They had asked me where I’d been on Halloween night. I had been honest, but not completely. I had told them that I’d been with my boyfriends all night and a few of our friends had come over to celebrate the holiday. The boyfriends comment had gotten me a strange look from the detective, but the sheriff hadn’t looked surprised. Next, they had asked me what I had done all night and I had vaguely said we had listened to music, eaten some candy, hung out.
Toward the end of the interrogation, they had begun to ask me about Gabe and Amber and if I had seen them that night. I had looked right at the sheriff when I had answered. “No.”
His eyes had narrowed. “My daughter said she saw you speaking with them that night.”
Speaking? What a load of bull.
“I don’t know why she would say that, because Cassy was not at my boyfriends’ cabin Saturday night. Neither was Gabe or Amber. If you don’t believe me, you can ask everyone else who was there if they saw them,” I had said.
Sheriff McAllister had glared at me, and I would have allowed myself to look smug if the detective hadn’t been in the room.
Finding it strange there was such a focus on Gabe and Amber, I had asked, “Why are you asking me about Gabe and Amber?”
“Because Gabriel Harris and Amber Thorn didn’t return home Halloween night,” the detective had said.
I’d looked from the detective to the sheriff and my stomach had felt like it had dropped from a ten-story building. “Like I said. I didn’t see them that night.”
“You’re lying?” Sheriff McAllister had snarled.
“I would like to leave,” I had said.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he had said, standing from the interrogation table.
“Are you detaining me?” I had asked, standing as well. “If so, what for?”
The sheriff had ignored me, and he and the detective had headed for the door.
“I want to call my lawyer,” I had said to their backs.
The detective had looked to the sheriff nervously, but neither had said anything else as they’d left the room.
That had been what felt like hours ago. No one had returned since. I had to pee and I was thirsty and freezing. I swore they had the air conditioning turned on full blast and, because I had nothing else to do but listen, I knew it had been flowing through the vents nonstop. All I was wearing were jean shorts and a thin top, which did very little to keep me warm. I tried pacing the small room for a while to warm up. It didn’t really work.
Shivering, I sat curled up with my knees tucked to my chest in a chair and I did the only thing I could do. Wait.
My eyes felt as though they had just closed when I heard the door open. Sheriff McAllister walked in and shut the door behind him. Just seeing him put me on edge, but as I watched him move through the room over to the camera up in the corner, fear shot through me like lightning, spreading far and wide. He reached up behind it and pushed it to face the wall.
I stood stiffly, kicking the chair back in the process. My mind raced. I could see what he intended. It was written all over his face—the rage, the need for violence. I was trapped in a room with a man twice my size who was going to hurt me.
He moved toward me, and I ran for the door, screaming. Of course, it was locked. I continued to scream, pounding on it, knowing he was coming. Seeing him in my peripheral vision, I stopped what I already knew would be a useless attempt to get someone to help me and spun, throwing my leg out. I caught him off guard as planned and kicked him right in the stomach.
He grunted as he hunched over. I went to run past him, intending to run to the other side of the room to plan my next move. His hand shot out and caught me by my arm. I grabbed his hand that held me and kicked him again, this time in his knee. It buckled, bringing him down to my height. Twirling into his hold, I rammed my elbow down where his shoulder and neck met.
His fingers slipped from my arm as he let out a roar. I took that opportunity to run. I made it one step before I was slowed by my shirt. He had managed to catch the bottom of it. I tried to keep going. The thin material ripped all the way up the back to the collar as I put a little bit of distance between us. Not that it did any good. He leapt for me, tackling me. Instead of us going down to the floor, which was what I would have preferred, he propelled me toward the wall. I slammed into it first and his whole body barreled into me next. My cheek smacked and ground against the cold brick wall and all the air was knocked out of my lungs when he crushed me.
Because I’d cushioned his fall, he recovered quicker and grabbed me by my wrist and hair. He twisted my arm behind my back, making me scream. He pulled me from the wall, dragged me to the table, and bent me over it. I tried to catch myself with my free hand to lessen the impact of my face and chest on the interrogation table, but my weak arm was nothing compared to his strength. I slammed into the table with enough force my lips split against my teeth.
“Fucking little bitch!” he yelled. His tight grip on my hair disappeared and pain exploded through my back. He’d punched me in the kidneys. I gasped and my bloody spit sprayed the table. “Because of you, everything is fucked.” He twisted my arm higher up my back and I screamed myself hoarse.