Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(17)

“Shit,” I spit. “Shit.”

Nurse Jowls glares at me.

“Not you,” I mutter. Though I’m lying. “Send him in.”

Then I have to watch her whale-sized ass wobble away from me, since I’m strapped up to too many machines to move. Marvelous. There’s a strange, hollow sensation where my belly ought to be, as if my flesh is floating three feet away. I’m guessing that’s the drugs because my belly, while covered in white dressing, is still fully intact. Leo has this cute Britishism for when she’s drunk: I’m off my face. Well here I am, sweetheart, off my f*cking face, and where are you?

I remember a gun and a bullet, and some unsettling words. But for whatever reason, they don’t matter. They’d feel heavier if they did.

“Mr. Lore?”

A tall, lanky figure appears before me. The image gradually distils as my head clears; the man wears a black shirt, jeans, and a blazer, and is holding out a police badge. I don’t know what I hate more—the sight of the badge, or his beard. The emos are everywhere.

“Detective Luke Posner,” he says. “Can I have a minute?”

One by one, my senses seep back in. A clatter of machine beeps cuts through the waning timbre of his voice, and I smell sharp antiseptic and fabric starch and bitter, stale lemons.

“Mr. Lore?” he repeats. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been in better shape,” I manage. “Sit down.”

He takes several big strides toward the plastic chair near my bed, and plummets into it from what seems like a great height. Then he spends way too long adjusting himself and fiddling with his phone.

“Where’s Leo?” I slur.

He doesn’t look up. “We have a Leontine Reeves in custody at present. Would that be the female you’re referring to?”

Custody? Of course she’s in custody. Jesus. “Is she okay?” What has she told them about me?

Detective Posner shuffles forward. The chair legs scrape across the floor. “Seems to think she shot you, as a matter of fact. You want to elaborate on that for me?”

“She didn’t mean it.” The words fly out before I have time to consider anything. And now I’ll have to wallow in them, get good and sticky.

He makes a sound between a laugh and a snort. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She didn’t…it was an accident.”

“She says she shot you,” he states, not without sarcasm.

Great. She’s playing the noble confessor. Fan-f*cking-tastic.

Of all the times I’d need to come up with a plausible cover story, it has to be when I’m stuffed with opiates. Grasshoppers, why does the world hate me? I didn’t even cut it open; I just poked it a little. Had some fun.

I’m guessing by the way Posner’s questioning me that Leo hasn’t said much else. Let’s hope she’s calling his bluff—it’s all I have.

“My…my assistant is dead,” I croak.

“Tuija Klein,” he says.

Firecracker.

Fuck.

“She was murdered. I’m sure you’re aware of this.” I’m talking through my teeth. “It’s made Leo paranoid. When she came to me, she had her gun stuffed down her waistband. I didn’t see it. She was…she had a coat on.”

“Let’s hope Miss Reeves has a permit for that gun,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

“She and I are involved. We began to get intimate and the gun…I must’ve knocked it.”

“Your doctors tell me your injuries are consistent with a close range shot.”

“That’s because she was grinding on my dick at f*cking close range.”

He sighs. Puts his hands out, starts gesturing around. “Look. I know you’re not at your best, shall we say, but I’m gonna need you to help me out. If the gun’s in her waistband, it’s pointing down, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“I didn’t see it. I just know it was there because it happened to go off.”

“And what kind of position were you in when the gun went off…?”

If I could control my eyes enough to roll them, and not just go cross-eyed, that’s exactly what I’d be doing. “I don’t remember. Shit’s been pretty intense these last few days. One minute we’re all over each other, the next I’m on the floor, bleeding, and she’s crying her eyes out. That’s all I have.”

He tuts. “So it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that she intentionally fired the gun.”

“Trust me when I tell you it would be wildly out of character. Is there a lawyer in here?”

“Mr. Lore, you’re the victim. You don’t need a lawyer.”

“Does Leo have a lawyer?”

“I’m not permitted to share that information with you.” He’s got this narrow-eyed, suspicious look on his face. “Is there a possibility that Miss Reeves fired her gun…in self-defence?”

You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.

“It was an accident,” I grind out, “and I’m not saying anything else without a lawyer.”

The easiest thing to do would be to have Leo locked up. Sure, she might try to bargain her way into a plea deal with a few home truths about the way my mother died, but then she’d only get herself charged with perverting the course of justice as well as everything else. That’s justice for you; it would incarcerate the girl whose silence I bought, body I forced and mind I manipulated, all while little ol’ me recovers in a nice private medical facility with a dozen bouquets of overpriced sympathy and a load of hot nurses.