Still Jaded (Jaded #2)(83)

When they recited my Miranda rights, my head was bent and I concentrated on breathing. Shallow breaths kept me going, but I knew the rest of my class had stopped to watch. I heard Carolina's voice in the distance, but it was faint. A buzzing sounded in my ear and I couldn't shake it away. Then they pushed me forward. The uniformed cop took hold of my elbow and I was led through the courtyard of the campus.

"Sheldon!"

I heard Corrigan's shout and my heart skipped for a moment. There wasn't disbelief in his voice. He still believed.

As they drove me to the station, I focused on each breath I took. One. Two. They were so shallow, but I kept going. My heart was racing and I frowned at my lap. I didn't want to have a heart attack. Could a twenty-year-old have one? I couldn't stop a sadistic laugh from breaking free as I thought about my life. If anyone would have one, it'd be me.

When I was brought through the station, I felt a burning in my stomach and I lifted my head. Officer Patterson was in front of her desk. Her dirty blonde hair was a mess, but when wasn't it? A cup of coffee was in her hand and I wondered if that was her twentieth. She drank too much coffee. I never cared before, but now I wondered if I should voice my concern.

I was taken to an interview room where my handcuffs were clasped through a peg in the table.

They thought I was going to run. They couldn't have thought I was dangerous.

Another burst of laughter threatened to bubble up. They did think I was dangerous. Who was I? Not a spy. I was a college student. I had two friends, well—Denton had promised only friendship. I had three friends.

They'd seen me through worse. This wouldn't be it.

I never killed anyone. Well…except for Marcus.

A file slammed on the table and I jumped from the sound. A burly man let out a low baritone chuckle, dressed in khaki pants and a blue button-up shirt. The shirt's ends had been loosened and pulled out from his pants. They were still wrinkled.

"She jumps." He sat across from me and threw a leg upon the table. He was the epitome of carefree.

I wanted to snarl at him. I wanted to frighten him back, but I didn't. He wanted that. Already I knew their game; it was what I'd do.

He flipped the file open and yawned.

My eye twitched. The ass yawned. This was my life and he yawned, but I closed my eyes and counted my breaths again. One. Two. Three—

"How'd you know Grace Barton?"

My arm jerked and I drew in a breath. He sounded bored. He asked about my friend and it sounded like he'd rather be taking a dump. He probably would.

"Hey. I'm talking to you." He leaned forward and snapped his fingers near my face.

I wanted to bite them off.

"Jeezus." He turned when the door opened. "She ain't talking."

A feminine voice spoke, "Yet."

She sounded arrogant.

I wanted to sink my teeth into both of them.

"She will." Laughter was evident in her voice as I heard another chair being scraped against the floor. It squeaked under her weight. I wondered if she threw her leg up as well. They would've been a pair.

Then she leaned forward and the amusement was dropped. "Your purse was found in her car."

My heart pounded in my ears again. It was starting to thump so hard, my chest grew painful.

Breathe, Sheldon. One. Two. Three.

"She poured two glasses of wine. We know it was someone she knew. There was no forced entry. She had a movie playing on the television." The woman detective drew in a deep breath and she gentled her tone, "Did you guys used to watch chick flicks together? It’s the latest vampire teen movie; you know the one that's so popular now. A goddamn apple's on the cover of it. You know the one."

I drew in a shuddering breath. Grace had loved that movie. I had loathed it the one time she got me to watch it. I left after thirty minutes, as soon as Bryce got home.

I felt a stab of regret. We'd been good friends then and I had ditched her. Sex with my boyfriend seemed like a better way to spend the afternoon.

So much had changed.

And I swallowed again. Grace was dead.

"A lot of people are scared of you, Sheldon."

The urge to snicker threw me off-balance. Why would I want to laugh at that? And then it clicked. Officer Patterson had told me one time, 'Use their first name. It starts to establish a connection. When they want to pee their pants and you're offering the one bit of sympathy their way, they'll start blabbering like you're best friends. We use it in interrogation tactics.'

The woman detective had started to tap a pen against the table, but she stopped it now. And waited.

They would have to wait forever.

Then she sighed in disgust. "Come on, Sheldon! We're not the enemy. We just want to know what happened. We know you were there that night. We've got your purse—"

My purse had been left in the hospital room, next to Corrigan.

"—and there's some of your hair on the couch. We have your DNA. One of the wineglasses had a thumbprint too. You were there, Sheldon!" She smacked a hand on the table. "Tell us what happened."

"Molls."

"What?" she snapped at him. Then, a moment later, she started again in a calmer voice. "You guys were friends since high school, right? We have her confession on tape about what she did to you. That must've made you mad, huh? She was your friend. From what we've been told, you don't have a lot of friends, but that's because you intimidate people. Don't you, Sheldon? You scare them away before they can hurt you. Isn't that right? Or maybe I have it all wrong. You tell me."