Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Guess I’ll have to invite you over for a change.” My gaze swung to the window. Would I ever feel safe? Maybe knowing they’d been caught. “Ready to go? I want to get this over with.”
Nolan drove me to the station, and I walked in alone because it was something I needed to do by myself. I’d almost turned around to beg him to come along, but I held myself together.
I was led to a waiting room with others who seemed to be anticipating the same thing. I could barely keep still as I fiddled with the hem of my shirt.
“Are you here because of a robbery too?” one anxious-looking lady with dark skin and sleek hair asked me. When I nodded, she swore under her breath.
As we got to chatting, we realized our apartment buildings were within blocks of each other, but before we could compare crime notes, an officer motioned for me to follow him.
“This way, sir.”
He shuffled me to a room with a long table and placed a book in front of me that resembled a photo album. “Take your time flipping through these, and tell us if you recognize anyone.”
As soon as I started searching through the pages, my stomach tightened, then my chest. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and my memory swam with overwhelming confusion. Seeing so many faces, I couldn’t be sure of anything. I shut my eyes to steady my pulse and tried again, more methodically this time. I focused on the facial features and tried hearing the voice in my head. I kept returning to one of the men whose eyes looked familiar. “This might be the guy who pulled the gun on me.”
“You sure?”
“No.” What if he was an innocent man swept up in this? Shit.
The officer frowned. “It’s okay. Even when victims seem sure, they could still be wrong. It happens. Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.”
By the time I passed by the waiting room, it was already cleared out. The woman I’d spoken to earlier was outside, near the front entrance.
“Did you recognize them?” she asked.
“I couldn’t be sure.” My shoulders slumped. “You?”
“Maybe? One of them looked awfully familiar, so we’ll see.”
“For some reason, I thought it would be easier.” Especially since they starred nearly nightly in my dreams.
She patted my shoulder. “I figure we did the best we could.”
I smiled sadly at her, disappointment sinking like a heavy stone in my stomach.
“Are you having trouble…since it happened?” She winced. “I can’t be by myself at night.”
I inhaled sharply because, for the first time, I felt seen. “Me neither.” Damn, that felt good to say aloud.
“I started seeing a therapist that specializes in these sorts of things. I can give you the information if you want to exchange numbers.”
“That would be great.”
We keyed each other’s names into our phones, and then Harriet hugged me goodbye before walking to a car that had pulled to the curb. I didn’t know if I’d make use of the information she promised to text, but it would be good to have, just in case. I’d been to therapy as a kid around the same time I was diagnosed with ADHD. I’d learned some techniques to help with my symptoms, and that had been a good experience for me. Maybe this would be too.
7
Nolan
“How did it go?” I asked as soon as Ellis slid into the passenger seat.
He frowned. “I thought for sure I would recognize them immediately. But it turns out my memory is more muddled than I imagined. And I certainly don’t want to implicate the wrong people.”
Fucking hell, I had hoped for a better outcome, but I supposed it made sense. Especially since the men had made an effort to cover their faces.
“I’m sorry.” I thumped his knee. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. So what now?”
“I don’t know. They said they’d be in touch.”
“I saw you speaking to some woman near the entrance. What was that about?”
“That was Harriet. She was robbed too, maybe by the same men,” he said, and I held in a gasp. “It was cool talking to someone who’s been through the same thing.”
“I’ll bet.” Damn, that might’ve been what Ellis needed all along.
“Anyway, we exchanged numbers, and she promised to text me some information.”
“What sort of information?”
“She sees a therapist who specializes in helping crime victims.”
“Will you go?”
“I might,” he said, then remained silent the rest of the ride home. I didn’t push him on anything else; just let him process what happened at the police station.
As we walked into his apartment, I wanted to be useful. “How about we finish putting your stuff together?”
“Cool.”
So I helped him get his television up and running. Afterward, I was nervous he wouldn’t ask me to stay, and damn, I wanted to. But that was ridiculous. He needed this more—to feel normal again.