Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
“Very common, unfortunately,” the shorter cop agrees. “They likely lied to you to try to get you to fold. It’s an effective way to add pressure.”
My vision blurs and I struggle to stay calm.
I look down at the table and try not to move the wrist that’s still cuffed.
There’s no way he would do that to me. He wouldn’t do that.
He loves me.
The only person I believe is Declan. I don’t trust these cops, and I never will. I can feel their eyes on me. I know they’re being quiet on purpose so that I’ll fill the silence. I want to. I want to speak so much that it feels like physical pressure in the room.
But Declan’s voice comes back to me. Don’t say a word beyond his name, Braelynn. Say nothing.
The charges come back, too. Conspiracy to commit murder, aiding, and abetting. I didn’t help anyone commit murder. I didn’t do anything. I repeat the words silently to myself. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything.
A loud voice comes closer to the door and then it opens to reveal a man in a sharp suit who announces himself as my lawyer. He storms up with a scowl on his face and a briefcase slamming down on the table. “That’s enough. These charges are bullshit and you know it. I’ll be filing a harassment suit.”
Although there’s anger in his words, his tone is professional and even easy. As if it’s already handled. As if I can get up right now.
“She’s cuffed to the table?” The lawyer looks from the cuff to meet the cops’ gazes.
“She was attempting to harm herself.”
“No, I wasn—”
“Don’t say another word,” the confident lawyer with gray hair at his temples and simple silver-rimmed glasses tells me calmly.
He holds a hand up and waits for me to nod.
“You’re interrupting an interrogation,” the cop on the right says. “That’s obstruction of justice.”
“She was never even checked in.” The lawyer crosses his arms over his chest. “Uncuff my client now or I’ll push the issue.”
“We need answers—”
“You needed to allow her to call her lawyer. That’s the first rule you’re supposed to follow. She’s entitled to legal representation and I am certain she asked for it.”
“We have a duty to conduct the interrogation before she’s released on these charges.”
“Have you filed them yet?” the lawyer asks. “Come on. Let me see the paperwork. Have the charges been filed?”
It’s nothing like the lawyer shows on TV. A full-blown argument ensues. One of the cops yelling over my lawyer who spouts off numbers of some jurisdiction or law. I don’t know and I can’t keep up. I just want to leave. I need to get out of here.
By the time the screaming match ends, my lawyer’s face is reddened and any sense of calm professionalism is out the window.
“That’s what I thought,” my lawyer says. “Uncuff her. If you find the time to actually file these charges, then you can contact me directly. In the meantime, you can look forward to being served.”
“This is an active case,” the short cop points out, but it sounds like he’s fighting a losing battle.
“It’s an abuse of power, and you know that just as well as you know that these charges are bogus. Either book her or let her go.”
The cops exchange another look. Lifting his hands, the taller one surrenders. I don’t know what he’s giving in on, but I hope it’s letting me leave.
Everything happened so quickly, I don’t think I took a breath through it.
The shorter cop stands up with a disgruntled sigh, leans over, and removes the second handcuff.
“This way, Braelynn,” the lawyer says. He puts a steady hand on my elbow and steers me, silently, out of the room and toward the front of the building.
“I did ask to talk to you. They wouldn’t listen.”
“I’m sure you did.” He doesn’t slow his pace at all. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you now.”
We pass the booking desk, where a man is sitting in a plastic chair in handcuffs. He looks far too familiar. My world slows just then as his identity registers. Behind him, another man turns around and everything in me goes cold.
A camera flashes nearby, and there’s another cop being booked.
They’re the men from the hospital. Detectives Barlowe and Hart…my feet stop moving and I stare back as the man who just turned around, sees me, and quickly looks away. They weren’t detectives. They’re being booked. Oh my God. He did set me up.
The cops in the interrogation room were telling the truth. Declan lied to me. They were nothing but a test.
My stomach drops.
“Miss Lennox—” The lawyer tugs at me slightly, pulling me back to the present. I follow numbly, barely cognizant.
We head out into the lobby. Fluorescent lights shine down on yellowed linoleum by the front desk. Several people are sitting in plastic chairs, a couple of them having loud phone conversations. A female cop behind the front desk patiently explains to an elderly woman how to file a police report.