Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
The disappointment registered quickly on the detective’s face. His forehead creased, his eyes widened, and a flash of anger shone in his eyes. The rug had been pulled right from beneath him, and oh how he tumbled so prettily.
“…Oh, you want an attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Are you refusing to speak to me any further?”
“I am refusing to speak to you about this situation any further. I am saying, for the third time, that I want to speak to a lawyer.” He tapped his cigarette into an ashtray, then took another drag.
“Okay… well, you’ve left us no choice. I’ll get the ball rolling. You’ll be going to jail this evening.”
He said the words as if Nikolai would be moved and suddenly start giving a damn. Spill his guts. Instead, Nikolai shrugged and placed the cigarette in the ashtray.
He looked around the cold room once more when the man left. Alone again. Nothing but him and his thoughts. He spotted a bit of blue paint in one of the corners. A tiny splash—one that most would miss. His heart throbbed as he recalled sitting at that table on that special date, painting with Porsche. Drinking wine. Laughing with the woman of his dreams. Every cell in his body had screamed, the sacrifice was too big…
He said a silent prayer.
God, I need her… I LOVE HER SO MUCH! Mom would have loved Porsche… She’s kind, and energetic, like her. She’s beautiful… and smart…and fair… SHE’S MY HEART. Fix this. I’m begging you to fix this!
Porsche blinked several times. Her forehead throbbed; the pain almost unbearable. Struggling to get to her feet, she made her way to the bathroom and gasped when she looked in the mirror. When she passed out, she’d hit her head. Now a nasty bump was forming. She splashed water on her face and made her way into the kitchen. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped ice cubes in it, and brought it to her head. Moments later, she was cradling her phone and sitting on one of the dining room chairs.
“Porsche? Are you okay? I was just getting ready to come by and—”
“Yes. I’m fine. No need to stop by. I dropped the phone… I’ll talk to you later. Just need a minute.”
She quickly ended the call and sat there, with the ice to her head. Her chest heaved. Her heart ached. It felt as if an elephant was sitting on her ribs. And then… the tears. She sobbed hard. She sobbed loudly. Her entire body shook, vibrating in stereo. Her voice was not her own. She mourned. A wave of shame washed over her, along with unparalleled anger.
Reaching for the necklace around her throat, she ripped it off in one fell swoop and flung it across the room. She wasn’t certain how long she sat there crying her eyes out. Yelling at ghosts. Screaming at herself. But it was long enough, for the sun was going down…
In all of my years of service, I have never been wrong about a suspect. How could he fool me like this?! He’s not an actor like Ethan. He’s not even good at hiding his true feelings! I know I haven’t lost my touch. How did he get away with this? How could he look me in my face and tell me he loves me? Tell me he wasn’t the one committing these horrible murders!
No… It can’t end like this. I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THIS! I want answers. That motherfucker is going to tell me WHY!
She pulled herself together, grabbed her car keys, and headed to the door…
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You can’t see him right now, Ms. Lee,” the female officer stated dryly, her arms crossed. “As a former police officer, I think you know that.”
“Is he still here?” To her left, all she saw was a couple of police officers and a custodian moving about.
“Unless you’re his attorney, I’m not at liberty to disclose that.”
Porsche debated making a scene. She even thought about tossing some big-time names around, flaunting some clout. She stared into the cold, dead eyes of another officer—a Black woman. They stared each other down, and it was obvious there was no understanding. No sisterhood. No care or concern.
So she turned and walked out of there, making a beeline to her car. Just then, it began to rain. She got in her vehicle and sat there, gripping the steering wheel, simmering in the chaos of her mind. Releasing the wheel, she flopped back onto the seat, closed her eyes, and ran her hand over her forehead. The bump was less sore, but her heart was still hurting.
Grabbing her phone, she scanned her contacts, looking for the number of another past colleague she’d had at the Boston Police Department. Perhaps they could be of assistance and help her pull some strings. As she scrolled through, she noticed several voicemail notifications. This was nothing new. People called all the time leaving messages, asking for her advice or expertise, or telemarketers trying to sell something. She usually preferred to be contacted via email or text, but even though she stressed this on her site, people insisted on leaving voicemails.