Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I can still taste her lips on mine.
When I said those words, I meant them. I thought they’d be so easy to keep, to be honest, and it never occurred to me that I’d forget.
A large metal door opens at the end of the hall and I look up, my view obstructed by steel bars of the jail cell.
It’s been a long damn time since I’ve been locked up. Years. Almost a dozen years, to be exact. I knew I’d be back soon, though.
It was only a matter of time before they brought me in for questioning. Samantha tried to warn me but it was too late. Soon after I left the townhouse the cops picked me up and brought me in. I sit hunched over, resting my forearms on my thighs as I wait for the attending officer to come get me. With the footsteps echoing down the small corridor, my gaze raises in anticipation, only to drop again to the cement floor. He walks right past me without a glance in my direction and I drop my head, focusing on the cracks in the concrete and recalling every detail of the night that put me here.
My hands sweat as I twist my wedding band around my finger. I can’t think about Kat right now or what she’d say. I haven’t told her a damn thing about this and we’re in the same place we were when I last left.
The worst part about all of this is that I don’t have a way out yet. I’m falling into a dark hole, not knowing how I can escape, or if it will ever end. Never in my life has a situation seemed so dire and I’m more than aware that I miss her presence the most. It would make all this hell seem insignificant if only I knew she still loved me.
Someone coughs and I slowly turn my head to the left where it came from a few cells down, but I can’t see a damn thing but bars and concrete. I think there’s only one other person in holding with me. And he’s on the same side so the rest of the cells are empty. I guess Tuesdays are slow days for the station.
My foot tap, tap, taps on the ground as I wait. The cops haven’t given me any information to go on yet. Other than the word murder. My best guess is that they think I gave Tony the coke and knew it was laced with something deadly.
Even if I didn’t know it was tainted, I’d still be held accountable. At least here in the state of New York, I am. If it was deliberately tampered with, though … then someone wanted him dead. Although the only two people who knew it was even there were me and James.
My shoulders rise with a heavy breath as the anger gets the best of me. Rage seeps into my blood just thinking his name. The image of him flickers in front of me the second I close my eyes. He smiled as he patted my back, walking out the room after making sure it’d be ready for our client, Tony.
He’s the one who put it there. The only question I have on my mind is whether he’s the one who laced it. I can’t imagine he did. He wouldn’t be that stupid, but I’m not taking the fall for murder. Not to save his skeevy ass. I’m not a rat, but if James plays his cards against me—the proof that I was with Tony before he died, then I’m taking that fucker down.
“Thompson,” the cop’s voice bellows and echoes off the walls of the small cell.
“That’s me,” I answer, looking the detective square in his light blue eyes. I don’t recognize him as he puts the key in the lock and opens the door wide for me to get out and walk to the interrogation room. Adrenaline pumps hard in my blood. It seems more intense now than it did years ago.
Maybe it’s because I don’t know how I’ll get out of this. I have an alibi, but if James showed them the pictures proving I was with Tony that night, then I’m fucked.
I have to wonder if he would, though. If that’s the case, he was deliberately withholding evidence and they’d have to question his intentions and his involvement, as well as the fact that he lied during the first questioning. He could do it anonymously, though, and knowing his character, he’d sure as hell take that route.
My boots smack against the floor and I walk at an easy pace, making sure I don’t do anything to piss off the cop. He’s a short guy. Probably in his thirties, I guess. Lots of wrinkles around his eyes, though. Maybe from the stress of the job, maybe from the sun.