“Where’s the drive, now?”
Sirens sound in the distance and I shudder as he draws me into a warm hug. “Never mind. Say nothing more until I’m sitting right beside you. Understand?”
Then, the whole Tuxedo Junction police force crashes into the clearing with sirens blaring. A couple men jump out of their squad cars with weapons drawn. Me and Andy step out of the jeep with our hands in the air. Jack and Dahlyla, who were sitting on a rock in the shade, put their arms up as well.
My bodyguard slowly steps into the center of the field, eye to eye to a gray-haired cop whose feet are braced and pistol pointed.
Using this real low, calm voice, Jack says, “I called nine-one-one. My weapon is in my holster in my vest. Private security. I work for CJ Quinn.”
At the name of the famous football star, all the officer’s eyes go wide. Then, the older cop flicks his eyes to a younger one who quickly retrieves the weapon and sniffs.
When he shakes his head, no, the older officer relaxes but still eyes Jack warily. “Where’s the body?”
I can’t help but be a little pissed off at all the loaded guns and a lot scared so I shout, “Could you guys please lower your fucking weapons? This isn’t the OK Corral. Jesus, enough, already. We called in a murder, we didn’t commit one.”
Andy rolls his eyes and Jack smirks while Dahlyla gives me a thumbs-up. I guess it did the trick because the half-dozen officers look to the older guy who nods for them to holster their weapons.
Thank God.
Jack clears his throat and all eyes shoot toward him. “We found a dead guy about a half mile in. I can take you there if you like.”
He shares a knowing look with Andy then disappears into the woods with a few officers.Why didn’t he say he found Adrian Olafson?
Three other grim-faced cops step forward through the long grass and pat us down.
“I guess they’re just being cautious.” I say this because Andy looks like he’s about to kill someone. Apparently, one of us is not used to being treated like a criminal.
“Remember what I said.” He didn’t need to remind me, I sure as hell won’t say a word.
“Got it.”
Just as he predicted, the police officers put us in separate vehicles and shortly, a female cop slips into the back seat beside me.
“Your name?” She gets out a small wire-bound notepad with a pen.
“Sienna Giles.” My voice shakes and no doubt, I appear guilty because her eyes glimmer, ready for the take down.
She puts her face in mine, noses almost touching. “Why were you trespassing, Ms. Giles?”
“I’m really sorry, but my lawyer has advised me not to speak to you without him present.”
“Did you kill the man in the woods?”
I remember this kind of interrogation when Peter died, and it gives me some satisfaction I’m not the same person I was back then.
These officers are just doing their job and part of that is to intimidate criminals, get information, and solve crimes. However, my job is to shut the fuck up. Even to apologize for keeping quiet could be construed as an apology for murder.
“My lawyer has advised me to wait until he can be present with me. He’s sitting right over there. You could get him if you like.” I’m trying to be helpful but the cop actually curses at me.
“This is no game, Ms. Giles. It will go easier if you cooperate.”
Sure, it will be way easier for you. You can just charge me for the murder of my brother-in-law.
She leaves the backseat of the squad car and it’s hours before another soul slides in. Now this cop, he’s about forty and he gets so close I can inhale the cigarette smoke lingering in his lungs.
Needing him to back off, I point to my chin. “You got some kind of crumb stuck in your beard, right here.”
He wipes it away but the ploy works and there’s now a couple more inches between us. While he questions me, the humidity climbs to about ninety percent and thunder grumbles in the distance.
