Holy fuck, he looksmiserable.
His hair is sticking up like he’d mussed it all night. Dark shadows under his eyes.
My stomach clenches, turning my saliva bitter.
He’s almost out of sight when he glances back over his shoulder and sees me. Relief crashes over his features—eyes widening, eyebrows twitching up, lips parting.
But it only lasts a second before his eyebrows knit together, top lip peeling back in a snarl.
I can spot his disgust a mile away.
My knees buckle when I shoot to my feet. I land back on my ass in the seat.
The officer tugs on Kai’s arm to get him moving again, but he jerks out of the man’s grip hard enough to make his cuffs clank.
“Bored of him already?” Kai yells down the hall at me.
The officer grabs his arm again. “Keep moving, Jordan.”
My chest constricts like someone punched me in the sternum, leaving me breathless as Kai—stiff shoulders, chin tilted up—disappears around the corner.
“He’s ready for you, Miss,” a disembodied voice says. It’s only when a hand lands on my shoulder that I turn to see Kid Cop at my side.
My legs feel like rubber when I stand and follow the cop in the other direction.
Kai thinks I chose Bastian over him.
Didn’t I? I walked into those woods and let Bastian put his hands on me, his mouth on me, his cockin?—
God, enough with the guilt!
I did what I had to do. And now I’m going to fix this.
Kid Cop opens a door to a small office with a dented metal table and a mirror that’s obviously two-way glass.
“Have a seat. Deputy Thatcher is on his way.”
I groan, because of fucking course it’s Thatcher.
I glance at the mirror, tucking my hair behind my ear. I don’t look much better than Kai, honestly. I grabbed the first outfit I could match up out of my duffel bag, and both the jeans and the sweater are horrendously wrinkled. My hair is a mess, my skin pale, my eyes bloodshot.
Are they watching me right now? Analyzing what I’m doing? Whether I’m fidgeting because I’m nervous or guilty?
I try to get my foot to stop bouncing. My eyes keep jumping from the mirror, to the silent AC unit, to the tape recorder with its popped-open lid. I have to force myself not to close it because I get the feeling touching isn’t allowed.
There’s no clock in this room, so I don’t know how much time passes, but Thatcher sure as hell wasn’t on his way, unless he was coming from the other side of town.
I prop my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands, closing my eyes from the bright fluorescents. Somehow, despite all the coffee, I almost doze off.
When the door opens a while later, I jerk back to reality with my heart in my throat.
Deputy Thatcher walks in with two Styrofoam cups and a file tucked under his arm.
“Miss Lee.” He sits. “Thanks for coming in.”
Like I had a fucking choice.
I nearly had a heart attack when someone knocked on the Airbnb’s front door this morning. I surprised myself by going to answer it instead of hiding in the bathroom, pretending I wasn’t home. But when I saw the cop outside, the regret was instant.
