“Is Kai okay?” I blurt out. “He looked?—”
—angry, betrayed, hurt?—
“Is he okay?” I repeat weakly.
Thatcher’s eyebrows rise. “Mr. Jordan is fine.”
My hands curl into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms. “He didn’t look fine.”
“Getting arrested does that to a person.” Thatcher slides a cup of coffee closer to me.
I unclench my jaw and force my face to relax. Getting an attitude with the police won’t get me anywhere, and definitely won’t help Kai.
I’m here to prove Kai’s innocence.
Fuck Bastian telling me to lawyer up and not say a word.
“Can I see him?”
“Not while he’s in custody.” Thatcher takes his notebook and pencil out of his pocket, and a tape for the recorder. God knows what’s in the file he brought with him, because it doesn’t look like he’s going to open it.
Maybe it’s just a prop. Maybe they don’t have any actual evidence to hold Kai. But they want me tothinkthey do?—
“This interview is being recorded,” he says, as he slides the tape into its slot, closes the lid, and presses the record button. “Recording on.”
He rattles off the date and time. His full name, then mine. I go from feeling cold to sweating in seconds.
“Miss Lee, you understand you’re here voluntarily to give a statement about yesterday’s incident involving Melissa Parker?”
Right. Because this is an interrogation. I’m not just Kai’s girlfriend. I’m a witness. Maybe even a suspect.
I take a quick sip of the coffee to get the taste of bile out of my mouth.
“Yes,” I manage.
“Let’s start with Friday night. Walk me through your evening.”
Just like that, I’m on a cliff’s edge. One wrong word and I send Kai tumbling off. And I might just fall with him.
“We were studying.”
“We?”
“Me and Kai.” I hesitate. “Kai and I.” Nope, that sounds weird.
“Continue.”
“We—me and Kai—had some pizza and stuff.” Because we’re hard-working students and not criminals, I add mentally. “Then he went to hang out with one of his friends.”
“What time was that?” Thatcher’s pencil is poised, his brown eyes locked to my face. This close, it’s hard not to notice how attractive he is…because apparently I really am a slut at heart.
“Uh…I’m not sure. Nine-ish, I think.”
“Youthink?”
“Uh…I can check?”
“How would you check, Miss Lee?”
