“Look in my eyes and tell me I don’t.”
He stares at me, and I see the exact moment he knows I’m right, and life as he knows it is over. I try to memorise every little detail as the man who terrorised me for almost two decades realises his future is crashing like a downed fighter plane.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, but fuck knows who he’s talking to. He’s just another cornered coward grasping at straws.
“Shove it up your ass,” I say. “Heard that’s a helpful skill where you’re headed.”
Jake’s warm hand closes around my shoulder. “Get out of here, Thompson.”
Thrasher doesn’t move. His eyes are slitted, chest heaving. Cece tenses beside me. Jake, too, and I push myself onto my toes because I know, weallknow, this is about to go bad.
Then I see it. A flicker of blue moving across the lawn. One man. Two. Four men and two women, all wearing the navy uniform of the New Zealand Police, fanned out in formation and heading right for Thrasher.
“Fuck,” I say to Cece. “It’s the fuzz.”
“Timing,” she says back, her pretty face breaking into a huge smile.
Thrasher turns, just in time to come face-to-face with the lead officer. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and blue-eyed. I don’t recognise him, but I can guess his name. Bryan Ogilvy.
“Daniel Thompson.” Bryan’s voice is calm, but hard as nails. “You missed your appointment this morning.”
Thrasher’s beard twitches. “Told you I was busy, Og.”
“Busy? Like… you had to go to a party?”
“No. Well, yeah, but my lawyer?—”
“That’s not how this works, mate. You agreed to a time, and you show up at that time, or we come get you. Now you’re gonna have to come with us back to the station. No ‘ifs’ or ‘buts.’”
Thrasher shifts from foot to foot, and the cops spread apart in anticipation.
“You don’t wanna run,” Jake warns from behind me. “It’s a cliché, but you’re pretty well surrounded.”
I glance around. He’s right. Davis and Jake are blocking one flank, and the cops have the other. Thrasher turns wildly, looking for allies that aren’t there. Instead, even more people have their phones up, and perhaps recognising the optics of all this, he raises his hands.
“Sorry,” he tells Bryan. “No hard feelings. I just got caught up, yeah? Important stuff. And I still need to call my lawyer.”
“Really?” Bryan repeats, unhooking his handcuffs from his belt. “Last I heard, you met with your lawyer this morning.”
I bite back a smile as Cece nudges my side, no doubt doing the same thing.
“Y’don’t need to cuff me,” Thrasher says. “I’ll go with you.”
“You will,” Bryan agrees. “Because that’s why we’re here. But failure to attend a police interview is an arresting offence, mate. And it’s no small thing you’re accused of.”
“But—”
“You’re pissing me off, Thompson. Turn around, or you’ll be made to turn around.”
“But what about…?”
“Your mates?” Bryan nods at two of the cops, and they break off in the direction of Shannon Strom and Xavier McColl. “Don’t worry. They’re coming, too.”
Thrasher’s head drops to his chest. “Bryan. Mate. This is a school thing. You were at school with us. Can’t I just?—”
“No.” Bryan rattles his cuffs. “Turn and let me get these on you, oryou’re officially resisting arrest. And I don’t think you want people filming when Merisiana tases you ’til you piss yourself.”
The female officer jiggles a little black device at Thrasher.
