The ride to town was tense, to say the least. I was certainly in shock, unable to outwardly react to anything despite my mind whirring a thousand miles a minute. Dazedly, I allowed Johns to tow me into the station, my feet still so heavy with dread I could barely lift them to take steps. He didn’t even give me the decency and inconspicuousness of bringing me in the back door, he perp-walked me right in the front and through the bullpen.
I’d worked alongside everyone in this department at some point over the course of each of our careers; that was the name of the game with first responders. For all of them to be looking at me now with such open disgust was a bit of a dagger to the heart.
Ignoring the stares, Johns marched me down the hall that ran parallel to the bullpen and directed me into an interview room. He took a moment to uncuff my hands from behind my back—only to restrain me in front again.
“Sit tight,” he said, speaking to me for the first time since reading me my rights, before he left the room.
It didn’t take long for him to return, though, and when he did, it was with a small stack of case files under one arm. He rested them on the corner of the metal interview table, clicked a button on the camera in the corner. A red light on the front illuminated, indicating it was recording. Johns dug into his breast pocket and withdrew a small spiral-bound notebook, a trick Iknewhe’d picked up from his years working under Lane.
Anger spiked my blood, heating my veins, which was admittedly a welcome change from the numbness I’d settled into since he showed up at the ranch.
This little twit wasspittingin the face of his mentor, and once we sorted all of this out and cleared my name, I had a feeling Lane would be going scorched earth on his ass.
Johns would never work in this county again, at least not in Lane’s department.
Flipping to a fresh page, he clicked open his pen and finally looked at me.
“Who am I accused of assaulting?” I asked before he could say anything.
“Where were you last night around eight p.m.?” he countered.
“Home.”
“Here in Dusk Valley?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ve been staying in Boise with my brother.”
“How long have you been up there?”
“About three weeks.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“You’ve been staying with Sheriff Lawless for the last several months, have you not?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know I have.”
“So why’d you leave?”
“Lane and I were experiencing some…differences of opinion. I went to Sean’s so we could have some space to figure things out.”
“What kinds of differences of opinion?”
“My relationship is private,” I said through gritted teeth. Likehellwas I going to give this guy any ammo. An inkling had taken up residence in the back of my brain, like a prickling at the nape of my neck—the same sensation I’d been experiencing on calls all these months. I couldn’t put my finger onwhy, but I had a feeling I knew exactly what this was about.
“Fine,” Johns said, scribbling some notes.
“Are you going to tell me who is accusing me of assault now?”
Johns shifted in his seat, turning toward the two-way mirror behind him, and gave a thumbs up.
Dread seized me, making it difficult to breathe.
A moment later, the door to the interrogation room clicked open, and a brunette woman entered.
When she faced me, I inhaled sharply. Not because I was surprised to see her—I’d worked out already that she was somehow behind this, and I experienced a brief flash of satisfaction before it withered away.
