“What’d you do to get in here?”
“Little miss high and mighty got knocked down a few pegs, eh?”
“These charges are bullshit. I wasn’tsolicitinganyone, least of all Tony Walter. Everyone in this town knows that man would fuck an alligator if it felt good.”
Okay, she had a point with that last one.
For two days and three nights, I hardly ate, my stomach clenching and roiling every time I thought about putting food in it. I survived on water and spite.
Finally, Monday morning arrived, and with it, my transfer papers to Boise.
For all the time I spent around Lane and law enforcement in general thanks to my job, I realized I was woefully ignorant when it came to the minutiae of police procedures.
Through the little door I’d only seen used to transfer food and water to me and Missy, Johns passed me my boots—minus the laces. Wordlessly, I slipped them on, then stepped back as Johns opened the cell, slapped the cuffs back on me, and led me out.
“Bye bye, Sutton!” Missy called, a maniacal grin on her face.
“Fucking crazy,” I muttered.
Johns shocked me when he chuckled. “Drugs will do that to you.”
It took everything in me not to respond. We weren’t pals, and any fondness I’d felt toward him previously had disappeared the moment he’d told me I was under arrest.
The bullpen likely still buzzed with news of my arrest, and I was genuinely shocked Lane’s deputies hadn’t made excuses to stare at me in the holding cell like some sort of zoo attraction. Thankfully, instead of bringing me out the front like when he’d brought me in, Johns brought me out back. An ancient panel van, painted an ugly beige and brown with the Dusk Valley Sheriff’s Department crest on the side, idled. He loaded me into the back, climbed behind the wheel, and took off for Boise.
Once we were clear of town, however, he surprised me again by pulling down a deserted side road. Parked up ahead in a little turnaround was a blacked-out SUV.
Unease prickled the back of my neck and sluiced down my spine.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He ignored me, got out, and walked around to the driver’s side of the other car. From this angle, with the passenger side facing me and its heavily tinted windows, I couldn’t see who was at the wheel, but I had a bad feeling I already knew.
After a brief conversation, Johns reappeared, pulled me out, and walked me over to the SUV. He shoved me unceremoniously in the backseat then disappeared without another word.
Slowly, I lifted my head, afraid to confront the woman behind the wheel.
When our eyes met, Addie grinned.
“Hello, Sutton.”
I was insomuch trouble.
“What is going on?” I demanded.
Before responding, she faced forward, put the car into gear, and pulled away.
Catching my eye in the rearview, she finally said, “I’m taking you to Boise.”
“As my accuser, I feel like this isn’t exactly above board.”
“Of course it’s not,” she said with a derisive laugh, like that was the dumbest thing I could’ve said. “I said I’m taking you to Boise, but you won’t actually make it there.”
“How do you figure?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” she said, tone dripping with condescension. “Let me worry about the details. All you need to concern yourself with is the fact that, sometime before we reach the city, you will die.”
Die.
