“Yes.” I’m not sure if that’s true, but how else would he be visibly upset, aside from the assault?
Lincoln says nothing. He just stares at me. He wants me to add more. Break the silence.
I don’t. I have to consciously resist the urge to hold my breath, waiting for him to ask about Sylvan saving me.
But remarkably, he doesn’t. Are there no cameras? I could have sworn I’ve seen them outside of Blackwell’s, but I never really checked. I didn’t have reason to.
Lincoln straightens. Taps his palms lightly on the desk and says, “Thank you for your time, Ms. Devine. That will be all for today.”
“For today,” I deadpan back.
He looks up quickly then, away from the computer he was about to turn to, and I don’t miss the small breath of a laugh that seems genuine when he meets my gaze again.
“If we have any further questions, we’ll be in touch.”
I stand then, hands still in my pockets as the chair I was sitting in squeaks back across the floor with my movement.
But I can’t resist asking.
“Do you have any suspects? For either of them?”
His fingers rest on his keyboard now, but he stills.
Looks at me again.
Too long.
But I don’t look away, because I didn’t do it.
I just want to know if Sylvan Connor might have.
Finally, Lincoln only says, “Not at this time.” And I know I’m dismissed.
TWENTY-SEVEN
FAUST
Ihear it again.
The metal rungs holding up the shower curtain screeching across the pole of the stall.
But I’m not afraid.
Not this time.
I cross my arms over my chest and dip my head down into the hot stream of water, letting it blast away the cold from the rink. I should’ve been home hours ago. Tomorrow is an away game, tonight’s practice was short, the ice bath after should’ve been the end of it.
But I wanted to skate.
Not to practice.
To escape.
After being questioned this morning, seeing Neve’s pale face in the station, her silence when I drove her back to her place to drop her off, I needed time to clear my head.
I can only think of one person who would be stalking me this late, and I imagine it’s the same one who did last week, too.
Is he a murderer? Well, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? And that’s a fraction of the money he could be throwingaway if he ruined his future prospects by getting himself locked up behind bars.
