“She’s a witness now. Can’t have her arresting our prime suspect. Might be accused of a conflict of interest.”
Arrest. Prime suspect.The words hit Tyler like ice water.
“I’m a suspect?” Tyler’s voice came out harder than he intended. “How do you figure?”
“We need you to come to the station for questioning,” Adam said, ignoring the question entirely.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet. But you are expected to cooperate.”
Tyler could feel Brooke watching him, could sense her fear mixing with his own. He turned to face her.
Her eyes were wide, her hands still clasped together. She stood frozen by the couch, like she didn’t know whether to move closer or back away.
“I didn’t do this,” Tyler said. The words sounded hollow and desperate even to his own ears.
Brooke nodded, but something flickered across her face—uncertainty and doubt, a question she wasn’t asking out loud but that he could see as clearly as if she’d spoken it.
Was she doubting him? After everything they’d said to each other while snuggling on the couch? After the kissing, the promises, the choice to trust each other?
The thought made his chest ache worse than any accusation Adam could level.
“I have to go with them,” Tyler said quietly, forcing his voice to stay even. “I’ll call you. Okay?”
“Okay.” But she didn’t meet his eyes. She looked at the floor, at the deputies, anywhere but at him.
Her refusal to meet his eyes hurt more than Adam’s smug look, more than the deputies standing next to him like it was already over, more than being named a prime suspect.
Brooke’s doubt cut deeper than anything else could.
Tyler grabbed his jacket from where he’d left it on Gina’s chair and followed the deputies out. The mid-September air was cool against his face. He climbed into the back of Adam’s patrol vehicle, the back door closing with a hollow thunk that sounded too much like a cell door.
The drive to the station was silent except for the crackle of the police radio and the hum of tires on pavement, giving Tyler time to turn everything over in his head. None of it made sense.
Another murder of someone he knew. A death connected to him. Someone was doing this. Someone was killing these women and making it look like he did it. The pattern was too perfect, too deliberate. This wasn’t a coincidence.
But who? And why?
The only person who came to mind was the game warden. It had to be him. He’s probably the same person who attacked Brooke. But why? Why was he doing it? And why frame Tyler?
The station loomed ahead, all concrete and glass and fluorescent lights that made everything look washed out and harsh. Adam pulled into the lot and parked.
He took Tyler into a side door and down a familiar hallway—the same route he’d walked before, when they’d questioned him about Sheila. At least this time he wasn’t taken to booking. That was a plus, he supposed.
Same interview room and same uncomfortable chair. A camera in the corner, its red light blinking steadily.
“Have a seat,” Adam said.
Tyler sat. The chair was cold even through his jeans, the metal biting into his back.
Adam settled across from him, a closed folder in front of him, a small notepad to the side. One of the other deputies who’d been at the house stood near the door.
Tyler’s hands rested on the table. He focused on keeping them still, on not showing how hard his heart was pounding.
“Seems we’ve done this before,” Adam said, his voice maddeningly calm.
“Seems we have. Seems last time I had a lawyer.”
