The deputy upended a paper sack onto the desk, raining down wrapped candies, and handed the empty bag to Noah. “Put that over your mouth and nose. Breathe slowly, in and out. There you go. Isn’t that better?” He crossed the room, retrieved water from a mini-fridge, and handed the bottle to Noah. “Here. This might help too.”
Noah took the bag off his face, placing the bag and water on the table beside him. “Why are you being nice to me?”
The deputy lowered his voice. “Because I think you need someone to be nice to you.” He sat back down, becoming all business again. “So, if you don’t want to answer about that night, I want to know how you hooked up with the man out in the lobby. And don’t lie. We’ll know.”
Ah, hell. Did this guy know his whole life? “I was hurt. He helped me. We’ve been traveling together ever since.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you traveling together?”
Think, Noah, think! Don’t give away too much!“For his business. He’s a guest tattooist at different shops.”
“Why take you with him?”
“I’m his model.” Oh, fuck. Noah knew the moment he opened his mouth, he’d said the wrong thing, based on the glint in the deputy’s eyes.
One side of the deputy’s mouth lifted. “Show me.”
“Show you what?” Noah squeaked, his grip slipping on his fight-or-flight instinct.
“Show me some of his art.”
Noah conjured an image from Slade’s portfolio. “I… I can’t.”
“Why not?” The deputy appeared downright bored, slumped down in the chair, ankle crossed over his knee, foot bouncing.
The dick tattoos had to have hurt. And the taint tattoos? Noah shuddered. Thank gods Slade never asked him to pose for those kind of intimate pieces. “They’re in places I can’t show in public.”
“If you can show total strangers in a tattoo shop, why not here?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. No getting out of this. Noah balled his fists until his nails dug into his palms. “What do you really want to know?”
“I want to know how you got away from five armed homicidal maniacs all by yourself. Did Mr. Slater help you?”
They knew of Slade? “No. I didn’t meet him for another ten years or so.”
“Ah, so anything between you two is a recent development.” The deputy didn’t sound judgmental. Then again, he probably used this same act on all suspects to get them to spill their secrets.
“Look, tell me the charges or let me see a lawyer.” Noah tried and failed to remember the book he’d read those lines in.
“And I’m telling you, you’re not being charged. I’m not questioning a suspect; I’m questioning a witness.”
What? “A witness?”
“Look, we know they tried to kill you. We know who they are. They’ve killed before, and a whole lot of people let out a sigh of relief when you walked away and they didn’t.”
“Who?” Was the deputy setting a trap?
“Answer my questions, please.”
“One of them stabbed me. All I could think about was stopping them. About getting away. About whether or not they’d done the same to Paul.”
The deputy’s demeanor changed from bored to curious. “Paul? Who’s Paul?”
“You mean you don’t already know?” Noah barked, his laugh sounding a little crazed, even to him.
