Bitter Angel (16 page)

Now I’m starting to regret that. Maybe if I’d watched more of them, I’d have a better understanding of what will happen.
Will they stick us in a room? Separate us? Will Jay be allowed to come with me?

Along with the knee bobbing, I start making weird popping noises with my mouth. I have to do something to occupy myself. All this free time is unraveling me and winding me tight at the same time.

Jay patiently gathers my hands in his. “Get a grip, Lil. They’re gonna kick us out or arrest us as soon as they get a look at how jumpy you are.”

The way he holds onto my hands limits the knee bouncing, so I lean my head against the wall and count my breaths as they enter and exit my body.

1, inhale. 2, exhale…20, inhale. 21, exhale. Huh…I think I messed that up somehow.

Jay’s hands are warm. I didn’t realize how cold mine were until he covered them with his.
Why is he being so quiet?

I ask him aloud, “Why are you being so quiet.”

“I’m thinking,” he tells me, his expression unreadable.

My head slides to the left, and I watch him. He’s perusing all the message posters that are taped to the glass walls. The ones with pictures of messed-up drunk drivers and smoker’s lungs. He looks tired and anxious. He’s been so quiet today, letting me call the shots, even as he puts on his tough guy act.

When he realizes I’m watching him, our eyes meet, and we have a moment—an unsmiling, gulping, I-love-you-so-much-but-this-is-a-very-freaky-situation moment. I can’t help but wonder if he truly believes me in his heart of hearts, if there is such a place.

We stare at each other for a long time, and my breathing evens out, my heart rate steadies, my feet relax against the carpet, my hands hold onto his.

“Thanks for coming,” I whisper. I don’t think I’ve said that to him yet.

He gives me a strained smile and brushes a thick strand of hair out of my eyes. “Where else would I be?”

Suddenly, I want to cry.
Oh, Jay. If you only knew how I felt last night when I thought I’d never see you again.
Then I remember that I was also with
him last night. I made love to him last night, more than once.

This is all too weird for words.

Still, I can’t shake the heartache shooting up my legs, spreading heat down my arms and into my fingertips. I want to show him that I’ll never leave him—never. I want him to know how much I need him, so I lean in and kiss him hard, sucking in air through my nose like I can draw his confidence and strength and love into myself.

Trigger makes a disgusted noise, pulling us out of the moment, but I keep my focus on Jay and lay my head on his shoulder. His eyes are deep, deep, deep, like he’s opening them up just for me, allowing me to bask in something soft and secure as he did earlier when I was freaking out. His eyes are giant blue featherbeds.

I can tell he needs me too, right now, but it’s not in the same way that I need him. He needs to be here to know that I’m okay. He needs to be my hero.

You already are my hero,
I want to tell him, but I don’t.
Not moving around is zapping me, replacing all that nervous energy with exhaustion.

I let Jay stroke my hair for a few minutes until Trigger scoots down next to me.

“We should probably get our story down straight, so we don’t make any mistakes, especially if they separate us.”

The idea of being separated from Jay or Trigger shoots me back up with fear. “Okay,” I reply, sitting up.

We go over the most important details to make sure our stories don’t differ. As we’re wrapping things up, a man steps through the glass door.

He looks to be mid-forties with dark hair and eyes that seem hardened and kind at the same time. He’s in jeans and a long-sleeved deep navy button-up shirt, the dressy kind, not the cop kind, which sort of takes me aback. His gun is on his hip.

He approaches us with an outstretched hand. “Hello, I’m Detective Howard,” he says with a light Southern accent.

We all shake hands and offer our names one at a time. It feels weird hearing Trigger introduce himself as Franklin since he’s been Trigger in my mind this whole time, even if I did get his name right a few times earlier.

Detective Howard asks us the same few questions the officer at the front did and leads us to somewhere we can talk, which turns out to be a small white room with just a table in the middle and a few chairs surrounding it.

This is similar to what I think I’ve seen on
Law & Order
. Aren’t their interrogation tanks more…up-to-date? I don’t know. I’m just thankful that, so far, he’s herding us in here as a group. I don’t see any windows where other cops can peep in and listen to our conversation, so at least he doesn’t consider us suspects. When he shuts the door though, I begin biting my nails again.

Jay places a comforting hand on my thigh. “You got this,” he whispers. “And I’m right here.”

Detective Howard takes out a large notepad with a special cop header on it, and he clicks his pen. He doesn’t pull out a recording device, but when I scan the room, I see a camera in the upper-right corner hitched into the ceiling, scrutinizing us with its one beady eye.

It’s hot in here.
I tug at my collar again.

Trigger starts. “We have information about a crime that might happen tonight.”

Detective Howard raises an eyebrow. “
Might
happen?”

“
Will
happen.” My voice rings loud and clear. Amazingly, it doesn’t sound nervous. “It will happen, and actually we have information about when this already happened. Before. Another time. Last week.”
Damn.
I sound flighty and unorganized.

We had this down less than a minute ago!

“And this is about a rape?” he asks to confirm the info he must’ve received from the female officer earlier.

I flick an anxious glance at Trigger and blurt out, “Me.”

Trigger’s eyes go wide.
Crap.
This wasn’t the plan, but I can’t do it. I can’t lie. I have to tell the truth to the best of my knowledge. It’s the only way I can come off believable. Even though I wasn’t really raped, I can only tell my own story. I’ll mention Heather and Nilah, but no way am I involving them in any of this.

The detective leans forward in his seat, gaze focused on me. “You were the victim?”

I gulp. “Yes.”

“Did you report this after the crime took place?”

I shake my head, cursing this blasted situation. Then I’m reminded quickly of Nilah and Heather’s healthy faces this morning, alive, untouched, and I’m grateful.

“Miss Spencer, if we don’t have DNA evidence, our chances of catching the perpetrator diminish drastically.”

He’s being realistic. I get it. I don’t care.

“Yes I understand, but we have information that these guys are going to strike again. Tonight.”
Strike again? Am I Batman?

Trigger talks, explaining how these men approached him, what they expected of him, and how they threatened him if he didn’t cooperate. He gives their names, except Alpha’s, of course. He’s very forthcoming.

“Did you make any drugs for these men?” the officer asks.

“No,” Trigger lies. “That’s why I’m here now.”

I know he’s already made them. He admitted that in the car, but he’s counting on this to be his saving grace, his reason for not showing tonight.

When it’s my turn, I explain how I drank too much and how these guys were with my friends and me. I describe how they drugged our drinks, drugged me, stripped me, and held me hostage. I don’t mention that it was Trigger that set me free, and I don’t discuss the uninjured cheek and ankle. Everything else, I tell. I’m actually feeling rather proud of myself for getting it out.

Then I realize that Jay has removed his hand from my thigh. I see him holding his fists, white-knuckled, under the table. He keeps his face smooth, but I worry about the tornado brewing inside of him.

The officer’s pen is flying, and he’s shaking his head at random intervals. “And your friends?” he asks me.

Did I mention them? Shit. I did. But you were going to, remember? Right. Just stay calm.
“I…uh…they wouldn’t talk. It’s just me.”

The seat creaks as he leans back again. “So this is gang-related?”

Trigger looks at me for approval and says, “Not gang-related, but something along those lines, yes.” We don’t know what else to call it.

“And you
think
or you
know
this will occur again tonight?”

We’re both nervous. I say it. “Um, we know.” It’s supposed to sound strong, but it comes off as tentative.

Detective Howard sighs from all the information we’ve given him. He seems overwhelmed. He can only imagine. “Alright. We’ll check out these names. For the other person, do you think you could give a description to a sketch artist?”

“Actually, I have pictures,” Trigger offers.

“Pictures?”

“Yes, they’re on my phone.”

Trigger pulls up the pictures and hands his phone to Detective Howard, naming each guy off as he goes.

The Detective frowns at the blurry ones. I’m super relieved that we have their names. His expression shifts when he sees Alpha’s picture. His eyes narrow at us. “You’re positive this is one of the assailants or members of this group?”

“Of course it is,” Trigger argues.

Detective Howard places both palms on the table, now looking intimidating and authoritative. “Do you know the consequences for wrongly accusing someone? I want you both to think about this.”

Jay sits forward. “Why? What is it?”

Detective Howard rubs his eyes with his hand and lets out a huge frustrated sigh. He holds the picture of Alpha in front of us. “This is Hunter Prescott.”

Hunter? Is this guy shitting me?
I almost laugh. It’s so ridiculously appropriate. But I’m too tired and desperate, so I shrug instead. “So? Who is that?”

Trigger and Jay are as confused as I am.

“John Prescott’s son,” the detective says.

“Who the hell is John Prescott?” I feel this giant tension bubble building in the room. Something is coming, and I’m not going to like it.

“He’s a Tennessee senator.”

The tension bubble bursts.

Holy. Mother.
I don’t even have an appropriate curse word. All the fight drains out of me along with any confidence I worked up in the last few minutes. My heart is palpitating, and my stomach is in my throat. I don’t think I’ll vomit, but I back away from Trigger and Jay to be safe.

Trigger’s face is ashen. Jay is…I don’t know. I can’t read him. Again.

A senator’s son.
My lack of political knowledge is really biting me in the ass right about now.
I can’t believe this. My instincts were way off their peak. We aren’t in over our heads.

We’re drowning.

“How do you two know each other?” Detective Howard asks, meaning me and Trigger.

Jay, Trigger, and I have been sitting here with our mouths hanging open for several seconds. None of us were prepared for anything close to what we’ve just been told. I’m having a hard time processing it.

When he asks the question, we gather ourselves and pluck out our carefully premeditated response since we had planned for this, too. “After I escaped, I stuck around and followed the guys for a couple of days. I found out they were trying to recruit him. I saw them threaten him, so I figured he was safe.”

Trigger fills in the rest of the details. “She approached me and asked for help.”

Our story is believable, but it sounds too rehearsed and mechanical.

Detective Howard frowns. I think he noticed. “How exactly do you know their activity? That this will happen tonight?”

I splay my hands on the table. “We just told you. We started following them and got the information. Plus, they’re trying to get Tri…er,
him
…” I jab a thumb in Trigger’s direction. “To do their…uh, drug stuff. Yeah, so, anyway, he knows
when
‘cause they told him.” I barely stop the
duh
that almost follows that awfully executed explanation.

Detective Howard shakes his head. “I gotta tell ya, you are very brave for having gone through what you have to come in here and give us all of this. And you followed these bastards? Very brave indeed.”

I wonder if
bastards
is typical cop-speak. I can’t tell if he’s buying all of this or if he’s trying to make us think
he’s buying it. I have a feeling we lost a lot of brownie points when he realized we were accusing a Tennessee senator’s son of illegal activity and rape.