Merrick: Harlequins MC (51 page)

“Good afternoon, officers,” she said. “Can I help you with something?”

“Lady,” said the older man. “I'm tired and I'm not in the mood for your shit.”

“On your feet,” demanded the younger man.

“Is there a problem, officers?”

The first man reached down and grabbed hold of Cassie's arm, yanking her out of the booth and onto her feet.

“Easy, guys,” she said. “You don't need to manhandle me.”

The man pinned her arms behind my back and put a pair of handcuffs on. The younger cop read Cassie her rights as they marched her out of the diner, Marcia looking at her with a worried and confused expression on her face.

“The food was amazing as usual,” she called to her. “I'll be back to pay my tab soon.”

CHAPTER
THIRTY FIVE

She sat in the small windowless, stuffy interrogation room alone. Cassie didn't know how long she'd sat in there after the two cops from the diner had dropped her off. It felt like hours. She was bored and had to use the bathroom. Not to mention the fact that she was still uncomfortably full.

Cassie leaned back in the small hard plastic chair and tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. Easier said than done, unfortunately. Finally, the door to the room opened and McReed stepped inside. The scowl on his face made it clear he wasn't pleased with her. He stepped to the table and sat down on the opposite side, staring daggers at her. He looked at Cassie in silence for a long moment, trying to intimidate her.

“Did you enjoy your breakfast?” he asked, his tone snide and sarcastic.

“I did, thanks,” she replied. “I can't recommend their blueberry pancakes enough. They are amazing.”

His smirk was predatory and told her that he didn't find her funny whatsoever. “That was quite a run you took us on last night, lady,” he said.

Cassie shrugged. “What did you expect when you come blazing in like that?”

“Cooperation,” he said. “Running makes you look guilty as hell.”

She cocked her head at him, a confused expression on her face. “Guilty of what?”

“Don't yank my chain, lady,” McReed snapped. “Where's the shit?”

“What shit are you referring to?”

He leaned back in his seat and blew out an irritated breath. “Seriously? That's your strategy? To play dumb?”

She laughed. “It's not playing if I really have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Let me lay this out for you, okay?” he said. “I'm going to make this crystal clear for you.”

“Please do.”

“You're looking at a long time in prison,” he said. “Maybe the rest of your life. And you're young, so we're talking decades here. Decades spent in a little tiny box. You prepared to throw your entire life away for those scumbags? The fact that you're sitting here and they're not tells me they don't give a shit about you. So why are you covering their asses?”

Cassie looked at him and sighed as she leaned back in her seat, folding her hands on the table. McReed stared at her like he'd enjoy nothing more than slapping her around and beating what he wanted to know out of her. Maybe he would have. Maybe he was a lot more like Andy than she'd originally thought.

“I thought you were going to make it crystal clear for me?” she said. “I'm still confused and have no idea what you're going on about. I have no idea what you think I did.”

“Stop screwing with me, Cassie,” he said.

“I'm not screwing with you, Detective McReed. I really, honestly have no idea what you think I did.”

“Where's the bag, Cassie?”

“What bag, Detective?”

“The bag of shit I know Carl and Damon forced you to carry for them.”

Cassie ran a hand through her hair and shook her head. “Nobody gave me a bag to carry.”

He slapped the table so forcefully it sounded like a gunshot and made her jump. The look on his face had gone from irritation to full out fury. He looked at Cassie with eyes that were burning with hatred. He looked at her as if I'd done something particularly horrible to him personally. The way he looked at her reminded Cassie of the way Andy used to look at her before he would start raining down punches. It sent the adrenaline coursing through her. It scared her.

But she was determined to stand strong. To not give in to that bully. Cassie was committed to standing her ground and not giving McReed anything. She only hoped her resolve wouldn't waver. Knowing he was a cop, she took some small measure of comfort in knowing he couldn't put his hands on her the way Andy had. But that small measure of comfort was tempered by the fact that she knew cops sometimes mistreated suspects in the worst ways possible. But unless he killed her, she knew he wouldn't go too far. It would be bad for him and bad for his department.

“We can do this one of two ways, Cassie,” he said. “You can tell me what I want to know and I can talk to the DA, maybe get you a deal. Or you can sit there with your thumb up your ass, play dumb, and take the entire rap on your own.”

“Excuse me, Detective,” she said, “but you still haven't explained to me why you brought me down here, what the charges are, or what you're suspecting me of. So unless you start shedding some light on this situation or charge me with something, I'm walking out of here.”

She stood up, determined to do just that. But he stopped her from moving with the rage in his eyes. And when he spoke, it came out as a snarl. It was cold. Vicious. And terrifying.

“Sit your ass down. We're not done here,” he said. “To start with, we can charge you with drug trafficking. How would you like that?”

Cassie said nothing, but sat back down and let him play this out. Letting him get wound up might not be a good thing, but it might push him closer to that line. And if he crossed it even a millimeter, his case – not to mention his career – might just go up in smoke.

“We can also hit you with evading police, resisting arrest – need I go on?”

Cassie found that a surprising thing happened as he continued to yell at her. Rather than shrinking back or melting into a puddle of quivering jelly like she had all that time with Andy, she felt a core of steel rising up within her. It was a surge of strength she hadn't expected. Cassie had no idea where it was coming from, but it felt good. She felt empowered and she embraced it.

“Drug trafficking, Detective?” she laughed and shook my head.

“Oh, you think that's funny? You think this is a fuckin' game, little girl?”

“I just don't know how you think you can charge me with drug trafficking when there are no drugs on me. When you haven't found any drugs on me. And, as far as I know, you didn't find them in my hotel room either.”

“Because you ditched them,” he said. “I know it and you know it. So let's quit this stupid little dance. Tell me where they are and maybe we can get you a deal. Maybe you don't even have to do any time.”

“Wow,” she said. “No time at all, huh?”

“It's a possibility. Sure.”

“That sounds really generous,” she said.

“It is,” McReed sneered. “And if you don't help me now, you might not get a better one.”

“I wish I could help you, Detective,” she replied. “But your problem is, I didn't commit a crime. And you have zero evidence of me committing a crime. If you did, I'm sure I'd be sitting in a cell right now rather than sitting here having a pleasant conversation with you. So you should either charge me with something now – in which case, I'm going to lawyer up – or you let me walk out of here.”

He was on his feet so fast he knocked over his chair. Even though she felt stronger than she ever had in my life, a bolt of fear still shot through her when he leaned over the table, put himself inches from her face. Cassie figured that even the strongest of women would feel fear if a large man was looming over them like McReed was looming over her, his face a dark shade of red and a mask of rage. His breathing was ragged and his eyes looked crazed.

Maybe paraphrasing lines she'd seen on Law and Order hadn't been the brightest idea. Maybe she'd pushed him a little too far.

“I'm getting real sick of your mouth, little girl,” he said. “And I'm getting really sick of you jerking me off like this.”

Cassie couldn't keep the smile off my face though, despite the fact that she really, really tried. “No offense, Detective,” she said, “but you'd be the last guy I'd consider jerking off. You're not really my type.”

The look on his face was priceless. It was full of both rage and shock. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again. His hands rested on the top of the table and were balled into fists. He seemed completely flummoxed and had nothing to say. Instead, he stood up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him as hard as he possibly could.

Cassie leaned back in her seat, laughing and shaking her head. She could tell he wanted to smack her. A man who likes to beat on women gets a certain look in their eye when they're that point. And that look had most definitely been in his eyes. He was close. Really close to reaching across that table and smacking her. She was as sure of that as she was of her own name.

Several minutes later, McReed stepped back into the room appearing to be calmer and more composed. But Cassie could tell it was taking a Herculean effort on his part. He looked at her and tried to soften the scowl on his face, tried to make himself look less threatening. He picked his chair back up and sat down across from her again.

“I'm sorry for my outburst earlier,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was unprofessional of me.”

Cassie remained silent and just looked at him, unimpressed with his apology knowing it was completely insincere. McReed cleared his throat and opened the folder sitting in front of him, flipping through a few pages as he tried to ignore her. Or at least until he could speak to her without gritting his teeth. she tried to look at the pages he was flipping through but couldn't see what it was. His demeanor was subdued – though there was an intense undercurrent of hostility – and Cassie wondered if his superior had read him the riot act for his earlier behavior.

“What was in the bag the Dragons gave you?” McReed asked.

“The Dragons didn't give me a bag,” she responded simply.

McReed looked at her with an expression that said he knew she was full of shit but couldn't do anything about it.

“Where did you hide the bag?” McReed asked.

“Again, I didn't have a bag to hide.”

His hands balled into fists and she watched them trembling as he opened them, tried to relax them. He closed the folder on the table in front of him and took a moment to collect himself before he took a deep breath and looked up at her again. That rage still burned in his eyes and when he spoke to her, Cassie could hear the barely restrained anger in his voice.

“Why did you run?” he asked.

She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “What is it you want from me, Detective?”

He slapped the table again. “I want the goddamn truth!” he screamed. “I want Carl and Damon's head on a plate. And you're going to give them to me!”

She shrugged. “I'm telling you the truth, Detective. If you don't want to hear it, that's on you.”

His breathing was ragged and his face was red. McReed was heating up and nearing another meltdown and she had to wonder – if she kept pushing him, would he be able to bring himself back from that brink a second time?

“Why did you run? What were you hiding?”

Cassie looked down at the top of the table and ran her hands over its surface. She touched all of the nicks and scars on the table, imperfections built up over years and years of people like her sitting on this side of the table being bullied by people like McReed.

“Why did you run?” he repeated, his voice louder.

Something inside of her snapped. She knew what she was about to say was a lie, knew what he was accusing her of was true – but he was a bully. He was a tyrant. And because he carried a badge, he expected people to just roll over for him and do whatever it was he demanded. Cassie didn't like people like McReed. She'd had too many people like him in her life over the years.

“Because I was afraid you were coming to take me back to that abusive piece of shit I used to be married to, you asshole!” she yelled louder than him.

McReed sat back in his chair and looked stunned for a moment. She'd managed to take some of the wind out of his sails. But not all of it. While he looked like she'd dumped a bucket of cold ice water all over his head, it hadn't been enough to completely put out the fire in his eyes.