Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“I won’t,” I said, though I was curious how he’d define getting in the way. I wouldn’t impede the investigation, not when I wanted answers, but I wasn’t going to follow along in silence either.
He nodded. “My bigger concern is how hard it’s going to be to keep you alive.”
That landed in my gut like a brick. I swallowed, not sure what to say. I wanted to argue that I wasn’t in danger. This wasn’t about me. But I couldn’t forget the heat, the acrid smell of the smoke. I lifted my fingers to trace the cut across my cheek. From glass exploding from my van? From where I’d stumbled back and scraped the wall? I didn’t know. But I could have been inside, and then I wouldn’t be sitting here at all. And if—when—whoever blew up my van figured out I was still alive, I was almost positive they’d try again.
Which meant we had to solve this, or I’d spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.
I couldn’t get my head around it. I wasn’t anyone important. Not really. Not important enough to kill.
I realized I’d said the last of it aloud when Eli said, “The best I can figure is that you either know something you don’t know that you know, or someone really doesn’t want anyone looking into Emily Shaw’s death.”
“What if it’s both?” I asked.
“That’s option three. It could be both. In which case…” He didn’t finish the sentence, just shook his head again, the gesture not at all reassuring.
“Great,” I said, appreciating the safe house all over again. I was good at a lot of things, but I didn’t have a lot of faith in my ability to keep myself alive if someone who knew how to build car bombs wanted me dead.
We pulled into a parking spot opposite the police station. I followed Eli, getting out of the car, stumbling a little as I jumped down. Breakfast and coffee had helped, but I needed a shower and a nap, neither of which were going to happen any time soon. I hadn’t slept much the night before, dozing a little in the alley where I’d holed up for the night. Too scared. Too pumped on adrenaline to really sleep, even if the cold and the rain wouldn’t have kept me awake on their own.
All of this was so far outside my normal reality. I didn’t deal with people like Eli. Sinclair Security and its glossy, high-ticket environment weren’t my scene. I wasn’t used to being the victim. I investigated killers. I found justice for victims. I wasn’t the one who got killed.
The noise of the police station was an ocean of sound, crashing over me in discordant waves of voices. I stood beside Eli as he asked for the detective. We were directed down a hall. Strong fingers closed over my arm, just above my elbow, steering me.
“You okay?” Eli asked.
I looked up to see questioning eyes heavy with concern. It was a new look for him. Just as I thought I had him figured out, he changed on me. “I’m fine,” I said.
Those chocolate eyes narrowed, but he didn’t comment. “This won’t take long,” he said.
We stepped into a small room with windows on three sides, the blinds up. The detective, a guy in his mid-forties, not in uniform, sat at the table and gestured for us to take the seats on the other side.
“Sylvie Calloway,” he said. “You’re the owner of a van with VIN number…”
He read out a long series of letters and numbers that didn’t sound familiar to me because who the hell knows their own VIN? And then a license plate, which did, because that I knew. “That’s my van. The plate, at least. I don’t know my VIN number.”
He slid a piece of paper across the table, and I looked down.
Eli snatched it up, flipped it over in his hand, and scowled. “You’re giving her a parking ticket?”
“The van wasn’t supposed to be parked there. She gets a ticket.”
Eli folded the ticket and shoved it in his back pocket, his gaze landing on me with a very clear message: let it go. I gave the slightest nod. I didn’t have the energy to argue, though it seemed enormously petty, considering the vehicle in question was in pieces. But whatever.
“I’d like to see my van,” I said.
The detective ignored me. “Did you witness the explosion?”
I nodded.
“Run me through what happened.”
I did, starting with my trip to the burger place for dinner, and the approximate time I’d come back.
“Explain to me why you didn’t stick around to talk to the fire department. They were there minutes after you say the van exploded.”
“I was scared. Disoriented,” I explained, wishing I could tell enough of the truth to make me sound like less of an idiot. But I was letting Eli take the lead on what we should say to the police at this point. I had no idea what he knew about Emily Shaw, but it was more than I did.