Page 18 of Draven

Draven nods, lulling her into a false sense of security before he deals the hammer blow. “But here’s my problem with your statement, Ms. Fowler. You can’t see the bakery from outside the pharmacy.”

And there it is.

Draven slots Ms. Fowler’s statement into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and sits back, waiting, while Ms. Fowler’s hand flutters to her neck, and her legs bounce as if she’s dancing while sitting down. Draven’s direct statement leaves me in absolutely no doubt. The woman lied in her report to the police. But why? What could she possibly hope to gain?

“I-I, no, that’s wrong. You can.”

Draven shakes his head. “I’m afraid you can’t.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his hands dangling between his parted thighs. “Would you like to change your statement, Ms. Fowler?”

He speaks so quietly, so calmly, and so unlike him, while I have a storm brewing inside me. This woman sent the police searching for a red herring. There was no blue van, no blond man, no Hispanic with a scar over his right eyebrow. Despite the information leading us nowhere, that didn’t excuse the lie. She’ll have to go over everything again. Evidence might have been discarded based on Ms. Fowler’s statement. When she came forward after they made a public appeal for witnesses, she caused major excitement in the team as the first potential eyewitness to an actual kidnapping. With the previous three women snatched before Darla Adams, no one had seen a thing.

And now, we’ve discovered it’s all been a lie.

Well, Draven has.

A scream of frustration fills my lungs, and I struggle to maintain my professionalism. My gaze hardens, my eyes boring into Ms. Fowler, who still hasn’t uttered a word in her defense. If Kiera doesn’t make it through her ordeal because of this… this…

I draw a slow breath in through my nose. “Well, Ms. Fowler?”

Draven’s hand briefly squeezes my knee, the action meant to warn me to remain calm, the tremor in my voice a sign I’m dancing on the edge. A jolt of electricity fires through my leg, the powerful energy surge shooting to my core. He withdraws, leaving my feelings in tatters from one exquisite touch.

“Ms. Fowler,” Draven says in a soothing tone. “Don’t worry. You’re not in any trouble.”

She fucking is if the case was compromised because of her lie.

“We just want the truth. Now, be honest. Did you or did you not witness Darla Adams being taken by two men against her will?”

Ms. Fowler bites down on her lip, wincing. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

Heat flushes through me, my body tensing as anger swells within me. “Why did you do that, Ms. Fowler? What did you hope to gain?” My question comes out sharper than I intend, and Ms. Fowler winces.

“It’s okay,” I hear Draven say, and I turn toward him to offer a grateful smile, his support meaning the world. Instead, I find him patting the other woman’s hand. “It’s all going to be okay, Ms. Fowler. Try not to worry.”

A rush of blood pounds in my ears, my vision clouding. Has he lost his fucking mind? I glare at him.

“A word, please,” I say, my tone dripping with ice. “Outside.”

I march to the front door, wrench it open, and wait for him in the tiny front yard. Draven takes his time, probably offering more platitudes to the lying woman inside. When he finally appears, I cock my head, indicating he should join me, then reach around him to close the door.

“What the fuck are you playing at? She lied to the police. That’s a criminal offense.”

“So what? You gonna throw her in a cell for the night, write up a ton of paperwork explaining what the hell you were doing here in the first place when you’re not supposed to be working the case, then gripe like hell the next morning when she gets released without being charged? Would that make you feel better?”

I glare at him, my hands on hips and stance wide. “Thanks for your support.”

Draven rolls his eyes. “Cool your fucking jets, Lola. I’ll deal with this.”

With that, he marches inside and slams the door, leaving me outside in the cold. Literally.

I pace, my blood boiling, heart pounding, and hands clenched. How dare he? This is my case. I get to decide what happens. I’m in charge.

Except it isn’t my case. I was removed from the investigation, and now the FBI is in charge. I’m overstepping my boundaries enough to get written up on a ton of citations. Not to mention the second I brought in Draven as my partner he inserted himself firmly as the man at the helm, exerting his natural dominance, taking over, commanding, directing. Hell, if it hadn’t been for him figuring out the discrepancy in a witness statement, we wouldn’t even be here.

That does not excuse him cutting me out, though. I want answers, and damn it, I’ll get them, with or without the infuriating man inside this house right this second questioning my witness.

After fifteen minutes of stomping around, my jets far from cooled, the door to Ms. Fowler’s house opens, and Draven appears.

“Let’s go,” he says.

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