When I regain my composure, I glance at him and ask, “Where’s the proof? Where’s the evidence? I don’t have drugs on me. There aren’t any drugs in my dorm room or in my car.”
He doesn’t say anything. His beady eyes glare at me, like he’s calculating his next move.
I continue to ask question after question.
“Is this because I wouldn’t spy on the Marinos and the team? Is this Detective Carter’s doing? Or is this coming from the FBI agent?”
What was his name?
Taylor?
Travis?
I smirk as I remember his name. “Tyler Smith.”
The officer doesn’t flinch or show any emotion.
“This is a wrongful arrest.”
He rolls his eyes. “You aren’t being arrested.”
“Then why am I handcuffed and in an interrogation room? The least you can do is give me my one phone call and put me in a jail cell.”
The edges of his lips curl up into a smirk. “I can show you to a cell if that’s what you are wanting.”
“It has to be better than sitting here with you. So, can you show me where I’ll be staying while you sort out the paperwork for my arrest?”
He leans his head back and laughs. It’s not a funny ‘you should join in too’ laugh. It’s a cackle, like the Wicked Witch of the West.
The only thing he’s missing is the evil grin and the long nose. Well, and the green skin, too. I have to suppress a giggle as I imagine his skin turning a deep green.
Whatever is on Officer Donaldson’s mind causes him to chuckle. The deep rumble sends pinpricks down my spine. I narrow my eyes and clench my jaw until it hurts.
“What’s so funny?” I bark out.
He smirks. “You seriously want to be locked up?”
“No, I really want to be in my class learning about fashion and working toward graduating in a few months, but here we are.”
He leans back in his chair and rests his feet on the table, not speaking.
My shoulders and wrists ache from being in this position for so long and my fingers are starting to go numb. I roll my shoulders several times to the front before rolling them to the back, trying to get the blood flowing back to my fingers.
I stretch my neck from side to side, hoping it eases some tension. “Can you just have Detective Carter come in here and talk with me?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Why?”
I try to keep my tone calm and emotionless, but a bit of sarcasm leaks out. “So he can explain what is going on.”
He nods his head slowly. “Why?”
“So I can get out of these damn handcuffs.”
“Why?”
His one word questions are starting to piss me off.
Is he a fucking toddler?