Page 135 of Wicked Little Secret

What in the hell did she think she was doing? How had she followed me? Did she really believe I was some murderous psycho?I’mValentine?!

You did just kill a man in cold blood.

Again.

Her ex-boyfriend…

I grit my teeth at the dark, raspy inner voice that contradicts me. I might have let myself get a little carried away… but it was justified.

I was protecting Nyssa. I was fucking protectingPeaches. Would she rather I let the oaf harm her precious ginger girl?

As I peered into the darkness and realized Nyssa was far out of sight, I conceded the moment. It was a small victory in what’s a longer war. I could have pressed the matter, insisted the police search the area, but I let her have the win.

For now.

It was in my best interest to simply acquiesce their request. At their suggestion, I accompanied them to the local police station.

Sitting in the interrogation room, my boots still have dried mud on the steel toes. My hair hangs around my face, disheveled and dripping wet. Dirt cakes my fingernails from spending so longdigging a grave.

“Well?” Brewster prompts when I’ve said nothing.

“Well what?” I spit.

“Why don’t you tell me about your evening?”

“Which part, Officer?” I ask in a tone that strikes a balance between calm and condescension. “Would you like to know what I had for dinner? I confess I’m not much of a chef, but I seared a wonderful ribeye with a garlic-rosemary-infused butter that turned out better than most steakhouses. Very nice and juicy. It was delicious. I paired it with crisp asparagus and?—”

“Damn it, Adler. Stop being a smartass and tell me what the fuck you were doing in the middle of the woods! Why did some anonymous asshole think you were up to no good?”

“I’m afraid I’m not qualified to assess why an unknown source would tell you I was, what did you say, up to no good? Being that I am neither a psychologist nor a mind reader, perhaps it’s best you go to the source and ask them about their delusion.”

“Keep sassing. That won’t help you,” he grunts, looking the part of a disgruntled bear in a chair far too small. “And the woods? Why the hell were you there?”

I cock my right brow, then click my tongue in admonishment. “Officer, you know better than to think I’d be so foolish as to answer that question. I’m not required to tell you about my whereabouts without probable cause.”

“Who’s to say we don’t got it?” he asks. “You’re here for questioning. We made that clear. You think Daly and Tran stayed behind for shits and giggles? They were going to search the area. Check out the anonymous tipster’s claims you were doing something in that forest. If you were smart, you’d have already requested a lawyer.”

I smirk darkly at him. “No need. I’m already here.”

He bares gritted, coffee-stained teeth at me. “You think you’re so smart, eh? You better hope we don’t find anything on you. Then you’ll be sorry.”

“Officer, that sounds like a threat. Are you harassing me?”

“I’m telling you you’re in for a world of trouble if you’re up to something! You got lucky the first time. We couldn’t find anything solid, but we all knew it was you.”

“I had nothing to hide then. I have nothing to hide now.”

“Then mind explaining why Samson Wicker hasn’t been seen in over twelve hours?”

“I don’t know, but it’s also not my responsibility to do your job for you. Why don’t you figure that out for yourself?” I lean closer, pinning him with a hard, unblinking stare. “Now, if I’m not under arrest and you have no further questions, how about I see myself out?”

Officer Murphy Brewster glowers as I stride out the front doors of the Castlebury Police Station.

The time inches toward two a.m. The rain’s hardly lightened up.

I slide behind the wheel of my BMW and flick on my headlights.

The truth is, I could be on borrowed time. If Brewster was serious that his colleagues Daly and Tran stayed behind to investigate the area, then they very well could come across the body I buried.

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