Page 101 of Brutal Ice

“Easy.” FBI Agent Teresa Duncan edged closer to the bed.

The detective—Curran Barlow—was right behind her. They’d arrived in Micah’s room moments ago.

“We have some follow-up questions for you,” Teresa said.

“Fuck your follow-ups!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “I need more pain meds.” Where was the button for the nurse? A damn uniformed cop had been watching him for hours. He’d been trapped in the hospital bed, and Micah wanted out. “They had to stitch me up! Do you know that? I have like, six or seven stitches because the damn blade sliced me so badly!”

“I am aware,” Teresa replied as if it were no big deal at all.

His life. No big deal. “This is bullshit. I want the cuff off. I told you—over and over—that I had nothing to do with the attack on Simone!”

“Not just an attack. We’re talking about the matter of Simone Wilmont’s murder,” Curran inserted.

Murder. Simone is dead. He stopped yanking on the handcuff. “I got a call from her. She told me she needed a ride. I went to help.” His same story. He wasn’t changing his tune. He’d told the cops this crap before. “I arrived and some guy in a black mask and funny glasses ran at me.”

“Funny glasses?” Curran prompted.

“Night vision BS, okay? He ran at me. Stabbed me. Then the next thing I know, I’m bleeding, I’m hurting, and Violet’s crazy boyfriend has a gun in my face.” His stare swept toward the cop. “You know the rest. You were there.” The prick had cuffed him even as Micah lay bleeding on the ground.

“We found discarded night vision goggles near the location you were discovered,” Teresa informed him.

“Fantastic for you.”

“No prints were on them.”

“Whatever.”

“You say you never saw Simone at the gas station?” Teresa’s head tilted to the right.

He swallowed. His throat felt raw and achy. “That’s what I said.”

“What about Violet?” the detective asked him. “Did you see her out there?”

“Just her gun-crazy boyfriend,” Micah groused. But… “He’s the one you should be questioning. He attacked me. Maybe he found out that Simone let Violet be taken that first night, and he got pissed and he decided to get some revenge and he—” Micah clamped his lips shut.

Too late.

Teresa stepped closer to his bed. “How did you know that Simone saw Violet get taken from the theater?”

“She didn’t just see her get taken.” Soft laughter came from him. A little rusty because his throat was so dry. “I think that—once Violet was back—I think that Simone made the light fall on Violet. I think she rigged the coffin to lock on her. Simone could be one cold bitch.” Something he’d admired about her. “She wanted Violet’s role, and she would have done anything to get it.”

Silence.

Then, from the detective, “That’s one hell of a way to speak about the dead. Want to tell me again how the woman who sustained over ten deep knife wounds into her body was one ‘cold bitch’ as you called her?”

Shit.

“And while you’re telling us about that,” Teresa sent him a chilling smile, “why don’t you just tell us exactly what you know about a woman named Fiona Law?”

Fiona. Fuck.

“Just like Simone, Fiona was abducted and stabbed to death.” Teresa blinked her pale blue eyes at him. “What would you know about her?”

Too much.

He was gonna need a lawyer, stat. A damn good one.

“I’m sorry for locking Violet in the closet,” Dawson said as soon as Royal stepped back into the den. “I was a dumb punk kid.” He pressed a wet, bloody cloth to his lower lip. “I freaked out and ran when the door jammed because I didn’t know what to do. I was an absolute ass, and I never scared my sister again like that. Never.”

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