Page 60 of Brazen Criminals

“You promise you won’t be a burr stuck to my back?”

A hint of a smile creases his face. “I will be as slippery as I know how to be.”

“Then I would love a ride, thank you.”

Trips rolls his eyes as he hikes both bags over his shoulders, leading the way to the parking lot.

The drive to the closest station is quiet. Each time I ride with Trips, the awkwardness lessens. He drops me at the front of the building, ducking around to help me out before slinging my backpack onto my good shoulder. “You sure you don’t want me in there?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’ve got this. Thanks for the ride.”

We stare at each other, me waiting for him to move, him waiting for who knows what. Eventually, he clears his throat and strides back around the truck, the V-8 roaring as he pulls away from the curb.

Chapter 32

Clara

Iturntowardthepolice station, suddenly wondering if I really should be here. I mean, it’s not like Bryce was violent before this. Is it worth it to call him out publicly? He’s hurt much worse than I am. I turn to leave, not wanting to cause a fuss, but a female officer approaches the front and stops me before I take two steps. “Can I help you?” she asks.

I tug on my shirt before I even think about it. “Umm…”

“Is it about your arm? Are you here to press charges?”

“Oh, no, not that. Well, kind of that, but not charges. No, I guess I’m here for a restraining order, but I’m starting to think that I might be overreacting.”

The cop ushers me toward the precinct, and I follow along, knowing she’s manipulating me into coming in, simultaneously annoyed that I noticed and glad that she’s taking this decision out of my hands. “Honey, if the person you’re worried about put your arm in a sling, it’s probably going to get worse, not better. You’re very brave to come here.”

I scoff, not meaning to be rude, but I’m not brave. Smart, capable, hardworking, those I’ll claim. Brave isn’t really on my resume. She gets me inside, nods at the person at the front desk, and we’re buzzed back to the precinct floor. “So who did this to you?” she asks as she has me sit on a plastic chair next to what must be her desk.

I look down at my lap, my good hand tapping on my thigh. I really need to find some other way to deal with stress. This would probably be the most obvious tell out there—it’s a good thing I don’t gamble. “My ex-boyfriend,” I say.

She sighs and types some things into her computer, and I can tell we’re doing the paperwork portion of the interview. I could get up and run away right now, which is feeling like the better option every minute, but I don’t know which buses will get me back to the house, and I have a feeling that if any of the guys found out I chickened out, they would bring me right back here and make me file this damn thing. I tuck my backpack between my feet and wait for the long slog of questions.

We start with my name and address and all that good stuff. The cop introduces herself as Officer Josie Morgan, and she spends the next hour asking invasive questions about my relationship with Bryce. Laying it all out there, the subtle control he’d built up over the past two years, the extent of my anxiety about doing anything wrong for him, the constant belittling and berating, well, it makes me feel like an idiot. Why didn’t I notice? I thought I was smart. I thought I could read people. My heart races, and I wipe the tears away quickly, not wanting anyone to see them. They’re the tears of a fool.

Officer Morgan is patient. She tells me that there will be a trial the following week, and we put in a request for advance notice so I can navigate the absence with my professors and boss. She’s just finishing up when I feel a shadow behind me.

I glance back and blink a few times, surprised to see Officer Reed from yesterday morning. “Clara,” he says, “you came by. I thought you might ask for me?”

I look down at my lap, not sure what to say. Luckily, Officer Morgan answers for me. “She took a bit of coaxing. Is she connected to one of your cases, Tom? I can link them.”

He nods, writing something down on a piece of scratch paper. “Did you decide on the restraining order?” he asks me.

I rub my shoulder. “Consensus is, this isn’t going to get better. I figure it might help, you know?”

Reed pulls a chair from another desk and joins us, sitting a little closer than I’m comfortable with. “Do you want to hear how Bryce is doing?”

There’s a hiss from Officer Morgan, who has just gotten a glimpse of my last two years, and I know she doesn’t like this question any better than I do.

“I know I’m supposed to say yes, but honestly? I don’t really want to know.” I get up, but Officer Morgan stops me from leaving.

“I have to print out the form so you can sign it. I’ll be right back,” she says.

Officer Morgan glares at Officer Reed, and he scoots his chair a little farther away from me. Once he’s settled, Officer Morgan leaves to get the documents, giving me room to plop back onto the hard plastic seat.

Officer Reed leans back, looking casual. “What do your roommates think about you being here? I don’t think they’re super comfortable around police, you know?”

My eyes snap to him. “Trips, I mean Archibald Westerhouse the Third, dropped me off. If I’d gone back without filing this thing, I’m pretty sure any of them would have hauled me right back here. They want me safe, and they’ll do it however they can.”

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