Page 107 of Brazen Criminals

We stare at each other. I dare him to say more, to show me what he has on me. He smirks at me, hoping I’ll lose my temper, that I’ll have a tell.

There’s a knock on the mirror and Reed lets the tiniest flash of frustration show as he gets up and leaves the room. It’s got to be my lawyer. Fucking finally.

I sit for another twenty minutes in the room, my eyes drifting from door to mirror, my eyelids drooping.

The door clicks open, and Officer Reed strides in, my lawyer not with him.

“Up,” he says.

I stand up, suddenly unsure where I’m going. Officer Reed pushes me face-first against the wall, firm but not violent. Careful.

This guy is going to be a problem.

“This isn’t over,” he whispers in my ear as my hands come free from the cuffs.

“Where’s my lawyer?” I ask, turning around.

Officer Reed motions to the door. “You’re free to go. The charges were dropped. I’m watching, though, Westerhouse. Your daddy’s lawyers didn’t come to your rescue this time. Maybe your daddy gave up on his troubled second son. What do you think?”

I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face. “A man can only hope.”

A uniformed officer gets me my stuff and escorts me out of the precinct. The afternoon sun sears my eyes as I reach for my nonexistent phone.

Fuck.

Now, how the hell am I supposed to get home?

Chapter 53

Walker

Claraspendsseventy-threeminutesin the shower. RJ’s counting and announcing the time at irregular intervals—it’sgreaton the nerves.

Jansen followed Bryce home, wanting to verify his arrest. We just got a text saying they raided his place.

RJ made sure the money trail was easy for the cops to follow. The smart bastard also recovered a bunch of the kiddie porn and Clara porn on the asshole’s computer, then tied it up in a bow, filed in a desktop folder labeled “XXXmas Gifts.” Clear and accessible for the cops. One thing’s for sure, I’m glad he’s on my side.

I made cookies while we waited. They’re cooling now, but neither RJ nor I are eating them. I feel empty. And honestly, a little useless. I’m not a total weakling or anything, but I’m no good in a fight. I can’t hack or steal or manipulate money. I’m a hedonist, a lover of sensations, of color and light and flavor and scent. And that means fuck-all when Clara’s in danger.

We hear the bathroom door open—RJ and I freeze, not wanting to spook her, waiting for her to tell us what she needs. This must have been a shitty twenty-four hours for her.

But she did it—she sat in a room with the man who hurt her, who broke her trust in ways I’m only starting to see. She’s a warrior.

And she used her brain—manipulating the cops while still telling the truth, gaining a full confession. She pushed him, tore open her fucking chest and gave the bastard her heart to stomp on, just so he’d disappear, just to get Trips out of jail for a crime he most certainly committed.

She pads into the kitchen, covered in baggy pajama pants and an extra-large T-shirt, her hair piled on the top of her head.

“Cookies?” she says, sniffing the air.

“Yeah. Cookies make things better, right?”

She looks at me, then at RJ, then at her hands, before grabbing two cookies from the rack and heading back out. “Thanks, guys,” she says, the thud of her door ending the conversation.

I raise a brow at RJ. “What now?” I ask.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

I pick up a cookie and take a bite, the chocolate reminiscent of charcoal on my tongue.

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