Page 85 of Brazen Criminals

She lets out a groan and stands up. “I’ll go get you a blanket and a pillow,” she says to Jansen, heading back to her room. The mood shifts, Jansen kissing the inside of my knee before hopping up to clear all the glasses. Walker pulls me into a hug, then goes to help him, carrying back the liquor and empty cans.

RJ tucks his phone into his pocket, his tablet under one arm, and offers me a hand up with a hint of a smile on his face. I take it, letting him tug me to my feet. Only Trips doesn’t move.

I hover in front of him. “Hey, are you okay?”

He shakes his head and starts out the door. “For now, Clara, for now.”

Chapter 40

Clara

Pacinginfrontofthe police precinct, I debate not going in. Dark clouds rolled in this morning, the temperature dipping solidly into fall territory, the bite of impending rain threatening. The cooler weather brought extra people into the coffee shop, meaning the bonus cash from their tips sits thick in my wallet. A cruiser peels out of the garage, sirens blaring, startling me, forcing me to buck up and head in.

I check in at the front desk this time, but Officer Reed doesn’t immediately come out to get me—this is definitely some sort of cop power move.

I’m trying not to get nervous, so I putz around on my phone while I wait, to keep my hands still. Having finally gotten in a run yesterday, I’m not as anxious, but damn. Chilling in a police waiting room is not for the faint of heart. I’ll have to thank Jansen for waiting for me while I filed the restraining order.

Emma texted me this morning, letting me know she wants to talk later, and I can’t say I blame her. I haven’t seen Jansen yet today, so hopefully things weren’t too weird last night. When did my life get to be such a mess?

I make a list in my head for today:

Officer Reed

Emma

Groceries

Criminal psych paper

Business law reading

I feel bad that I’ve been eating everyone else’s food this whole week, so I’m going to make something special for everyone, even though I’m a terrible cook. Maybe chili? It’s hard to mess up chili, right?

I’m bookmarking a highly reviewed recipe when Officer Reed finally comes to get me, his shoes click-clicking on the linoleum as he strides into the waiting room.

“Clara, I’m so glad you could make it,” he says, as if this were fully voluntary. Walker, RJ, and I spent half the night trying to figure out his angle, but when it comes down to it, we don’t know what Reed knows if we don’t talk to him. And I’m the best one to go fishing, because he seems to want something from me.

I feel like I’m a spy, which is actually terrifying, so I focus instead on being the good girl I always am, channeling the picture of perfection the world has always wanted from me.

Valedictorian? Check. All-state athlete? Check. Full ride to college? Eh, a quarter check. Punctual? Check. Neat and tidy? Check. Driven? Check. Willing to wear makeup and heels if called for? Check.

Let her ex-boyfriend crush her spirit while trying to reach perfection? Sadly, check.

I follow Officer Reed to the back. He brings me to a small room with a couch and a few chairs, the venue choice spiking my anxiety. This room has a door that locks and a mirror on one wall. I’m not a moron—he’s getting serious. He motions me over to the couch, and I sit down, curling up in the corner, not able to pretend I’m not nervous. But, if I think about it, perfect me would be nervous too, so I guess it’s all part of the character I’m playing—Clara from last June.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”

I almost say coffee, but I’m probably already at max caffeine for the day, so I manage a soft, “Water would be great,” a tentative smile on my face.

Officer Reed disappears from the room, but I can feel eyes on me from the mirror across the way. I rub the arm of the couch, trying to look inoffensive.

Why am I so nervous?Because there’s a chance you’re going to obstruct justice today, all for a few pretty faces,a snarky voice proclaims in my head. I have the urge to argue with the voice in my head, but I’m pretty sure that’s the point where you’ve leapt off the deep end, so I refrain from pointing out to the voice that I like the guys for more than just their looks…but is thinking that the same as arguing with myself? Fuck. The stress is breaking me.

Reed returns with a glass of water, and I take a sip, knowing whatever is going to happen, my fingerprints or DNA on file won’t raise any red flags. Good-girl-Clara has never been in trouble. Am I still good-girl-Clara?

“I wanted to check in. How are you holding up?” He settles into the chair across from me, the picture of concern, one brow slightly raised, his eyes a little sad, his elbows on his knees so he’s leaning forward, showing he’s paying attention to only me. If only I could believe him.

I pull my purse into my lap. “I’m okay. I mean, I don’t enjoy having a stalker, but I can’t do much about that.”

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