Page 152 of Gunner

“Don’t think for a minute I’m as easily fooled as Witter. You’re behind everything.”

“If you believe that, you’re exactly as stupid as I thought.”

“We have the murder weapon.”

“That’s all?”

“If you confess now, the judge might be lenient on you. No one wants this to be drawn out. If you care about Witter at all, you won’t embarrass him further and ruin his career.”

“If that’s all, I’d like to return to my cell.”

“You go back to your cell when I say so.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He tried every tactic in the book to get me to talk, but I ignored him. My worry over Ben was exactly the distraction I needed.

It felt like hours had passed when Thoms finally stood up, his face red. “Fine. If you don’t confess, you can face the harshest penalty of the law.”

Back in my cell, I paced and kicked the concrete, then paced again. My thoughts raced to worst-case scenarios. Ben being dead and me heading to death row. The possibility of not seeing Ben again weighed more heavily on my mind than the loss of my life.

Footsteps echoed outside my cell, growing louder and louder until they stopped at my cell. I raised my head, my breath catching in my throat. I let it out slowly. Dammit, it wasn’t Ben.

“You’re free to go.” The cop unlocked the cell.

I frowned. Was this some sort of trick? Was this where they let me walk out of the police station, then shoot me in the back with the fabricated tale of me trying to break out of jail?

“Go where exactly?” I asked.

“Home.” He looked perplexed. “The charges against you have been dropped.”

“What do you mean dropped?”

“An alibi came forward. It exonerates you from the murder charges. At least for now.”

An alibi? Who would have come forward to lie about being with me at the time the cop was killed? I had no doubt one of my men would, but which one?

Stunned, I followed the officer, still wary of any tricks. We walked down the fluorescent-lit corridor of the police station to the front desk. An officer looked up briefly, a mix of indifference and curiosity in his eyes, then focused back on the documents before him.

I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the atmosphere was different from when I’d been brought in. The cops looked tense and on edge. Because something bad had happened to their chief? I wanted to ask, but the words got stuck in my throat.

“You’ll need to sign here.” The cop pushed a form toward me. It was a standard release document stating I was being released due to new evidence and my personal belongings would be returned. I read it thoroughly to ensure there was no hidden catch, then signed it quickly, eager to get out of there.

Once the paperwork was done, I was directed to a small room, which was cramped, with a distinct smell of disinfectant. A small window at the top let in a sliver of light. On a table, my belongings were neatly arranged: my wallet, keys, and phone.

The officer stood by the door as I laced my boots and slid my belt through the loops. After I pocketed everything, the officer led me back through the maze of hallways to the front desk. It was a strange feeling, walking out of the place I had been brought into under such different circumstances.

A sense of relief mixed with unease settled over me.

“Wait.” I stopped and turned to the officer. “I heard your chief was involved in a shoot-out. How is he?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

He opened the door and gestured for me to leave. Even as I walked out, I kept looking back, checking behind me and waiting for the sting of bullets. Why else would they have let me go under the guise of new evidence?

I bumped into a solid chest, and a distinct smell tickled my nostrils.

“Ben.” His name was a whisper of a prayer on my lips. He looked well, no limbs missing, no scars, no bandages. “Ben!”

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