Page 36 of Overexposed

Dirtbag.

My nose itched, but the report concluded with both myself and Olivier leaving the scene after the assault, and at that time, Dillon was fine and capable, not in need of any assistance.

I mean, that was mostly true.

He was still breathing when we left.

“This looks right,” I said, glancing at the detective. He slid a card with six photographs on it over to me.

“Do you see your assailant here?” The photos were terrible and taken in terrible light. But none of them were Dillon.

“No.”

“Take your time. It’s always good to be certain.”

“I don’t have to take my time. I know who attacked me. He’s not a stranger.”

The detective studied me for a long moment, then he slid another card over. More photographs. There was Dillon. He was definitely younger in the picture, but the belligerent expression and cold eyes were all him.

“This one,” I tapped it. “His name is Dillon Paget.”

“Okay.” The detective took the card back, drew a line next to the image and then passed it to me. “Initial here that this is the one you identified.”

I did that. Then he nodded to the complaint.

“Sign that as well. Remember, signing it is a sworn oath in front of an officer of the law. You are swearing that what you are reporting is the truth to the best of your knowledge and recollection.”

I got that.

After I signed it, he took the sheets back and collected them together in the folder.

“Why didn’t you report the attack last night, Miss Charles?”

“Last night, I was a little out of it and more than a little upset.” It wasn’t a lie. “Olivier didn’t want to let me drive so he took me back to his place.”

“You and Mr. Griffiths are dating?”

“No.”

“Friends?”

“Also no.”

“How do you know him?”

“I don’t really. Last night was the first time I’d met him.”

The detective favored me with a long, skeptical stare. “You’re saying the famous actor, Olivier Griffiths, came across you being allegedly assaulted by Mr. Paget. He intervened, then took you home to his mansion—and he’d never met you before?”

I shrugged. “Yes. That’s what happened.” The long pause as he considered me had me rethinking my own answer. The facts were facts. Olivier didn’t have to help me; he could have just turned around and not involved himself.

The thing was, hehadn’t.

“You didn’t call the police and you didn’t go to a hospital or see a doctor after the assault?”

I sighed “No. I didn’t want to go the hospital or go see a doctor.”

“You can understand how this looks, right?” There was a kind of gentleness to the question, like he was asking me to help him out here. “You say Mr. Paget was fine, but you were allegedly assaulted to the point someone else had to intervene, then you needed help afterward but didn’t go to a doctor.”

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