Page 55 of Falling for a Killer

“Any chance you’ll let us look around that cabin nicely?”

The stale coffee in his breath burns my nose hairs as he leans in even further, but again, I don’t flinch.

“Let me see.” I glance down, drawing attention to the blood trickling down my wrist. Did I do it on purpose? Yes. Will I tell him that? Absolutely the fuck not. “No, I don’t think I owe you anything. You can get a warrant. In the meantime, I’m free to go, right?”

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Killian

When we were handcuffed in the cruiser together, I had the comfort of her arm against mine, but now that she’s in a different room I find it hard to keep my shit together.

We just admitted we’re in love, and now we’re being questioned by police. That isn’t how this night was supposed to go. Fuck.

They leave me in the room for a while, ensuring I’m nice and uncomfortable and worried about my girl, and I have to admit they succeed. I feel like shit.

The officer who walks in clocks it immediately. “Mr. Blake. You look tired. Can I get you some water?”

Even drinking water sounds like a chore, but I might look guilty if I deny it. Or is it worse if I take it? If I pretend I’m unbothered I’ll come across as cold. If I act emotional they’ll think it’s an act. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

So I just sit here and keep my mouth shut.

She peeks her head out the door and yells for some water, then sits across from me. “I’m Officer Meril. Can you state your name for the record please?”

I’ve already told them my damn name. “Killian Blake. And I have nothing else to say.”

“I understand. You’ve been through a lot, I’m sure. I’m just here to help. Can you tell me what your friend’s name is?”

I shake my head no and drop my gaze. It’s obvious she’s playing good cop here, and I really should work with her, but I’ve seen enough tv to know most convictions happen because people can’t keep their mouths shut. “She already gave her name.”

“How did you meet her?”

That’s not something we planned out ahead of time, so I drop my gaze to my hands and go completely mute.

An investigator enters the room to join us with my glass of water, setting it in front of me before he takes a seat. “How is it going in here, Officer Meril?”

“He’s suddenly forgotten how to speak. I was just about to explain to him that cooperating with us is the best way to ensure he ever sees his girlfriend again.”

That gets my attention more than it should, especially because I know how cops work with their empty promises and fake deals. Unless there’s a legal paper to sign, they can sayanything to get me to cooperate and then back out the second I give them what they want. I’m not falling for it.

Still, they have me worried for Joey. Not about the fact that she’ll tell them anything against me — I know she won’t — but the fact that she’ll make them feel small and insignificant if they back her into a corner. Cops don’t like dealing with people smarter than them, and I don’t want her getting in trouble for me. “Can I see her right now?”

“She’s busy,” Meril says calmly. “Let’s cut to the chase, Mr. Blake. We know who you are and we know what you did. The only thing we’re trying to figure out now is how complicit Miss Moran was with your crimes. If you care about her the way you think you do, you’ll answer our questions.”

Joey knows how I feel about her. I have nothing to prove to these clowns.

I lean forward so they both can see how serious I am. “I have nothing to say to you, so throw me in a cell if you’re not done chasing your tails. We did nothing wrong.”

“If you say so.” She stands, nodding to the silent investigator next to her. “Maybe a few nights in a cell will loosen your tongue.”

Not likely.

If I’ve learned anything about myself after I took matters into my own hands, it’s that I can survive just fine in uncomfortable settings. Before I made it to the cabin I slept in stolen cars, rest stop bathrooms, the woods, anywhere I could as I made my way to Washington. A cold cell isn’t going to be a problem. I won’t give them ammunition to use against me, and I damn sure won’t say anything that might get my girl in any more trouble than I already have.

It’s my fault she’s in here at all, I won’t be the reason they make her stay. Just thinking about her makes my chest tighten.Before her, I knew levels of discomfort I didn’t know existed, and now I know levels of peace just the same.

But now I may never hold her and feel those things again.

I thought we’d have more time. That I’d have more time to win her heart and hold it in my hands, not glimpse at it through a glass. But now I’ve traded that glass for metal bars, and I have no one to blame but myself.

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