Page 29 of Be Mine

“They will take us in separately, Frankie. If either of us were suspects, they would have pulled us in by now. Tell them the truth—”

“You’re joking! If I tell them the truth, they will have you pinned to the floor and in shackles in a blink of an eye.”

His jaw works, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. He stares out the windshield with a vacancy that fills my stomach with lead.

“Tell them what you want,” he repeats. “I’ve arranged for Taylor to meet you here when you’re done. I’ll leave the truck unlocked, all your belongings, including your phone, are in the back.”

Turning off the ignition, he slips from the truck and rounds the front, opening the door for me to slide out.

No more words are exchanged as we walk into the building. Dread washes over me like a suffocating blanket. So, this is it. What the fuck was the point?

The station is mostly empty, a few people and police officers milling around. Noah leads us to the front desk where a young female officer sits. When she looks up from her computer, her eyes round to the size of saucers and she nearly tips her chair.

“Can I…can I help you?” she stutters, her cheeks flaming a deep shade of red as she tries to recover and appear professional. Noah seems to have that effect on the opposite sex, and obviously this cop isn’t immune to his ridiculous good looks, either.

“We're here to speak to Officer Barde. Noah Porter and Frankie Clarke,” Noah tells her.

I’m riddled with anxiety, my mouth the Sahara Desert as she clicks away on her keyboard.

“Just a moment.” She holds up a shaky finger, her cheeks still a blushing shade of pink.

She calls Officer Barde, and within minutes, he’s coming through a set of locked doors that separates the lobby from the rest of the department.

Leaning in to shake both our hands, he takes Noah’s first in a firm grip. I don’t miss the way he assesses him, eyes taking in his height and size, before he claps him on the shoulder, moving on to me with a little more kindness.

He leads us to the back through rows of cubicles. Some have other officers sitting at their desks working, but it’s mostly barren. Barde gestures to a group of chairs lined up against the wall and we both move to sit, but he nabs me before I can lower myself to a seat.

“Actually, Miss Clarke, I’d like to speak with you first.”

I look to Noah. I don’t know why or what I’m looking for, but I’m hoping he will give me something. He tips his chin to me once, reclining back and folding his arms over his chest.

This is it.

Following Officer Barde into what I’m assuming is an interrogation room, given the singular table and wall-to-wall mirrors, he pulls out a chair for me to sit as he takes the opposite one. The one with a manilla folder in front of it.

Everywhere I look, my eyes are met with my reflection. It’s eerie and unnerving, and I can’t help but notice my appearance. I’m as white as a ghost, the terror written all over my face for everyone to see. Fuck, this is going to end badly.

“Are you ok?” Barde asks as he pulls the folder to him, flipping it open, and sifting through some papers. He’s chomping incessantly on gum again. I don’t know if he’s an ex-smoker or it’s a way to relieve nerves, but God, the smacking is too much.

“I’m ok.” My voice is an octave too high, betraying the façade I’m trying to put on right now.

“You’re sure? Do you want something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?” All I can think is that it’s just like the movies. They try to make you feel comfortable, give you a false sense of security.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

He scrutinizes me for a moment. I wonder if he can hear the trepidation in my voice, see the tremors in my hands that are clutched tightly under the table.

“What’s your relationship with Mr. Porter?” It takes me a second to realize he means Noah.

“We’re co-workers,” I state

“And you choose to stay at his home for the weekend? When we spoke at your apartment, you said you didn’t have anyone close you could reach out to.” Fuck, he’s astute. The guy doesn’t miss a beat.

“I didn’t. I don’t. I had checked into a motel down the street from my work. Another co-worker texted me, asking if I’d like to go out for the night. Go see some bands play at Threshold. I know it was a bad idea, but I was rattled by thegiftI had received, and I didn’t want to be alone…” I trail off.

He's taking notes as I talk, periodically looking up from his notepad.

“So, you went to Threshold. And this is where you met Mr. Brown?”

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