Page 36 of Teach Me
Yeah, he’d got her message. And sent one back. She understood it loud and clear.
“Anything you can tell us, Ms. Kingston?” the young cop asked. “Any of this familiar?”
She kept her eyes on the message until Conlan spoke. “Jess, tell them.”
She turned to stare into his stormy gray eyes. “Doesn’t matter. They won’t believe me now any more than they did before.”
In fact, she very much feared they wouldn’t believe her until she was dead. If then.
Chapter Fourteen
“Ms. Kingston.”
Detective Gaines zeroed in like a hawk spotting a rodent in a field. On the outside he looked like an accountant—a well-built accountant, but still, an accountant. His hair wasn’t buzz cut like a normal policeman; instead, the soft blond waves tickled his ears, hiding the earpieces from his wire-rimmed glasses. His suit was dark, his hands masculine but manicured, and his formal politeness made her feel like she was anticipating trouble from the IRS. An audit would have been a cakewalk compared to the look he gave her now, however.
The detective leaned forward on the gray metal table separating them, his clasped hands a paperweight holding down the scattered notes and files he’d been perusing. That eagle-eyed gaze never let up. “All right, let’s talk about tonight.”
She was sure the words were meant to be reassuring—okay, maybe not—but somehow she couldn’t get past the sense that she’d done something wrong. Gaines’s light eyes asked her to explain, and she couldn’t. How could you explain a psychopath?
Where the hell was Conlan? He’d taken a detour between fingerprinting and here, promising he’d be back shortly. That was twenty minutes ago. Since the moment they’d walked into her apartment, he’d been close, a rock, as if their argument never happened. She knew she should take care of this on her own, stand on her own two feet…but after the day she’d had, that was impossible. She didn’t want to think about the future; all she wanted was for him to get his ass back in here.
Gaines flipped through notes from the scene. “You said you know who broke into your apartment.”
“Yes.” She tried to put every ounce of conviction she had into the word, which of course made it sound the opposite. “My ex-boyfriend, Brit Holbrooke.”
“Holbrooke? Any relation to Holbrooke Technologies?”
The suspicion in his tone drew steel into her spine. Brit had the backing of a powerful name and a powerful family, and she didn’t. That fact had been borne home to her after her attack, but it didn’t make him any less guilty.
“Yes, it’s the family company. Brit is the technology director there, his father’s vice president.”
“Ah.” An attempt to frown barely pulled at the edge of his lips, they were so tight. “And how do you know he is responsible?”
She raised an eyebrow, then glanced down at the notes in front of him. The manila file at the bottom of the stack was clearly visible. She was tired and off-kilter, but not stupid. “I think you already know that.”
Gaines shuffled the notes aside and flipped the case file open. There, pinned along the inner edges, flashed full-color photos of Jess—not just the cream of her skin or the brown of her hair, but black and blue and red. Close-ups of her body, her injuries, the agony clear even with her eyes closed. Jess couldn’t help the catch in her breath, the way her eyes flinched away.
And Gaines was watching it all.
“I’ve skimmed the reports, but Holbrooke had an iron-clad alibi.”
She’d had this argument with Detective King too often to hold out any hope that Gaines would believe her, but she couldn’t help a bitter, “And he probably will tonight too. Money talks—or makes sure you don’t.”
“So, despite no evidence that your ex was involved in your attack, you claim tonight is an extension of that incident.”
The cop tone and lingo were grating on her already frazzled nerves. She closed her eyes and breathed in, trying to control her irritation—and her fear; it was unavoidable when the memories had to be faced. When her skin stopped feeling like she was about to burst out of it, she looked at the detective again. “Brit returned to town last week,” she told him, working to keep her tone even. “Or at least that’s the first I saw him. He’s been stalking me ever since.” She explained what had happened, searching her mind for details, all the while trying to squelch any hope that tried to rise.
When she finished, Gaines’s gaze bored into her. “And tonight?”
“I know it was him.”
“I can’t build a case on knowing, Ms. Kingston. We might get some forensics”—his tone said he doubted it—“some video, but barring that or a witness…” He shrugged.
The smack of Jess’s hand hitting the table startled them both. “I know it was him! No one else cares enough to follow me around town, follow me home. No one cares who I see or warns me to stay away from men. No one ever called me ‘mouse’ but Brit, and no one would know about it because he only did it in private. What is it going to take for you to believe me—a body? Because he isn’t going to stop.”
By the last word, she was breathless, voice shaking and eyes watering from the force of the anger inside her. Gaines stared, searching for she knew not what—and didn't really care. Finally, the lines between his eyebrows deepening, he asked, “Why did he call you ‘mouse’?”
Yeah, just what I wanted to share.She looked down at the table, focusing on her fingertip tracing the scratches and dents in the surface. “Because he said I was too quiet, always hanging around in the corner like a mouse. He wanted me to be more assertive, more outgoing…”More willing to have sex. “You even squeak when I touch you, you damn mouse.”She laughed, the sound bitter even in its softness. “Of course, when I came out of my corner fighting, he liked that even less.”
