Page 23 of Taken By Raider Kings
Her back ached furiously, and the side of her head throbbed even though the bruising had gone down a bit, helped by a good twelve hours of unconsciousness.She was muzzy-headed and scratchy-eyed from crying, and she kept her hair down to hide the swelling—an old trick which rarely worked, but all she could do.Her left hand throbbed with pain whenever she answered the phone or input patient data.
Of course, right after the midmorning coffee break she didn’t take, a very nice homicide detective named Andreeson came by the office and asked to speak to her.
“Sophie?”Margo, blue-tinged hair piled in a fantastic beehive apparently held with several coats of lacquer, appeared in her cubicle door.“There’s a man here to see you.”Marge didn’t wiggle her eyebrows, but she did look concerned.“Apolice officer,” she amended, mistaking Sophie’s wide-eyed stare for fear.“I don’t think it’s about your ex-husband.”
The Battle-Ax’s stage whisper needed a work.
“Oh, God.”It wasn’t hard to sound tired.Sophie pushed herself up just as the phone rang again.“I don’t know what else it could be about.”The lie sat heavy in her mouth.Everything was overly vivid today—lights too bright, smells too intense.She hadn’t even been able to go into the office bathroom, for Christ’s sake.It was just too foul.
“He’s in the conference room.”Margo folded thick arms across her ample chest.Today it was hot-pink scrubs, and the earrings were garish Carmen Miranda fruit bowls tapping her red-apple cheeks.“I’ll go in with you.”
Great.I’ll have to fool two people at once.“Okay.”Sophie followed obediently, her fingers worrying at the pressure bandage on her left hand.Thank God she was in long sleeves today.
She’d spent a lot of time in clothes meant to cover things.The fingersize bruises on her arm where Zach had grabbed her in the alley were hateful reminders of the mess her life had become even before Friday—and even if, as she hd to admit, he had been trying to get her away from that…thing.
A bolt of hot, nearly liquid fear spilled went through her entire body.Don’t think about that.Don’t think about him, either.
Today, there were distinct bands of smell in the halls.Passing Margo’s cubicle was like walking through cheesecloth veils of hairspray and old-candy smell from the dish of stale M&M’s on the Battle-Ax’s desk.The front office boiled with patients’ worry and exhaled sickness; Dr.Marcus hurried past, his deodorant barely covering a dusting of the youngest billing specialist’s perfume.
They were a hot item, Dr.Marcus and Amy.Office gossip had it that Marcus’s wife knew and didn’t care, since she’d get half of everything anyway.
Sophie almost wished she could shut her nose off.She’d always been sensitive, but this was ridiculous.Plus she was craving a French dip,au jusso hot it scorched the tongue—not that she could afford anything other than a batch of cheap fries to go with her ramen today, if the fast-food place two blocks away wasn’t too jammed for her to grab something at lunchtime.
Pull yourself together, Sophie.She blinked and tried to focus, put one foot in front of the other.
Margo paused, her hand on the conference-room door.Small, faded blue eyes were dark with worry.“Soph… you know, if you don’t want to talk to this guy, if it’s about your ex, we can always get Dr.Brunner to throw him out and take up a collection for bail.”
Dr.Brunner was a big bear of a man, endlessly patient with his pediatric patients but not so kind with anyone else.Sophie’s heart gave a massive squeezing leap.“Thanks, Margo.”I take back every mean thing I ever thought about you.“Let’s just see what he wants to ask.”
“All right.”The Battle-Ax’s beehive swelled just like a frilled lizard’s warning signal.“You just remember you don’t have to say a thing, honey.”
“I know.Thanks.”Oh, believe me, I’m not planning on saying anything.I need to stay out of custody.Sophie braced herself as the door opened.A wave of impressions—brown hair, male—flooded out, and the image of a smallish man in a rumpled mackintosh took over the inside of her tired skull.
It was too much.What the hell ishappeningto me?
The blinds were drawn, so fluorescent light rendered every surface pale and drained.The long meeting table was clean, its glass top lovingly polished; all the chairs were lined up save one.The man half rising to greet them lookedexactlylike the image in Sophie’s head, right down to his crooked once-broken nose, slumped shoulders, and grubby raincoat.A battered leather attaché case stood to attention at his place, and a brand-new manila folder was settled next just where his right elbow would rest when seated.His hands were broad, short-fingered, and he was dwarfed beside Margo—a destroyer versus her battleship.His tie was wilted, the suit jacket under his mackintosh an indeterminate brown, and it was a good thing Sophie’s stomach was empty because conflicting odors of man, wet raincoat, paper, and hair spray made her queasy as hell.
“Sophie, this is Detective Andreeson.”Margo drew up to her full, considerable, breast-jutting height, arms re-folding.She had not, Sophie noticed, offered him coffee.“I checked his ID.But you might want to see it yourself.”
Her throat was so dry.“That’s okay,” she managed, wondering if she sounded as sick and unsteady as she felt.
“Miz Harris.”The man put his hand out, and Sophie was suddenly very sure that if she touched him she would dissolve into a sobbing mess.She tried to copy Margo’s pose—head up, shoulders back, chin jutting proud.
“It’s Wilson,” she heard herself say, a real habit nowadays.“I’m no longer married.”The words tasted like wet ash.
The detective’s hand dropped.“Okay.Miss Wilson.I’m just going to be asking a few questions.”
Come on, Sophie.Her face was a frozen mask.“Is this about Marc—my ex-husband?I don’t want anything to do with him.”
The detective looked pained for a moment.“No, ma’am, it’s not.It’s about your friend Lucy Cavanaugh.At least, her coworkers said you were her best friend.”
“Lucy?”It wasn’t hard to sound stunned.All she had to do was think about the alley, the blood-drenched purple-facedthing, and the horrible gurgling noise from Lucy’s shredded throat as she died.“Yes, she’s… we’re friends.Sheismy best friend.What’s going on?”
His expression didn’t change, but a thread of urgency like metal wire slid through the warp of his fusty, frowsy smell.“When was the last time you talked to Miss Cavanaugh?”
“I…”Do it like you practiced, Sophie.In the shower, silently while staring out the bus window or between answering phone calls, she had rehearsed a fake weekend.“Friday afternoon, I think.She was going out dancing; I told her I had to study.”Which was partly true—that had been her first excuse, but Luce had just rolled right over the top of it.
“You’re going to have some fun, Soph, if it’s the last thing I do.”
