Page 87 of Follow Me Down

Chapter Twenty-two

Titus

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“Mr. Driscoll.” I lookup when one of the arresting officers stops in front of the holding cell they’ve kept me in for the last several hours.

My head aches and my eyes are heavy. I blink up at him, watching him unlock the cell.

“You’re free to go,” he tells me, swinging the cell door open.

“Excuse me?” I croak, my throat dry and coarse.

“You can collect your things from the front desk.” He takes a step back to let me pass when I push to my feet.

“What’s happening? Were you able to confirm that the drugs weren’t mine?”

“Just count your blessings and move on,” he says curtly, not giving me any real answers.

I’m confused and have a million more questions, but all I want to do right now is get the hell out of here and get to Fallon. I have to explain. She has to know that I did not do this. That those drugs were not mine. I don’t know how they got there. I can only hope that she believes me.

“Where’s Fallon?” I ask as I follow the officer to the front of the station.

“She left a couple of hours ago.”

“Left? Left where?”

“A car picked her up out front shortly after she was released. That’s all I know.” He stops at the front desk where a female officer is sitting behind a computer. She stops what she’s doing and grabs my belongings from the desk next to her, setting my phone, wallet, and keys on the counter moments later.

“Miss Buckley did ask that I give you a message,” she interjects. “She said to tell you that she went home to her father and not to try to contact her.”

“She what?” I snap, anger lacing my voice. “Did she say anything else?”

“No, I’m sorry. That’s all she said.” She seems sheepish under my intense glare and I have half a mind to rip into her and the dumb ass mother fucker standing next to me.

I open my mouth but snap it closed, deciding it’s better to just get the hell out of here before I completely lose my shit.

I spin on my heel and quickly exit the police station seconds later, still not sure if I’ve fully wrapped my head around what the hell happened tonight.

I find my truck parked at the side of the lot. I’m honestly surprised they didn’t impound it. Just another reason why none of this makes any sense. I climb in, powering on my phone as I pull the door shut behind me. I punch in my house number and impatiently wait for someone to pick up. Unfortunately, no one does.

Cursing under my breath, I hit redial and call again, glancing at the clock on my truck radio.

“Shit,” I grumble, realizing that it’s after one in the morning.

The phone rings over and over again before the automated answering machine picks up. Slamming my thumb against the screen, I call again.

This time it rings three times before Link’s voice comes on the line.

“Hello,” he grumbles, his voice filled with sleep.

“Link, it’s me. Is Fallon there?”

“Fallon?” He seems confused. “I thought she was with you.”

“She was and now she isn’t. Is she there? Has she been there at all tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t think so. I was sleeping. Hang on, let me check.” I hear him set the receiver down and as I wait for him to return, I fire the truck engine to life, and quickly pop it into gear, pulling out of the police station parking lot.

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