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“We can’t discuss that with you.”
“Like fuck you can’t.”
I reach out, curling my fingers around Spike’s arm. “It’s okay. I’ll go. I won’t be long.”
I get changed and follow the officer to the station in Spike’s truck. There is no way I’m getting in his. Spike told me as I was getting dressed not to say a fucking word, no matter what they presented to me. I nodded in anxious agreement and followed the officer.
When we arrive at the station, I go into an interrogation room where two officers are waiting. It’s the same two who interviewed me earlier. Rochelle and Greg. Well, this can’t be good. I hold my breath, exhaling slowly as I sit down in front of them, curious about the file they have in front of them that no doubt contains information about whatever they’re going to tell me.
“Thanks for coming in,” Rochelle tells me. “It’s much easier when you decide to cooperate with us.”
“Can you tell me why I’m here?”
“We collected your car yesterday from the scene of the accident, and when we did, we found something inside.”
I shake my head, confused. “Okay?”
“We found some of Alyssa’s items.”
My blood runs cold, because I know for a damn fact that I have never had Alyssa in my car, nor have I touched any of her things. Are they talking about the photo? Maybe that was still in my car. Still, there is no way they could prove that was Alyssa. The only reason Halo knew was because she recognized the handbag.
“I don’t understand ...”
“We found some items of clothing in your car. We also found a pair of shoes and a handbag.”
This must be some kind of cruel joke.
It has to be.
There is simply no way her things could have been in my car unless they were put there.
Oh.
My.
God.
He put them in there. When he cut my brakes, he put her things in my car. He’s going to make me go down for this murder, and I’m starting to wonder how the hell I’m going to get out of this.
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know what to do.
“Can you explain to us how those items got in there?” Greg asks, a smirk on his face, because he knows he’s got me.
He knows it.
I need to come up with something, and fast, because if I don’t, they will probably arrest me right here and I’ll lose every chance of clearing my name.
Think, Ciara.
Come on.
“You claimed you have never met her, yet her things are in your car,” Rochelle says, her voice kinder than Greg’s, but even now I can see she doesn’t believe me.
“I have never met her,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm even though I want to scream.
“Then are you going to explain it?”
