Sadie's Game (Ashby Crime Family)

“All this for little ol’ me?”

Virgil snickered, but he still looked like he wanted to rip the redheaded agent’s head off.

Agent Beck had her chin high in the air. Victory swam in her bright blue eyes as she stood in front of me.

“Sadie Rose Ashby, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder.”

She was so fucking proud of herself; the delight was evident in every syllable of the Miranda warning.

“Cuff her, boys.”

“Is that necessary?” Andrew asked, his tone brisk and angry.

“It is,” Beck shot back.

“Don’t worry, Andrew, it’s not the first time a good-looking man has had me in cuffs.” I snarked.

The officers laughed, a move that pissed off Agent Beck.

Good.

“Don’t think your family can intimidate us, either. We are the law,” Beck practically growled at me.

I laughed and shook my head. “You poor, stupid girl. This isn’t for you; it’s for me. If you had family, you would understand that nothing is more important during these trying times than having the support of your family. That’s why they’re all here.”

A hint of anger flashed in her eyes, and I smiled before the boys in blue cuffed me and led me to the squad car.

“I’ll meet you there,” Andrew called out as he headed for his own car. He was paid well and loyal, I knew he would likely be waiting for me in the interrogation room when I got to the station.

What I didn’t expect was to see Jameson pass me on the way to the interrogation room. I thought it was strange he wasn’t already sitting inside the room as some sort of intimidation tactic. Just then, Maddie’s warning came to me, and I realized this wasn’t just about the investigation into Bonnie and Mueller’s deaths.

“Take a seat, ma’am.”

I took the seat that left my back facing the observation glass because I refused to give that bitch, Beck, any kind of ammunition. I felt her gaze on me through the thick glass, but I didn’t squirm, didn’t flinch or fidget. I sat stock-still with a bored expression on my face while I waited for my attorney as well as my interrogators.

Beck entered first, the cat that ate the canary smile on her face. “Hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long?”

“Has my attorney arrived?” If she thought she would get anything out of me without Andrew present, then she wasn’t as competent as she seemed.

Beck shrugged. “We don’t need the men. We could talk, just us girls.”

My lips curled into a smile at her clumsy attempt to get me talking.

“I didn’t think so.” She shrugged again and waved Andrew in, Agent Marshall right behind him. So eager to nail me, she didn’t even wait until everyone was settled at the rickety metal table. “The evening that Bonnie Ashby and Dietrich Mueller were murdered, where were you?”

Andrew cleared his throat and I turned to him. He gave a brief nod, and I turned back to Beck. “At home, where I spend most evenings.”

“Can anyone who isn’t related to you or on your payroll verify that you were at home?”

Andrew cleared his throat, but I ignored him and sat back in the uncomfortable chair. “And who is at your home late at night that isn’t related to you or working for you, Agent Beck?”

“This isn’t about me, Sadie.”

I blinked and looked at Andrew and then Agent Marshall. “Are we on a first-name basis now, Addison? I mean, it does make sense given that your father used to work for me. Does that make us like family?”

Her nostrils flared in anger. “No, it damn well doesn’t.”

“In fact, some might argue that you even being in this room is a conflict of interest.”

“What clothes were you wearing the night of the murders, Ms. Ashby?”

“That’s better,” I purred and crossed my arms. “I can’t be sure what I was wearing that night, to be honest.”

“Convenient.”

“Not really. Unlike you, I have more than five suits in my closet, so it’s not as easy to figure out what I was wearing on any given day. I don’t even remember what I wore yesterday.”

The black Chanel suit I had on was already burnt into oblivion, along with the undergarments and, unfortunately, the crystal-embellished Jimmy Choo shoes as well. Damn, I loved those shoes.

“Do you own any guns?”

I laughed. “I do. I have a CCW permit, though I seldom carry a weapon.”

“A nine millimeter?” Beck sat back and looked at a stack of papers that was meant to intimidate me.

“Two,” I confirmed. “Along with a shotgun and my husband’s old Desert Eagle. But your men already have them. I used to own a third nine-millimeter, but several months back, I turned it into the LVPD buy-back program. In case that helps.”

Beck’s blue gaze narrowed, and her jaw clenched. “How long ago, exactly?”

I shrugged. “Six months or more, I suppose.”