Descent (Black Heart Romance)

The officer nods, flipping open a little spiral notebook he’s carrying with him. “And did you give it to him?”

“What?”

He raises an expectant eyebrow. “The purse.”

“Oh. Um…” I pause to think. “No. No, he… He got distracted I think.”

“By what?”

“My dress.”

The officer cocks an eyebrow. “Was there something odd about it?”

I shake my head, tugging the robe closer to make sure more skin is covered. I’m keenly aware of my bare legs and I wish I could’ve put on some pants before doing this. “I think he made a comment about my breasts.”

“Oh,” the officer says, growing a bit flushed.

The other more aggressive-looking officer eyes me. “You think he made a comment about your breasts? You’re not sure?”

“I know he did, I just can’t remember now if it was in front of Lance or when he dragged me away.”

The nicer cop nods and jots that down in his notebook, but the hard-eyed one stares me down like he expects me to be a problem. “It would help us immensely if you would do your best to remember the details, ma’am.”

“Like I said, he made a comment. I’m not sure why that’s even relevant, honestly.”

“It is,” says the hardass, still holding my gaze. “We need every detail you can recall, even ones you don’t think are important.”

I dislike him immediately and intensely. Still trying to be conciliatory, I say, “All right. Well, now you know.”

“What did his voice sound like?”

My eyebrows rise. “Like a man? I don’t know how to describe a voice.”

“Deep? Low? High-pitched? Did he have an accent? Did he sound young or old?”

“I have no idea,” I answer.

Looking decidedly unimpressed, he says, “All right. What did he look like? We’ll need to note anything you can remember now, and if you could come down to the station later today, we can get more detail and have a sketch drawn to start circulating.”

I shake my head. “I can’t help with a sketch. I never saw his face. His hair. I have no idea what he looked like. He wore baggy jeans and a sweater—a hoodie. Underneath he wore a black ski mask, so even when the hood slipped down, I couldn’t see his face. I never even saw his eyes.”

“You can’t give us anything?” he asks skeptically.

I shrug helplessly. “He was taller than me, I think. But shorter than Lance.”

The nice one jots that down.

The jerky one asks, “Did you notice any distinguishing marks? Scars, tattoos?”

Arson’s inked hands flash to mind. “No,” I lie. “Not that I could see.”

I don’t know who Arson is, exactly, but without needing to be told, I can guess he isn’t someone you implicate in a staged mugging.

Officer Asshole is decidedly unimpressed. “So, he’s a man of average height. What about his build? Was he fat, thin, muscular?”

I shrug. “I don’t know… Regular?”

That’s not even remotely true. Arson is muscular and built like a fighter who throws one punch and knocks his opponent out.

I don’t say that, and I don’t even know why.

“A man of average height and build with no distinguishing features,” he says drolly.

I stare at him. “He was wearing a black ski mask.”

“Any jewelry? Did he wear a ring?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Could you tell what race he was?”

“I’d say Caucasian.”

“You’d say?”

“We didn’t have time to go over his family tree.”

The officer hikes an eyebrow. “There’s no need to be smart, Miss Meadows. You would think you’d want to do all you could to cooperate and help us find whoever attacked you and your friend.”

“And you would think you would talk to me like someone who was attacked instead of being so rude. I’m not going to talk with you. I’ll happily talk with him,” I say, pointing at the tall, skinnier one, “and tell him what I know, but I’m done talking to you.”

The man opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Calvin steps ahead of me. “I’m going to have to agree and ask you to leave.” He draws a business card out of his suit pocket. “This is our lawyer’s number. If you have any further questions, you can ask him. Hallie has been through enough, she doesn’t need you treating her so aggressively.”

The nicer officer jumps in. “I can finish up the interview.” Looking at his partner, he says, “Why don’t you go wait in the car and I’ll be right down?”

The mean officer’s pupils seem to double in size. His nostrils flare like a bull as he looks back at me, but then he glances at Calvin and clutches the lawyer’s card.

“Fine,” he says shortly.

We all wait for him to get in the elevator and go downstairs, then the remaining officer turns back to smile sheepishly. “Sorry about him,” he says. He’s a tall, gawky-looking guy with skin so pale he looks like he never leaves his house. “He can be a little intense.”