Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)
“He took my phone. All I wanted was to get safely inside my apartment.”
Hackman takes a paper from the desk and scans over the print. “You don’t have a landline.”
“No,” I say.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Landlines cost money. I don’t see the point when I already have a cellphone with a more economical plan including free dialing.”
“You spoke to your neighbor before you entered your apartment,” Wolfe says.
Ah. So Mrs. Steyn called them. She must’ve been watching through her window and dialed the minute I set foot in the building. “Yes.”
“You could’ve asked to use her phone.”
“As I said, I was freaking out. I just wanted to go home. I would’ve dialed if you hadn’t shown up.”
After a shower. After washing away the evidence of what I did. To be honest, I’m not sure what I was going to do. I was too busy surviving to harbor strategical thoughts. I wanted to check on Mint. I knew I had to drop by the police station, but I was imagining going there after I’d gathered myself somewhat to make a statement. I never expected them to interrogate me. Not like this.
I want to ask if I need a lawyer, but I can’t afford one. I want to say I’m the victim, but am I? Did I let Ian fuck me because deep down I hoped if I did, he wouldn’t kill me? Or did I want it? I enjoyed it, didn’t I? I came. Hard. I let myself go because I thought I might die. Coming like that, when you’re making the last seconds count, is powerful. That’s all there was to it. Wasn’t it? My mind is a mess, and my body is shaking in the aftermath of the shock. I’m not thinking straight.
“Ms. Joubert?” Hackman says, drawing my attention to the fact that he’d been asking me a question.
I look up. “What?”
“If it’s easier for you to talk to a female officer, we could arrange that.”
My heart stops. My breath catches painfully in my throat. “What?”
“If he hurt you—”
“He didn’t.”
Wolfe watches me like a hawk. “You’re entitled to a medical examination.”
“I don’t need one,” I say, my voice cracking on the last word.
Hackman goes through the document in his hand again. “You’re on a private medical aid plan since your employer doesn’t offer a company scheme.” Mistaking the reason for my reaction, he says, “You won’t have to fork out a cent. The costs are covered by the state. If you prefer, we can arrange for you to see a female doctor.”
“I’m fine,” I say more forcefully, my stomach doing a somersault at their insinuation. Yes, I’ve had sexual intercourse, and a medical examination will show that without doubt. Only, it wasn’t with force, and that’s something I won’t be able to explain.
“We can’t force you to undergo an examination,” Wolfe says, “but I highly recommend that you do. A doctor may prescribe psychiatric treatment for PTSD, or you may need medication to calm you and help you sleep.”
“I don’t need more pills than what I’m already taking. If there’s nothing else, I’d like to go home. I haven’t even informed my employer why I’m not at work.”
The men look at each other.
Wolfe pushes a form and a pen over the desk. “We need you to write down your statement. After that, you can go.”
As I pick up the pen with a shaky hand, he asks, “Did the man who abducted you tell you why he took you? I mean, it’s strange that he took you with Mr. Visser’s car seemingly without any motive.”
“He needed a getaway car.” Stammering, I add, “Maybe he thought if he kept me hostage, he’d have a bargaining chip if he was caught.”
“He needed Mr. Visser’s car, right?” Wolfe asks, scrutinizing me. “As his truck was empty?”
“That’s right,” I say through dry lips, trying not the think about the hole I stitched up in Ian’s shoulder or the way he looked at me through his messy fringe when he told me it’s been a while.
Leaning forward, Wolfe places one hand on top of the other. “That’s mighty strange, seeing that the forensic report I just got confirmed that with the size and intensity of the fire, the truck’s tank would’ve been pretty much full.”
Chapter 6
Cas
I nearly choke on my shock.
Ian lied.
Why?
Because he needed a nurse. But why not take me in his truck? Because he needed it to look like a hijacking. I can only assume he didn’t want the cops to know he needed a nurse and not a car. He didn’t want them to know he’d been shot.
What has he done? What crime did he commit that earned him a bullet?
The detectives watch me as I drag the form closer and start writing. I’m aware of their stares even as I hide behind my hair. All the while, my heart hammers between my ribs. My handwriting is shaky at best, but I sign the form and hand it to Wolfe.