Chapter 19
Kara - Present
“Well, we’d like to thank you both for coming in and providing your statements.”
We stand up, Owen tucking me protectively under his arm and I swipe at the tears that remain on my face after giving our statements.
“This is going to be an ongoing investigation, so there will no doubt be further statements required.”
Owen nods and sticks out his hand to shake it. “You have our full cooperation.”
“Appreciated.” The tall detective nods and reaches for the door. “I’ve been told it’s a bit of a madhouse outside; the news has got wind of you giving your statements. We’ve cleared a path, but be careful.”
Owen nods and squeezes me tighter. “It would seem I have a guardian angel looking out for me. Let’s hope it continues.”
He looks down and kisses me on the forehead, the gesture loving.
It’s an act, I quickly tell myself, even as I question the madness of this morning’s kitchen antics. Which we have barely acknowledged; him quickly retreating, leaving me standing in the kitchen, questioning my life choices.
“We have a car on the way, so if it’s alright, can we wait around in the room until it’s here?”
“Absolutely, I’ll pop my head in when it arrives.”
The detective leaves us in the small room. The air stifling. Or is that just because Owen is so close? He turns, pulling me into a full hug.
“You’re terrifyingly good at playing the innocent victim,” he whispers, his warm breath making me want to squirm.
“Hmm,” I reply, my head resting on the edge of his shoulder. “They could still be watching.”
He pulls back and takes my lips with his, kissing me. It’s gentle, it’s reassuring, it’s—fake.
“Best make it realistic for them, then.”
I grip his crinkled tuxedo jacket in my hands. No wonder Owen is getting so much support. I’m sure most of the female population of the country swoon over him.
Like I am.
“Is someone getting you a new suit? Although the tuxedo look is a lovely one.”
“Nope. Tuxedo remains, as I want to—” He stops. “Actually. Pass me the phone. Let’s do a statement outside.”
I reluctantly pass him the phone, then plop down onto one of the plain, brown chairs that are in the room.
Watching Owen be Mr Politician Man.
“Justin, we’ve just done the statement—”
I zone out, his voice fading into the background, content watching him. The new him.
The politician.
He radiates power and control, still wearing last night’s tux. Even in his exhaustion, even while mourning Jules, he looks magnificent.
“Alright. Speak to you later.” He hangs up and hands the phone back to me.
“Sorted.” He says.
“Sorted?” I echo, blinking back to the moment.
He takes the seat next to me, casual like it’s nothing. I glance over and raise an eyebrow, waiting for more.
Nothing.
“Well…” I gesture for him to elaborate.
“Well, what?”
“What’s the plan, Owen? Otherwise, how will this supposed guardian angel keep you safe?”
“I’m going to take advantage of the situation. The press conference is cancelled. I’ll give a statement here.”
“You’re going to take advantage of your friend dying?” I ask, disgust creeping into my tone.
“No!” he snaps. “Jesus, Lucy. Do you really think that little of me?”
“You just said you were going to take advantage of the situation.”
“I mean the fucking circus outside, not Jules.” His hands rake down his face and he flops back into his chair on a huff. “I can’t believe you would even think that.”
“You’re a politician.” I shrug. “You all take advantage of situations to up your political standing. Why would you be any different? In fact, didn’t you prove that last night by using me, using our childhood?”
I’m being a bitch. I know I am.
Because I know pushing him away protects me, being a bitch protects me, protects my heart, which he’s already broken once before. I’m not willing to let him break again.
He sighs, frustrated.
“Lucy, it wasn’t my fault we were let down by a broken system. I am trying to make changes.”
I hear the words, but they don’t penetrate the walls I’ve put around myself. Politicians spout bullshit constantly. Why should Owen be any different? I look at him and pull a sarcastic, tight smile.
“Of course. One man can change a system.”
He tuts and leans closer. “You’ve been to festivals, right?”
I meet his gaze, frowning, shaking my head at the odd question. “I mean at one point in my life, sure.”
“So, when you were at the festival, did you ever see a drunken fool standing on his own, dancing? And everyone around him looks over, thinking, what the fuck they are doing?”
I nod and frown again, because I totally know what he’s talking about. There is always one person that drinks too much or has taken too many drugs that stand on their own, dancing like a crazy person.
“Tell me, did he continue dancing on his own? I mean after the initial shock and looks of people wondering what the fuck he’s doing.
Did he remain on his own? Sure, he may have started on his own, but it takes one, maybe two people to follow.
Then it becomes three crazy idiots dancing.
But because they are out there, and look like they are having fun, do you know what happens, Cookie?
More people join. And before you know it, there’s a whole crowd of people dancing like crazy loons. But all it took was one person. One.”
He holds up his finger.
“One person to be brave enough, or crazy enough, to go and stand on their own and dance.” He stares at me intently. “The smallest of pebbles creates a wave. You just have to be brave enough to ride it. So, let me ask you something, Lucy? Will you dance with this idiot?
“I’m fairly sure you have merged your analogies there. Besides, I’m on an assignment. This is a job, and in three months, we will be parting ways. Again,” I respond nonchalantly.
“Okay, Cookie, you keep telling yourself that.” He leans in closer and whispers in my ear, “But there were two people in that kitchen this morning, and I seem to remember just how loudly you screamed as I fucked you.”
The doors of the room open, and I stand up, putting distance between us as Owen lets out a little laugh.
I wish he’d choke on it.
Fucking arsehole.
The detective who took our statement stands in the doorway. “Mr Cooper, your office has called. We can’t make it happen.”
Owen stands up and walks past me, his shoulder brushing into mine. Every touch sends shockwaves through me.
Did I say he was an arsehole?
I mean he isn’t far from it, but if I keep telling myself that, maybe these feelings will go away along with the temptation. Right? Because even though he stands for the very thing I despise, I can’t help but want him. I can’t help but want a repeat of whatever the fuck that was this morning.
“Yeah, sorry, I got them to call you out of courtesy. I wasn’t asking for your permission,” Owen states flatly, his voice strong, confident. Daring the detective to argue with him.
He’s always been stubborn and strong, but as he stands with last night’s clothes, looking dishevelled, he radiates power.
“Mr Cooper.”
He holds up his hand, silencing the detective. “Like I said, it was a courtesy. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
He turns around and puts his hand out to me, which I take and bow my head, as though the exchange is making me uncomfortable. If I’m being completely honest, I’m finding it highly amusing. A smile tugs at my lips, which I have to fight to suppress.
You can see the large foreboding detective swallow and look taken aback, not sure what he can say to stop this. I can practically hear the cogs in his head preparing to spout some police bullshit, but he knows there is literally nothing that will stop Owen from giving his statement.
The detective sighs, his fingers pinching the tip of his nose.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “So be it but need I remind you that this is an ongoing investigation. I do not need you adding fuel to the fire.”
“I don’t think he wants to add fuel.” I smile politely. “He’d rather ride waves and dance.”
Owen looks down at me and grins while the detective shakes his head, awash with confusion.
“Have at em!” He steps to one side and holds his arm out, allowing us to pass.
“I knew you’d think about dancing with me,” Owen whispers.
“I danced with you last night and look where that got me. Shot in the arm,” I whisper, aware the detective is a few steps behind us as he escorts us out of the police station.
We walk along the clinical hallways, the luminous lights making it cold and empty. “Do you even know what you’re going to say? Don’t you have minions who write speeches?”
“I’ll wing it.”
I snort, muttering, “Wing it! The future Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, everyone.”
“Ahh. I’m flattered that you have so much faith in me.”
We head to the main reception area where we are signed out, and I take the moment to glance out at the circus that awaits.
Just like the detective warned us, the street is awash with reporters. All waiting for our exit. Cameras in their hands, microphones at the ready. There are no metal gates or anything to stop them. We will literally be bombarded as soon as we step outside.
Well, this isn’t ideal.
Fucking Owen Cooper. He stands tense next to me.
“I can’t protect you out there. You are literally a walking target for anyone to pick off.”
“I’m winging it, why can’t you?”
“This isn’t funny, King,” I hiss, turning to him. He looks down, and glances back at the crowd hesitantly.
“I have to do this, Cookie,” he explains, his face serious. “I have to show my face. I have to say what I need to say.”
“But you don’t know what you’re even saying,” I retort, frustration growing.
“What would help this situation?”
“Not doing it.”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, like I said, that isn’t going to happen. So, turn your cute little face that way.”
He grabs hold of my chin and spins it back to the double doors in front of us. I bat his hand away, annoyed. “And tell me, what I can do to put you at ease?”