Chapter 24
LILIANA
“Ididn’t do anything,” I say to the uniformed cop sitting across from me. “I literally have no idea what any of you people are talking about.” I lean back in my chair, my ass still aching from the sex I had earlier.
I have no idea who the guy was, because my stupid, panicky self left before I got a look at his face. And now, I’m fucking screwed.
All I can come up with is that someone is pressing charges.
“The detectives will be in here with you shortly,” the cop says, grunting something under his breath as he looks at me. My white mask got bagged as evidence, along with my phone and apartment keys.
All because I pepper-sprayed some dude?
Well, I mean, that’s the best-case scenario. The worst case…
No way. I’d know if I was being arrested for what happened at the gallery…right? My head spins, and I stare down at the small Styrofoam cup of lukewarm water in front of me.
It’s probably even more suspicious that I deleted my account less than three blocks from the house I ran from.
Is pepper-spraying an assault? Also, how did that guy know who I am?
I shake my head at myself as I lean back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. I’ve sat in interview rooms plenty of times, and that fact alone is enough to have me wishing I could just…
Disappear.
“Liliana Wilson,” a familiar voice grabs my attention. I glance toward it, seeing Parker step through the opening. “How are you?”
“Um…” My voice trails off. “I could be better.” I search behind him, expecting Shaw to join him, but he doesn’t.
And I don’t know why I’m disappointed.
“So,” Parker pulls out the chair across from me, the legs squealing across the floor. “What happened this evening, Liliana ?” He pulls out my white mask and then slides it across to me.
“Okay, well,” I pause, my face heating up from pure embarrassment. “I mean, obviously, everyone has their thing, and I think that if we’re really going to go there, we should be asking him…” My voice trails off as the door opens, and in walks Detective Shaw, in all his fucking handsome glory…
And very, very watery red eyes.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
No wonder they brought me in.
I’ve been fucking Detective Shaw.
My jaw is nearly on the floor as I meet his gaze, and Shaw meets mine with a glare. All the tension, all the combustible chemistry between us, explodes in my brain.
And I can’t help it. I can’t stop myself.
I fucking laugh.
“Miss Wilson,” Parker snaps. “This is a serious matter. I need to know where you were approximately two hours ago.”
I furrow my brow. “Don’t you already know?”
“Can I see your hands, please?” Parker ignores my questions, and I do as I’m told, pulling them out of my hoodie pockets and holding them out to be seen. “We found a knife on your person,” he continues. “Why’d you have that?”
“Some people are into it?”
His gaze flickers up. “Is that what you thought about Marissa?”
Wait, what?
“Um, I have no idea what Marissa is into. We don’t talk about things like that,” I say carefully, allowing my gaze to jump to Shaw, searching for some kind of answer.
There is none.
“You don’t talk to Marissa about what you’re into?” Parker hits me back with what I think is a rhetorical question, and now I’m just really fucking confused.
“What is going on?” I demand, looking more at Adrian than at Parker.
Detective Shaw never misses a beat, as if he wasn’t balls deep in me a couple of hours ago. “Marissa Samuels was found murdered this evening.”
I stare at him, trying to process what he just said, because that has nothing to do with the fact I pepper-sprayed a homicide detective. And that he’s been the one inside of me this whole time—the guy I fantasized about killing.
How ironic. But also… What happened to Marissa? My head is spinning with confusion that I can’t make any sense of.
“She was found deceased at your studio,” Parker picks up. “And the footage was scrubbed, once again.”
I shake my head; there's too much information ramming into my brain at once. “What do you mean? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And I mean that. I don’t fucking know how to scrub footage. I don’t even know what that entails. I barely handle emails efficiently.
Parker looks annoyed. “The security footage was a deep fake.”
I shake my head. “Okay, but how?”
“Well, we think you can answer that question better than anyone else, Miss Wilson,” Parker says. “You’re our prime suspect right now.”
“That’s… That’s… That’s bullshit.” My voice cracks, and I look up at Adrian, my eyes pleading with his—but it’s as if he doesn’t even fucking see me.
“So what were you doing two hours ago?” Parker repeats himself.
Fucking Detective Shaw.
I fall silent for a moment as the thought penetrates. Could he just deny that we were together? There are no promises that Detective Shaw will tell the truth about what we were doing two hours ago…
But he knows. I peer up at him, trying to read his dark eyes—the eyes that have been raking over my body in the dark.
How could I not know it was him? Did he know it was me?
Obviously… He knew my name. He said it.
“Miss Wilson?” Parker snaps his fingers in the most fucking obnoxious way, making me wonder if I’ve been fantasizing about killing the wrong one this entire time. “You need to tell us where you were two hours ago.”
“Go ahead.” Shaw echoes him, his voice icy.
I level my gaze with two of them, summon up all the courage I have to tell the truth, and then stop myself, already knowing better. “I want a lawyer.”
I’m pretty sure there’s a flicker of relief on Shaw’s face.
Parker lets out a pained sigh and shoves himself back from the table. “You’re making this harder on yourself than it has to be.”
I clasp my hands inside my hoodie pocket, digging my nails into my skin. Fuck this. I need to get some air.
“If you don’t have any concrete reason to hold me, I’m going home.” I keep my words simple and tone even despite starting to freak the fuck out internally. “Then you can consult with my attorney.”
“You can’t just leave,” Parker grits out the words.
“Well, actually…” I push back from the table, hoping I don’t have another panic attack right there. “I can. If you’re not charging me, you can’t keep me here—and that’s a fact.” My eyes jump to Adrian, and he shrugs.
“She’s right.” His tone is clipped, and his partner glares at him. “And she already asked for a lawyer, so we’re done here.”
I hold his gaze. “Yeah, we’re done here.” I head straight for the door, my heart rate picking up at a marathon pace. I still haven’t wrapped my head around the absolute fucking truth bomb I just got dealt.
“They’re searching your apartment as we speak,” Parker says. “You might have to find somewhere else to go.”
I ignore him, my footsteps only growing faster as I make my way through the police station. I push the feeling of deja vu away as I burst through the front doors. I glance behind me, expecting to be chased out.
But there’s no one there.
Not even ballsy enough to confront me. I take a deep breath and then head in the direction of Alice’s apartment. It’s only a few blocks from the police station, and with every fucking step I take, the weight of what’s happened starts to get heavier.
Marissa was murdered.
They think it’s me.
I fantasized about killing Detective Shaw.
Then fucked him unknowingly to cope with it.
“Everything is fine. It’s totally fine,” I repeat the words as I make it to Alice’s apartment. As soon as I see her door, I turn the knob, not even worrying with knocking.
I need her. Like pronto.
The knob gives, and I step inside. “Alice?” I blink, trying to adjust to the darkness. Every freaking curtain is pulled, and the only light is glowing from beneath the door of the bathroom.
“Alice, what the hell? Are you allergic to the light?” I nearly trip over myself as I make my way toward the bathroom. I wince as I nail my shin on her coffee table, but keep going. I knock once and then go for the handle, pushing the door in.
What. The. Fuck.
My eyes widen as I take in the sight of Alice bent over the sink, crimson staining the water as it circles the drain. “What the hell happened?” I blink as I eye the blood spatter in her hair, her right hand bleeding profusely. “Alice…”
She startles sideways and looks up at me, her entire expression manic. “She wouldn’t be quiet, Lil. She wouldn’t be quiet.”
I take a deep breath, swallowing the sick feeling. “Who wouldn’t be quiet?”
“Marissa,” she mutters. “Stupid fucking Marissa. She was so sad about Vic, and she just kept digging where she shouldn’t.”
“Alice, what did you do?” I keep my tone careful.
She sweeps her gaze across the floor and then up to my eyes. “You mean, what did you do? You started this, Lil.”
“What are you fucking talking about? I didn’t start anything.” I take a step toward her, and then freeze as Alice grabs for a shiny, freshly cleaned knife. I raise my hands in a low surrender, palms out. “We need to talk about all this.”
“I thought it would be easier to frame someone,” Alice holds the knife up and glares at me. “But the detectives were slow. I was just trying to help you with the problem. I thought they’d take Marissa in for sure.”
My jaw drops. “You mean, you were trying to get Marissa thrown in jail… Because she… annoyed me?”
“That’s what friends are for.” She gives me a wicked grin.
“But then it all went wrong.” She shakes her head and takes a step toward me.
“And I thought, surely, I could straighten it out. But then Marissa started getting jumpy and digging. She was digging!” Alice’s voice grows shrill to the point that I don’t even recognize her.
“I’m sorry that happened,” I say, keeping my voice low and even. “But it can be over now.”
“They’re going to put you in prison,” Alice turns to me, blood still splattered across her face. “And it’s my fault.”
“That’s not true,” I reason with her, my heart pounding in my chest as Alice takes a step toward me.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, giving me a pained frown. “I wanted better for you, Lil. After everything you’ve been through.”
“It’s okay. We can just go to the police—”
“No,” she cuts me off, shaking her matted hair. “We can’t. I have to put you out of your misery. You’re so tortured.”
“I’m really not…”
“You are.” Her icy eyes meet mine, and I don’t recognize a single thing in them. “And I’ll fix it for you.”
And then she lunges at me.
“Alice!” I scream as her body collides with mine. I’m knocked backward, tripping over my Converse. I crash onto the coffee table, the glass splintering beneath my back. I let out a scream of pain as we fall through it.
“Please don’t do this,” I say, the light from the bathroom casting this creepy glow across her face as she raises her knife. “Please.”
“It’s for the best,” she whispers. “I love you, Lil.”
“Alice…” My left hand shoots out to the side, and I grab for a shard of glass, slicing open my hand. I raise it, and in seemingly slow motion, I thrust my hand toward her neck.
But I can’t.
She leans back, a sick laughter slipping from her lips as tears slip down my face, and my fingers tremble. “See, your dad was wrong, Lil. You’re nothing like him. You don’t have it in—”
Three shots in rapid succession cut Alice’s words short.