Chapter 19
BLAKE
I’ve been waiting so long that I'm wondering if Walker is pulling some kind of elaborate prank on me.
When we got to the station last night, Walker emptied my pockets and locked me in here. I've been in this interrogation room for hours. I wouldn't be surprised if the sun has come up.
Peering into the two-way, I make note of the dark circles under my eyes. I tried sleeping, but a metal chair and table aren't exactly the ideal bed.
The warm beige walls and the gray tile flooring of the interrogation room are nothing special to look at. So much so that I feel like I’ll go cross-eyed any second.
Despite my exhaustion, I get to my feet and yell through the door. “Hello? Anybody there?”
I try to turn the doorknob, something I've done periodically, but find it locked. Frustrated, I groan and plop back down in the chair.
As I'm rubbing my eyes, the tumblers in the doorknob click, and Walker strolls in, a paper cup of coffee in each hand. He sits down in the chair on the opposite side of the table, passing one of the cups to me. The smell of freshly brewed coffee makes me perk up in my seat.
As I'm bringing the cup to my mouth, Walker starts, “Miss Jennings—”
I interrupt him with the sound that is halfway between a groan and a growl. “Oh, God. Not this bullshit again.”
Walker gives me a look, telling me to behave. “What were you doing at Riverbend Trailer Park?”
Taking a quick sip of the coffee, I keep my answers simple. “I was checking in on my mom.” Walker scrutinizes my answer, and I know he sees right through my half-truth. “I need to—”
It's Walker's turn to interrupt me. “This is the second time you were the first person at the scene of a homicide. Both people were killed in the exact same way.” As he says the second statement, he lays out two photos of the bodies from each crime scene as well as headshots of two Men.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I quip back, then look more closely at the pictures of live people. “Are these the victims?” The two pictures look like DMV photos.
Walker slides the pictures closer to me across the table. “Do you know them?”
“That’s Reverend Ricks.” I answer, pointing to the first photo, then I indicate the second as I respond, “I don’t know who that is.”
Walker taps his index finger on Rick's photo. “What’s your relationship with the reverend?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I lean back in my chair. “He presided over my dad’s funeral services and burial.”
“Is that all?” Walker interrogates as if I'm not telling the whole truth.
His suspicion is understandable. He's right. I was at both crime scenes before anyone else, but he doesn't know that it was by design.
“Yes,” I answer firmly.
Walker points to the unknown man's picture. “And you don’t recognize this man?”
I shake my head, giving the same answer as before. “No. Should I?”
“This is Derek Holt,” he informs me. “He’s a firefighter.”
“The first victim,” I deduce, then scoff. “Well, that’s ironic.”
If dark humor is the only thing that makes me smile right now, I’ll take it. I’m at the point where I’m either going to laugh or cry hysterically, and I’m choosing to laugh.
Walker tilts his head to the side inquisitively. “How so?”
Raising my eyebrows, I speak slowly, emphasizing each word condescendingly. “He’s a firefighter, and he was set on fire.”
“And?” Walker mirrors me, leaning back in his own chair.
I know he's just doing his job, but it is annoying the hell out of me.
“If I need to explain irony to you, then public education failed you,” I retort.
Walker gives me another chance to come clean. “Blake, tell me the truth. Why were you there?”
“I already told you,” I reply with tight lips.
“Tell me again,” he insists.
“I was checking on my mom,” I repeat.
Walker rests his forearms on the table, leaning toward me and lowering his voice. “That’s not the real reason.”
Rolling my eyes, I respond. “If you would just list—”
Walker jumps to his feet, his chair scraping against the tile floor. He slams his hand on the table, causing me to jump. “The body was found right next to your mother’s trailer. You got there before me, my deputies, and the fire department. I want to know how.”
“Lucky guess,” I lie again.
Walker’s jaw flexes, irritation rolling off him. “Bullshit.”
“I had a hunch.” My eyes drop to my lap.
“How?” he pushes again.
My hands ring together as I swallow dryly.
Do I tell him? Will he believe me? Will he be angry?
I guess Walker’s anger is better than him believing that I’m a murderer.
My heart races as I chew on my bottom lip. “I’ve been getting these texts.”
“What texts?” Walker grits out.
“The reason I came back…” I trail off, then choose to start at the beginning. “I was at a club with my best friend, Savannah, when I got these text messages from this guy.”
Walker sits back down. “Who?”
“I don’t know who it is. I actually don’t even know if it’s a man. That’s just what I say in my head.”
“What did the texts say?” Walker’s tone is deceptively even.
“If you give me my phone, I can show you,” I offer.
He’s gone and back in less than a minute with my phone in his hand. I type in the passcode and pull up the text thread, sliding my phone back to him. He takes his time reading them, possibly more than once. His body becomes more and more tense the longer we sit in silence.
“When were you going to tell me about these?” He fumes at a low volume.
I shift incessantly in my seat. “I’m showing you now.”
Walker holds my phone up, shaking it. “Whoever this is has threatened not just me, but Santiago and Levi as well. You didn’t think I should know?”
Guilt eats at me, causing my stomach to twist into knots. I have to live with my choices. I’ll never know if things could have turned out differently, so there’s no point in wasting time sorting through all the “what ifs.”
“Do you need your eyes checked? He told me not to,” I huff. “Besides, I know you know I’ve been following you all and my mom. If something had happened, I would’ve stopped it.”
“You’re one person attempting to surveil four. If I need to do that math for you, then public education failed you,” he throws my sarcasm back in my face, but his statement carries more weight.
Tightening my jaw, I turn my head to the side. “I know what I’m doing.”
Walker holds up a finger for each of his rebuttals. “You have no law enforcement training, no weapons training, and no hand-to-hand combat training. Do you even know self-defense?”
My hands tighten into fists as I give Walker a piercing stare. “You don’t know that. I could be an MMA fighter for all you know.”
He raises his brows. “Are you?”
“No,” I answer quietly. My voice grows in pitch and ire as I add, “But again, he told me not to.”
“You still should have told me,” he asserts again.
My eyes widen. “And risk something happening to you? No.”
“I can handle it.” He seems so convinced of that statement as if there is no alternative.
My fists slam down on the table, my frustration exploding. “I don’t want you to have to handle it.”
“Why not?”
I stammer my response. “Because.”
“Why?” he asks again.
My pulse pounds in my ears, my heart feeling like it’s about to jump out of my chest.
“I hate seeing you hurt!” I shout at Walker as if my outburst is all his fault.
The emotional temperature in the room is at an all-time high, and it’s not regulating any time soon.
Tears clog my throat as I continue. “I can’t bear it.
Please don’t make me. Seeing you in pain, it feels like I’ve been stabbed in the chest. I can’t breathe.
I can’t think straight.” Wiping away the tears on my cheeks, I look him right in the eye.
“So don’t ask that of me. I won’t do it. ”
I don’t know how to decipher the look on Walker’s face. It’s similar to the face he made when we were in the back of the ambulance. It’s as if he might…
No. He wouldn’t. He doesn’t see me that way.
Walker gets to his feet, rounds the table, and pulls me from my chair by my hand. His hands land on my hips, causing my heart to leap in my chest for a whole different reason than before. His eyes flick to my lips, but I tell myself I must have imagined it.
“How do you think I would’ve felt if it were you who was hurt?” His eyes search mine. “You think I’d survive that?” His grip tightens on my hips. “Because I wouldn’t.” His jaw flexes. “I don’t want to walk into a scene and find you there.” His voice turns rough. “Don’t ask that of me, Baby Girl.”
My heart clenches, unsure what to do. I’ve never seen him so raw.
I’m still trying to figure him out when he breathes out, “Fuck it.”
Walker hauls my body to his and seals our lips together. My mind goes blank. It takes me a second to understand what's happening.
Flinging my arms around Walker's neck, I pull him closer and kiss him back. His facial hair deliciously scrapes against my skin. One of Walker's hands slides to my ass while the other glides to the small of my back as if he needs me closer even though our bodies are fused together.
His length hardens in his jeans, and I feel it pressed against my lower belly. My center pulses, throbbing.
Walker’s tongue licks at the seam of my lips, and I open for him. Our tongues duel for control, neither of us willing to concede. My teeth scrape his lower lip, and he moans, his grip on my ass tightening.
“Fuck,” he whispers. Walker drops his forehead to mine, closing his eyes. The muscles in his jaw stand out as he grits his teeth together. Releasing me, he steps back. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Following his retreat, my hands latch onto the front of his shirt. “I don’t regret it.” Tugging on the fabric, I compel him to make eye contact with me. “I would never regret you.”
He closes his eyes again, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he’s fighting some internal battle. Walker’s hands wrap around my wrists and gently push, forcing me to let go.
Opening the door, he gestures to the hallway. “You’re free to go.”
“Walk,” I start, but he’s out the door and gone before I can get the rest of my sentence out.
My fist presses against my chest as the ache becomes overwhelming. I knew he’d do something like this, and I knew it would hurt. I just didn’t think it would hurt so bad.
I can’t fall apart now, especially not here.
Blinking away the tears, I snag my phone from the table and saunter out. In the hallway, I’m blocked by Tessa. She stands there in her full deputy getup and hands me my purse.
“Thanks.” Slinging the strap across my body, I duck my head and step to the side to continue down the hall.
Tessa moves with me, blocking my way. “If it were me, you’d be booked for homicide.”
My forehead pinches. “Good thing it’s not up to you.”
Tessa does a head-to-toe sweep like she’s slowly scanning my appearance and finds me lacking. “You’re lucky you were cleared by a witness.”
My brows shoot upward as an idea comes to mind. “There was a witness?”
“Sheriff Maddox didn’t tell you?” Tessa squints at me.
“Um. No. He didn’t.” I sway back and forth, trying to see past Tessa. “Who’s the witness? Can I talk to them?”
“And risk witness tampering?” Tessa ridicules.
I frown mockingly. “How would I manipulate the witness? They already cleared me. Besides, I could help.”
“Tessa, we need someone to finish logging in the evidence,” Jolene instructs from her desk. “It’s in Walk’s office.”
Tessa spins, still not letting me by. “Where’s Ridge?”
“He’s finishing the canvas,” Jolene informs, then holds up her hand, motioning for Tessa to stand down. “I got Blake. Don’t worry.”
Tessa gives me one last glare from over her shoulder, then stomps off.
With daylight highlighting the space, I finally get a look around the station. It’s not nearly as intimidating as the TV shows make police stations seem.
It’s smaller.
Older.
More human.
Jolene’s desk operates as both reception and dispatch. It’s both chaotic and organized at the same time.
Out here are the same beige walls and gray tile. The most accurate description for them is “government-issued.”
When the door to Walker’s office snicks closed, I’m pulled from my reverie, and Jolene waves me over. I readily comply.
“Don’t mind Tessa. She doesn’t trust anybody,” she consoles as she shuffles through the papers on her desk.
Discreetly, I wipe under my eyes, hoping that it's not obvious I was about to cry. She may not know it had nothing to do with Tessa, but I still don't want to discuss my relationship with Walker with Jolene.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Can I help with the witness? If they saw someone, I can help with a sketch.”
Jolene finally stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. “Do you have any experience?”
“Not in forensic art,” I specify, “but I am an artist.”
Jolene returns to her earlier task, her thumb pointing over her shoulder at an older woman sitting beside two desks facing each other. “Cheyenne Talbot, manager of Riverbend. She already gave her statement to Tessa. She’s just signing it.”
Did I just get Jolene’s approval?
Unsure of the meaning behind the information, I stand there glued to my spot.
Jolene looks up again. “Go on,” she says, tilting her head in Cheyenne’s direction.
“Oh, right,” I startle. Traipsing to Mrs. Talbot, I snag a blank white paper from the printer on one of the desks and a yellow number two pencil from the other.
My sketchbook and charcoal pencils are in my car, which is still at the trailer park, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that fancy supplies don’t make a masterpiece. The artist does.
A half hour later, all I have is a generic sketch of a man. Mrs. Talbot couldn’t see much, not even the color of his skin, hair, or eyes.
But the sketch proves one thing.
The person who lured me back to Evergreen Falls is a man.
And he knows what he’s doing.