Chapter 42
Robyn
My jail cell is gray. It has gray walls, a gray floor, and a gray door with a small slot at the bottom for food trays.
There’s another at eye level that they slide open whenever they want to look at me.
The bed is a slab of concrete with a thin mattress on top and a blanket I keep pulling up to my chin, even though it isn’t cold in here.
The gray overalls are too big for me. The sleeves swallow my hands if I let them. I keep folding the cuffs back, and they keep slipping down.
They took everything from me when I came in, including my cell phone. They even took my hairband. I feel like a criminal, even though I’ve done nothing wrong.
I roll onto my side and stare at the wall.
This can’t really be happening to me.
I keep hoping to wake up. To open my eyes and find that I’m in my bed, in my apartment. That none of this is real.
Do my staff know I’m in here? Do they think I’m guilty?
Ridge said that he thinks I’m innocent. Was he just saying that?
Why did I let him into my life? There was that voice telling me not to. Why didn’t I listen?
The worst part of all is that I still have feelings for him, after all that he did to me.
I still want to trust him and even forgive him.
I’m an idiot.
There is only one reason Ridge came back into my life. It was to find evidence against me.
That’s it. The end.
Why did he have to sleep with me to do it?
He didn’t need to. He had an all-access pass to every area of my life. He could have done his job without ever laying a hand on me.
So why did he?
I roll onto my back, looking up at the ceiling, which is also gray.
I think he did it to get an edge. Ridge took every bit of that edge and used it.
He used me.
I blink hard and turn my face toward the wall.
I am not going to cry. I cried last night after they locked me away in here, and now I need to be strong. I drag my hand under each eye and roll onto my back.
I’m exhausted. I’ve barely slept. Every time I start to drift, my brain reminds me where I am.
The mattress is hard. The pillow is harder. The lights in the corridor stay on all night.
My stomach is in a tangle. They brought me a breakfast tray this morning and another one an hour ago for lunch. I couldn’t eat any of it. The thought of food makes me feel sick.
The tray is still sitting on the small ledge under the slot in the door, untouched.
Footsteps sound in the corridor, and they’re coming this way.
I close my eyes. They’re probably coming for the tray.
The footsteps stop outside my door.
There’s the rasp of a key in a lock, and then a heavier sound as the bolt slides back. The door swings open.
I look over there. Two female guards stand in the doorway. One is shifter-tall and broad through the shoulders. The other is human, shorter than me, with a sharp face and her hair scraped back so tight it pulls her brows up at the corners.
“Dr. Keller,” the tall one says. “On your feet. You’re coming with us.”
I sit up. My legs feel strange. Too light, like they belong to someone else.
“Where?”
“Just stand up, please.”
I do as they say and stand.
The shorter one steps into the cell. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
The cuffs go on. They’re not tight like last night.
“Let’s go.”
I walk between them down the corridor. The light is harsh, and doors line both walls, all the same gray, all closed. I wonder if any of them have someone behind them. I wonder if Magma is in one of them somewhere. I want to ask, but I don’t.
We go through one set of doors that has to be buzzed open. Then another. Then up a short ramp into a different corridor, wider, with linoleum instead of concrete. The shorter guard walks slightly ahead. The tall one walks behind me. Neither of them speaks to me again.
At the end of the second corridor, the tall one keys a code into a panel beside a heavy door. The door clicks open.
She holds it open with one hand and gestures me through with the other.
“Inside, please.”
Here we go again.
The interrogation room is the same one as last night. I was brought here for questioning after they processed me.
A camera blinks in the corner.
Vance is already in the chair across the table. It’s the same shifter as yesterday. The same male who interrogated me for nearly two hours.
His hair is buzzed close to his scalp, dark with a fleck of silver at the temple, and he has a face that looks like it has been broken at least twice and reset by someone who was in a hurry. His eyes are a pale blue.
“Dr. Keller.” He gestures to the chair opposite him. “Have a seat.”
The tall guard unlocks the cuffs and clips them to her belt. I rub my wrists and sit.
The shorter guard steps back and stands beside the door. The tall one goes to the other corner. Vance opens a folder in front of him.
He looks the same as he did yesterday. It’s the same dark uniform, the same name tag, the same patient, unreadable face. He has a paper cup of coffee in front of him. The folder is thicker than it was yesterday.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks.
“No, thank you.”
He nods once, like he was expecting that. Then he turns the folder so the open page is angled toward me.
“This interview is being recorded.” He makes a show of switching a recorder on. A light starts blinking. “I’m going to take you through some of the same ground we covered yesterday.”
Of course he is.
“Okay,” I deadpan.
“Dr. Keller. Are you an asset for the Mainland?”
“No.”
He waits. I keep my eyes on his.
“Have you, at any time during your tenure on Draig, passed classified information to any individual or organization on the Mainland?”
“No.”
“Have you been in contact, by any means, with any individual on the Mainland who is not your immediate family or a previously approved professional contact?”
“No.”
He turns a page in the folder.
“Have you ever owned or used a burner phone?”
“No.”
“Are you certain about that, Dr. Keller? It’s a yes or no question, but I want you to be very sure before you answer.”
“I’m certain. I only have one cell phone. The one you guys took from me last night, and that’s it.”
He turns the folder another quarter, so it faces me fully.
There’s a photograph clipped to the top of the page of a cheap black cell phone. It’s in a clear plastic evidence bag. There’s a label with a long number on it, and a date.
I stare at it.
“Have you seen this phone before?”
“No.”
“Take your time, Doctor.”
“I don’t need to take my time. I have not seen that phone before.” Frustration edges into my voice.
“It was found in your hospital. In the high-end equipment storage room, in the bottom drawer of the workbench, taped to the underside.”
“I’ve never put anything under a drawer in that room. I rarely go in there. It’s mainly the head nurses who sign out equipment.”
“But you have been inside that particular room before?”
“Yes, all the surgeons and head nurses have.”
“So, you have access?”
“I have access to almost every room in that building.” I sigh.
“Did you plant this phone?”
“No.” I sound irritated. I try hard to calm down because getting upset isn’t going to help me.
He turns another page that has a multitude of screenshots. They’re mostly long text messages. I can see my name under most of them, even though I didn’t write them.
“Did you send these messages? Take your time and look before answering.”
“No, I didn’t!”
Vance keeps going in the same loop. Asking the same questions, over and over. He’s hoping I’ll trip myself up if he asks for the eleventh time whether I have ever received money I haven’t declared.
My eyes burn. My head is starting to throb at my temples. My mouth is dry, but I don’t ask him for water now.
The questions go on and on. I have no idea how long I’ve been in this chair, but my butt starts to go numb.
“These documents were found in your private bathroom, Dr. Keller.” He drops a stack of photocopies in front of me. “They have your fingerprints on them. The evidence we have is damning. It would be better if you cooperated. I can get your sentence reduced if you tell us what you know.”
“I don’t know anything.” My voice shakes.
He sighs. “Let’s take it from the top. Are you giving classified information to someone on the Mainland?”
I want to growl my frustration. More than anything, I want to cry…or scream.
I do neither.
“No,” I tell him. “I didn’t do this. I didn’t do any of it.”
“Have you ever owned or used a burner phone like this one?” He shows me the same picture.
My heart sinks.
I might end up being sentenced and going to prison.
I can’t believe this.