Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Hello!” Sloane called as she stretched her body and craned her head.
“Is anybody out there?” She yanked hard at the handcuff around her wrist. One around her wrist and one around the leg of what had to be the heaviest table known to man.
She’d tried dragging that table with her a few moments ago, and it had barely screeched a few inches.
What in the world was the thing made of?
Just how long was she going to be left to just sit and stare at the blank walls in the sheriff’s office?
She’d been given fresh clothes, thankfully.
An oversized, black sweat suit and some tennis shoes that appeared to be at least ten years old and a size too big.
But no way would she complain about the outfit.
She was thrilled not to be sitting in Preston’s navy blue shirt any longer.
Preston.
She needed to talk with him. Once more, her head angled toward the door.
The closed door. “Hello!” Sloane yelled again.
This wasn’t an interrogation room, or at least, not a typical one.
There was no one-way mirror to the side through which she’d be watched by the sheriff and her team.
The white walls were blank, stark, and the massive conference table filled the room.
Yes, that was probably what the room was—a conference room.
A meeting space for the deputies, and the small building didn’t have any other place for suspected kidnappers, so she’d been left inside it.
“I deserve a phone call! You have to let me make one phone call!” Could anyone hear her? “And I get an attorney!”
The door flew open.
“Ah.” Sloane nodded. “Attorney. Right. That was the magic word, wasn’t it?
” Sloane’s wrist twisted against the cuff as she eyed the sheriff.
“Have we been formally introduced? I mean, I know you were at the scene last night and at the hospital, but it all was pretty crazy. How about we start over? I think we got off on the wrong foot.” She tried a bright smile.
The sheriff glowered harder at her.
Not a smile fan. Noted. “I’m Sloane Armstrong, and you are…?”
“Sheriff Debra Tooni. Something you know.”
Sloane straightened in her seat. She ignored the throb in her wrist where the cuff had started to bruise her. Technically, she’d probably been bruising herself with all the wrenching on the cuff.
The sheriff shut the door. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Sloane with clear suspicion. “Why the hell are you in my town?”
“Uh—”
“I’m running your prints right now.”
“I don’t have a criminal record, so my prints aren’t going to turn up any results.”
“What’s your game, Sloane? Why are you here?”
“I’m not playing a game. And I’m here because you arrested me. Without cause, by the way.”
Debra growled.
“You did,” Sloane added. “Look, any good lawyer will get all charges against me thrown out. And, by the way, I feel duty bound to inform you that I happen to know an exceptionally good lawyer. Met her fairly recently. She works for my buddy, Atlas.” A fast exhale.
“But I don’t think calling her will be necessary.
I’m sure you and I can clear all of this up. ”
“Why are you stalking Preston Byron?”
Back to that, huh? Sloane yanked at the cuff. “Can you remove this? I mean, total overkill, am I right? Not like I’ll run out of here.”
Debra glanced at the cuff. Then back at Sloane’s face. “Why are you stalking him?”
“So, let’s take a step back and look at the big picture.
If I hadn’t been in the right place yesterday, no one would have known that Preston was taken.
He would have been buried, and he could have died in there.
” Or maybe he would have dug himself out.
Maybe I’m only alive because Preston got us out.
But she plowed on determinedly, “If he’d died, no one would have ever found his body, and I suspect that at this very moment, he’d still be in his new grave.
” Saying the words sent a shiver running over her body.
“Maybe instead of acting like I’m the bad guy, we should just take a moment and acknowledge that I’m sort of responsible for him being alive? ”
Debra’s expression truly could have been carved from stone.
Fine. Time for another tactic. Sloane was good at shifting gears.
“The search you’re conducting on my belongings is bogus.
Nothing in my bags will do you any good.
The guy who broke into my room at the inn had no business going inside.
Any good judge will toss everything. That’s provided, of course, that I had committed any crime in the first place.
And I didn’t. Owning a calendar is not a crime.
Having photos of a person is not a crime. ”
“Your laptop is password protected.”
Her brows rose. “You tried to access my private laptop?” A whistle escaped her. “Okay, I think I’ve reached my limits. I will be calling that lawyer I previously mentioned. Because this is all a serious overreach.”
Debra moved fast. Faster than Sloane had anticipated. One moment, she was near the door. In the next instant, the sheriff was looming over the table. Looming over Sloane. “I am not in the mood for bullshit.” Sharp and angry. “A man almost died last night.”
“A man and a woman almost died last night. Let’s not forget that I was trapped in that dark hole with him.”
Debra’s jaw tightened.
“Bring in Preston.” The words just slipped out from Sloane. “Let me talk to him. Alone. For five minutes.” Because she did not want him to receive the next bit of news from someone else. “Let me talk to him, and, after we’re done, I’ll answer your questions.” That was a fair deal, wasn’t it?
“You aren’t calling the shots.” Debra’s glare probably could have melted glass.
“Then I’m not saying another word.” She would not.
“Yes, you will. You’ll talk. They always talk. They always break.”
Sloane merely arched a brow. You don’t know me.
“You will talk,” Debra assured her.
Sure, I will. To Preston. Not to you.
A soft rap sounded at the door.
“What?” Debra barked.
The door squeaked open. A young deputy with a wide forehead a sharp chin poked his head inside. “Sheriff Tooni?
“What is it, Eugene? I’m busy.”
“I-I got something you’ll want to see…”
Debra glared at Sloane once more. Then she smiled. The smile was pretty jarring because it was—somehow—as angry as her glare had been. “Don’t go anywhere.” With that, the sheriff sauntered for the door.
Oh, cute. Funny. She couldn’t go anywhere because she was still cuffed. No wonder the sheriff had flashed her snarky grin.
The sheriff slammed the door on her way out.
Sloane’s shoulders sagged.
“I want to see Sloane. Now.” Preston had seen the sheriff exiting the conference room, and he moved to confront her. Immediately. He’d already answered all of her questions. Told her everything that he remembered about the attack. Damn little, unfortunately. Now he wanted Sloane.
But a young deputy was in his way. Eugene Calvin. Tall, thin. Nervous hands. Sweaty forehead.
“She wants to see you, too,” Debra muttered. “But that’s not happening.”
The hell it wasn’t.
“What did you get?” Debra asked Eugene. “A hit on her prints?”
Preston wanted in that conference room. He wanted Sloane. “You don’t want to fuck with me right now.”
“I don’t want to fuck with you anytime,” Debra returned without missing a beat. “You are not my type.”
“She…doesn’t have a criminal record. But…” Eugene’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I did locate information on her. She, um, she was pretty famous when she was a teen.”
What?
“What?” Debra blasted, echoing his own thoughts.
But Eugene was hustling toward his computer. Most of the staff members were missing from the sheriff’s station. Probably out at the crime scene in the woods, and Preston wanted to be out there, too. No, correction, he would be out there. After he talked to Sloane.
She didn’t try to kill me.
He wouldn’t believe it.
He shouldn’t have let Debra take Sloane from his house. He should have picked up Sloane and hauled her back inside his home and locked out the rest of the world.
But…
Debra rushed to Eugene’s computer. Curiosity clawing at him, Preston did, too. And, over Eugene’s thin shoulders, he read the headlines. The old articles that the internet never forgot.
Teen Girl Sole Survivor of Grisly Murder Scene.
Teenage Beauty Queen Lives Through House of Death.
Preston shook his head.
Why Didn’t He Kill Her? Teenager Only Survivor…
Preston shoved Eugene out of the way, sent the deputy rolling on his chair, and started scanning those articles.
Loved To Death. Boyfriend Kills—
He gripped the edge of the desk so hard that Preston was surprised he didn’t break the freaking thing.
“Her parents were murdered when she was sixteen,” Eugene said, his voice cracking a bit on the word murdered as he rolled his chair back toward the desk. “She, uh, she was in the house at the time. Some place on the bayou in Louisiana. She found the bodies, after she slept through the attack.”
Yes, yes, Preston was reading all of that.
“Her boyfriend did it,” Eugene blurted. “Said she wanted him to do it for her, but it was just—just his word. His word against hers. He said she planned it all, but the cops didn’t buy his story. The guy was sent to prison. Found guilty of both murders.”
What. The. Fuck?
“There’s more,” Eugene added. He poked close to Preston. His head bobbed as he clicked on the keyboard. “She’s a psychologist now. And get this, her specialty is—”
“Abnormal psych,” Preston growled as he straightened to his full height. He needed to see her. Now.
“No.” Another crack of Eugene’s voice. “It’s serial killers.”
Preston’s head whipped toward him.
Eugene’s eyes went very, very wide. “But, yeah, sure, they’re abnormal. You could totally call them abnormal. Not like normal people become serial killers.”
Screw this. Preston took off for the conference room.
“Wait!” Debra’s cry. “Wait, dammit, wait!” She physically put herself in front of the conference room door. “Preston, you need to calm down.”
“I am calm.” He was. Calm. Cold. Still in control.
Maybe.
“Preston.” A warning edge. “This is me. I’ve known you for years.”
She had. Because she’d known his adoptive parents. She’d been there when they first brought him to the mountains, and he’d tried to learn how to breathe again.
“That woman is trouble. You need to stay away from her. Let me handle Sloane Armstrong.”
“She was stalking me. I want to know why.”
“She…no, dammit, no!”
“Yes.” Still, very calm.
Debra glanced back at the closed door. “She said she’d only talk to you. That if I gave her just five minutes with you, she’d cooperate.”
“Then give her the five minutes.” He had to get inside that room. Right now. All right. Maybe he wasn’t in total control. Maybe he could feel his control shredding, like something was clawing him from the inside.
“She wants the time alone with you.”
“Done.”
Debra didn’t move.
“I can handle her.” He was about to physically move Debra out of his way. “Pretty sure I outweigh Sloane by about a hundred pounds.”
“She’s cuffed,” Debra groused. “She won’t be able to hurt you.”
“Then what are we waiting for? Step aside and let me find out the truth about her.”
He could see the struggle on her face. But, after a tense beat, Debra gave a grim nod. She stepped to the right, moving out of his path. Preston’s hand flew for the doorknob, but her fingers curled around his wrist. “Be careful with her.”
“Like I said, I think I can handle her.”
“She plays mind games. I’ve seen her type before. At sixteen, she might have convinced her boyfriend to kill for her.”
He felt a hard ripple beneath his skin. Actually felt his control crack.
“After that, she went on to get a freaking PhD in psychology. That means she knows all about getting into a person’s head.
She became an expert at the job.” She tapped her left temple.
“She’ll get in here, and she’ll mess with you.
Like I said, I’ve seen it before.” Because Debra had done a stint with the FBI years ago.
She’d been so scarred by the things she’d seen that she’d quit the Bureau and taken the sheriff’s position in town.
“Don’t let her take you down.” A fierce warning.
“I have this.” Guttural. But he very much feared that he did not have this. That ripple came again. His skin felt too tight. His body too tense. He wrenched the doorknob. Threw open the door. Anger—no, fury boiled within him because Sloane had—
“Oh, there you are. Finally.” She sent him her sunny smile as she tugged on the handcuff around her wrist. One cuff around her wrist. One cuff that appeared to be locked around a table leg. “Took your sweet time coming in, didn’t you?”
He shut the door behind him. Sucked in a deep breath.
“But you’re here now.” An encouraging nod. “I’m really, really glad to see you.” A pause. “Even if you did let your sheriff BFF arrest me while I was just wearing your shirt.” A slow shake of her head. “Not cool. For future reference, you should be on my side. And I’ll be on yours.”
He rushed toward the table. Toward her. His hands slammed down on the wooden surface.
“Why would I ever be on your side?” His breath heaved out.
“Apparently, you have a history with killers. You got your boyfriend to murder your parents when you were sixteen, and you made a career out of learning how to manipulate everyone around you.” His nostrils flared as the rage grew.
She’d gotten beneath his guard. She’d been in the dark with him. And he’d wanted, he’d hoped—
“Ah, dug into my background, did you? Well, you shouldn’t believe everything you read.
” A soft sigh. “Though I do have to confess that I may have a slight obsession with killers. Understanding them. Figuring out what makes them tick.” A pause.
“Stopping them.” Her gaze held his. “Stopping them is very important to me. A priority.”
He didn’t—
“That’s why I’m here. Well, not here in this horrible room. I’m in this room because you didn’t trust me.” Her shoulders squared. “I meant that I’m here in this town because I’m trying to stop killers. That’s the reason why I came to you.”
The thunder of his heartbeat echoed in Preston’s ears.
“You should sit down,” Sloane urged him. There was actual worry in her dark eyes. “Because this will be really hard for you to hear. I’m afraid that I have some very bad news to give you.”