Page 129 of Believe it or Knot

Blood from the man I stabbed. Did I kill someone today? Did I take a life?

The thought has me lunging away from the sink and into a stall, my bruised knees screaming in pain as they hit the tile and I bend over the toilet, heaving violently, my stomach expelling the little there is in it. Not a lot… It was morning when I left my house heading to the Shack. It’s night now, so I haven’t eaten for over twenty-four hours.

There’s a knock on the door before it’s pushed open without my invitation. Detective Banks looks at the still running facet and then back to me where I’m huddled on the floor, his jaw tight, eyes dark with concern. He approaches me slowly, a large sweatshirt in his hands. “Come on, Miss Forbes, let’s get you up.”

I spit into the bowl one more time before pushing shakily to my feet. His big hands steady me until I can stand without wobbling. Then he holds out the sweatshirt. “May I?”

At my jerky nod, he pulls the fabric over my head. It’s big and warm and better than the stained shirt I’m wearing, but it smells all wrong. Like peppermint and snow. Not like my pack- No Sorrel, not your pack.

I give him a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

He waves the words away. “It’s the least I can do.”

Then he guides me down the hall and into a room I honestly never thought I’d see the inside of. An interrogation room.

I feel my face pale further and I’m pretty sure the only reason I don’t crumple to the ground is because of the detective’s hand on me. “It’s okay, Miss Forbes,” he says gently. “It’s just for privacy. You aren’t a suspect here.”

Someone scoffs and we both turn to find a pretty, if severe, looking woman heading toward us. Her hair is pulled back into a tight no-nonsense bun. She’s wearing a dark charcoal gray suit and a crisp white shirt.

Her eyes sweep over me from head to toe, her nude pink lip pulling back into a slight snarl. She’s an alpha. I can tell that from her height and her scent. I have no clue why she’s looking at me like I’m shit on her shoe.

Maybe she just looks at everyone like that.

“Kirkland,” Banks says, his hand coming to the base of my spine and gently guiding me to the single chair on the far side of the table.

“Let’s get this over with,” the woman says, dropping into a seat facing me almost belligerently.

I flick a worried glance at Detective Banks. If Kirkland is a detective in charge of my case, I can’t see this going very well for me.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened, Miss Forbes?” He meets my gaze steadily, injecting me with a calm that gives me the strength to take a deep breath and recount the events of the last day and a half.

It takes a while, longer than I care to admit, seeing as I have to stop frequently to get my emotions under control. I know I need to get this out though, need to tell them what happened. The sooner I do, the more accurate it’ll be. I don’t want to let time muddy the events.

When I’m finished, they both stare at me for a moment, then Kirkland nods once. “Okay, let’s go over it again.”

I frown, my head swimming with exhaustion. But I know what they’re doing looking for inconsistencies in my story, looking for reasons it might not be true. But this is something they do with suspects, isn’t it? Not victims?

Even with that thought, I tell them again, leaving nothing out, just as I did the first time.

However, when I’m finished with my second retelling, Kirkland leans back in her chair, smirking. “Again.”

She can’t be serious. I glance at Banks to find him watching his partner with narrowed eyes.

“Do I need a lawyer?” I ask, uncertainly. “Am I a suspect? You said I wasn’t,” I add to Detective Banks.

“Should you be?” the woman asks, her lip curling into a sneer.

I shake my head slowly. “No, I’m the fucking victim here. I was attacked, drugged, and kidnapped.” Maybe it’s not a good idea to be so harsh with my wording, but I’m exhausted and in pain, and emotionally struggling and so I can’t stop myself from saying, “but you seem to be treating me like a suspect.”

Detective Banks leans forward, eyes kind though intense. “That’s not what’s happening here. We’re just trying to understand what happened.”

I look at him. “And I told you what happened. You can verify it with Sadie and Sylvie. We’ll all tell you the same things.”

“Yes, and why might that be?” the woman sneers. “Perhaps because you came up with a cover story. Hmm?”

I blink at her. “You don’t actually think that, do you?” My head tilts, glimpsing a gold charm bracelet on her wrist. There’s a thin rectangular charm with “Liam Lover” engraved on it. I recognize it because I have one just like it in my cabin. Oh, now I see. “You’re a fan of Liam Cordova’s?”

Her lips tighten. “That’s irrelevant.”

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