Page 132 of Driftwood Daffodil 3

“You must’ve written it down wrong.”

“No,” he insisted. “I wrote down exactly what you said.”

That was a bold faced lie. Not once in my life had I ever said the word assant. In fact I was pretty sure that wasn’t a word at all.

“Listen Bob…”

“My name is George.”

So, he expected me to know his name when he didn’t know mine?

“WhateverGreg, it’s not my problem if you assumed my attacker was a man.”

“I didn’t assume any?—”

I held up my hand, cutting him off. “Don’t blame me for your sexist views. What, you don’t think a girl can hold someone hostage? Because a girl could totally hold someone hostage.”

“I never said that…”

“But you admit that you’re sexist?”

He took offence to that. “I am not sexist.”

“Well, I’m not the one who assumed your criminal was a man.”

This was going so much better than I thought. I didn’t think he was sexist and I did say it was a man, but the flustered look on his face made me want to snicker. Poor bastard was trying not to say the wrong thing.

“I did not… you said… I was…”

This was what I would call a win-win situation for me. No matter which way this went, I wouldn’t have to talk to this guy anymore.

“I’m going to have to insist on another officer. Clearly you have a problem with women.”

“Is this because I arrested your brother two years ago?”

Oh, so now he knew who I was. “I don’t knowJohn. What do you think?”

“It’s George.”

“I don’t care.”

He huffed out a sigh. “Your brother killed someone. I was doing my job.”

“If you were doing your job then you would’ve investigated my sister’s rape.”

“We found no evidence that your sister was raped.”

Bullshit. All they had to do was look at her. Her jaw and hipbones were shattered. “Fuck offJim.”

“George,” he corrected again. “And I’m not going anywhere until you tell me who attacked you.”

“You’ll find him in the hospital in room 1063 where my sister almost died.”

I could see the frustration in his eyes when they rolled up to mine. “You’re not doing anyone any favors by keeping his identity secret.”

“Fine,” I huffed. “It was Atlas Mancini.”

He looked at me.

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