Page 50 of Anton

The older officer, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the light, nodded once. “Yes, a little,” he replied, his voice slow but clear. His partner shifted slightly, watching us with quiet interest.

Relief stirred inside me, though it was quickly tempered by an unease I couldn’t shake. “My girlfriend and I…” I gestured to Marcie beside me, “were attacked and need help,” I said, keeping my tone controlled, though my pulse thudded in my ears.

The younger officer exchanged a brief look with his partner before stepping closer. “Attacked where?” he asked, his tone made harsher by his thickly accented English.

“Not sure,” I replied, motioning vaguely toward the forest behind us. “We had to run into the forest to escape and got lost. We managed to get away, but the men who attacked us… they’re still out there.”

The younger officer’s frown deepened as his gaze flicked to Marcie. His eyes lingered on her torn clothes and dirt-streaked face. His brows knit together in what looked like concern. “You are safe now,” he said, his tone softening. “We will help.”

Marcie stayed quiet, her hand slipping into mine. I squeezed her fingers but resisted the urge to look at her, keeping my focus on the officers.

The older officer gestured up the street to their patrol car. “We will take you to the police station, in Pozo Alcón, and talk there,” he said, his voice calm but commanding.

I hesitated, scanning their faces for any sign of deception. Their professional composure revealed nothing. If they knew who we were, they weren’t showing it.

Marcie shifted slightly. “We can’t keep running,” she murmured, her voice barely audible yet filled with quiet urgency.

Exhaling slowly, I gave a curt nod before meeting the older officer’s gaze. “Fine,” I said, my voice firm but resigned. “Let’s go.”

He inclined his head, stepping aside to let us pass. “Come,” he said evenly, gesturing toward their patrol car.

As we reached the vehicle, the younger officer opened the boot and pulled out a bag, removing a few chocolate bars and a bottle of water.

He held them out to us. “You are hungry, no?” he asked in broken English. “It is all I have. More at station,” he added with a smile.

“Thanks,” I replied, accepting the items and passing one of the bars to Marcie.

In the back of the police car, Marcie quickly unwrapped the chocolate, taking a bite. Her eyelids fluttered as she savoured the taste for a moment before she devoured it in a few quick bites. I smiled at her enthusiasm, chewing my own bar, and handed her the water, which she drank down eagerly.

“How far?” I asked, as we drove out of the village.

“It will take about twenty-five minutes to get to Pozo Alcón. Rest for now,” the older officer replied, his English deliberate.

With little else to do, I pulled Marcie closer. Her head rested against my shoulder, and I pressed a brief kiss to the top of her hair, my eyes never leaving the officers in front. They hadn’t given me any reason to distrust them yet, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down.

The drive passed quietly, the minutes blending into one another until the station came into view. I nudged Marcie, who had drifted off somewhere along the way. “Wake up, honey,” I murmured, brushing a light kiss across her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, her expression soft and hazy before the reality of our situation returned. Worry and exhaustion overtook her features once more.

As the officers parked and stepped out, I whispered quickly, “When we get inside, let me handle most of the talking.” She nodded, and I helped her out of the car, taking her hand once more as we followed the officers into a place I never thought I’d find myself—especially not as a victim—a police station.

Once inside, the officers led us to an interview room. The fluorescent lighting cast a harsh glow on the sterile walls. A small, scuffed table sat in the centre, its surface marked with faint scratches—the kind that told stories of restless hands and tense conversations.

“We need to borrow a phone,” I said, my voice firm, cutting through the faint hum of the air vent overhead.

“Soon. We will talk first,” the older officer replied, gesturing to two seats on one side of the table while he and his partner sat opposite.

“So, what happened?” the younger officer asked once we’d sat down.

I leaned forward slightly, my hands clasped together to mask the tension in my fingers. “We’re on holiday,” I began, keeping my voice steady. “We rented a car to explore the countryside. While driving down a quiet road, a man flagged us down. His car had broken down, so we stopped to help. But we were attacked. Another man, hiding nearby, had a gun. After robbing us, they forced us into the forest. They threatened to kill me and hurt my girlfriend. Luckily, we managed to overpower them and run. We hid out overnight, got lost, and have been trying to find help since. This morning, we stumbled into the village and met you.”

The older officer raised his eyebrows, frowning as he paused to translate for his partner. I stuck to the story I’d rehearsed. When I spoke to Marko, I’d repeat the same tale, so he and Miki could arrange fake flight details and anything else to back up our cover story. That way, we could keep our involvement in the farmer’s death and the killings hidden.

I kept my gaze steady, careful not to reveal any hint of the truth. These officers might seem decent, but Elizabeth Traynor’s reach was long, and I couldn’t afford to leave anything on record that could implicate me or the Rominovs when we brought an end to that sick hunting operation.

Thankfully, the police seemed to buy it.

The younger officer rattled off a string of words in Spanish that I didn’t catch.

“My colleague is just reminding me that there was a similar incident a few months ago,” the older officer said, his lips pursed as he mulled over my story.

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