Page 174 of They Are Mine

They always waste your goddamn time.

It feels like forever before the detective walks over.

His nameplate says “Detective Salvatore Grimm.”

Oh, come the fuck on.

That is entirely too on the nose for a homicide detective. I bet he wears a trench coat in the rain and broods over whiskey at night.

I barely have time to admire how ridiculous that is before he gestures for me to follow him.

I step lightly, head high, shoulders back.

He leads me past a row of desks, each one cluttered with paperwork, half-empty coffee cups, and those old-ass bulky computers that should’ve been put down in the early 2000s.

There’s a stale, burnt coffee smell in the air, mixed with something faintly metallic. Probably bad cologne, sweat, or shattered dreams.

Detective Grimm stops at a desk that looks like it’s seen better days. The chair creaks when he sits.

I don’t sit until he motions to the chair across from him. Like I need permission.

I smooth my dress as I lower myself, crossing my legs in the most polite, non-murdery way possible.

Grimm folds his hands, eyes sharp. “Juliet Lovelace, correct?”

“That’s me,” I say, bright, friendly.

“And you know why you’re here?” he asks.

“I understand it’s about the woman harassing my boyfriend,” I say, tilting my head like I’m just a little confused but eager to help. “Tammy Walters?”

Grimm doesn’t react. “She was found deceased in her home.”

I gasp softly. Just a little. Like a woman who’s never seen the inside of a police station before.

“Detective,” I say, lowering my voice, “That is awful.”

He doesn’t blink. “How well did you know her?”

“I didn’t,” I say, smoothing my hands over my lap. “I only know she harassed my boyfriend. Came to his work. It was embarrassing, really.”

Grimm leans back in his chair. “How many times did you see her?”

“I only saw her once,” I say sweetly. “At school. When she was harassing Orion.”

His brow ticks up. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” I answer.

Grimm presses on.

Questions about Orion, about Tammy, about my schedule, which, quite frankly, is none of his goddamn business.

I keep my answers clean, smooth, perfectly rehearsed. But Jesus Christ, this man is persistent.

I can feel my patience thinning.

Then a man strolls by.

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