Page 33 of When the Smoke Clears

Does he think that’s a power move?

“Ms. McCullough, I don’t have the luxury of assuming people who come in here are honest with me.”

“Fair enough.” I sigh and set my purse on the table. “Colt and I had sex in the alley behind The Spur.”

His eyebrows jump before he hides the response.

“I was intoxicated, and he was a pig. It was a lapse in judgment.” I press my back firmly into the chair and cross my arms, annoyed at my decision and how I got here, and aggravated at having to face it head-on again. Raised to value perception so heavily, admitting my shortcomings to a stranger doesn’t come naturally.

“I thought there was nothing more to it.” I shrug. “A one-night stand. My friend got Pete’s number, and I planned never to see Colt again.”

He nods, clicking his pen again. The sound is a zap of annoyance down my spine on delayed repeat. After a few notes, he continues his questioning. “So, you didn’t see him again until Halloween?” This time, his tone is curious.

“Not exactly.” I release a heavy breath. “Sutton and I—”

“That’s your boyfriend?” I try to overlook his habit of interrupting me as a product of his career.

“Yes. Sutton and I were eating at Granger’s a week or so later and Colt was there.”

“You talked to him?”

“No. He was leaving and revved his motorcycle in the parking lot. I happened to see him.”

He waits. “Nothing was said?”

“No, he was outside. He just gave me a creepy look.”

“A creepy look?”

“Yes. A creepy wink.” I stare at him.

His face is blank. I don’t bother explaining further. He knows as well as I do what kind of expression I’m referring to.

“After that was when your window was broken?” He fidgets with the pen.

“Yes, at the Fall Festival.”

“And he admitted this was him?”

“Yes, when he came to my grandmother’s house.”

He drops the pen again and sits back in the chair. “What happened on Halloween?”

I dip my chin. “He approached me during the Trunk-or-Treat at the dentist’s office on Main Street. He was antagonizing me, grabbed my wrists and wouldn’t let go, spouting off. I ended up head-butting him.”

His eyebrows rise slightly. “Did you receive any injuries?”

I hold my breath on an inhale. All of these pieces sound pretty trivial based on the way he’s asking. “A nasty headache. He didn’t leave any marks. There’s a report.” I told him as much at the hospital.

“During any of these instances when you two were together, did he hurt you?”

A rock sits heavy in my gut. Colt managed to make me look like the aggressor, intentionally or not. My words come out quieter than I’d like. “It was self-defense.”

Detective Porter says nothing. He continues writing. I assume being evaluated by a psychiatrist feels like this.

I chew my lip. “There’s more.”

That catches his attention. His eyes pop up to mine. He motions with the hand holding the pen for me to continue. “Go on.”

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