Page 31 of Ride Forever
Chapter 12
Sloane
They’d handcuffed me to a bar set into the metal table—the chairandthe table were bolted to the floor—and left me in silence for what felt like hours. A mirror was on the opposite wall, reflecting my pathetic appearance. It was definitely two-way, and I wasn’t naive enough to think I was totally alone. Someone was watching on the other side of that thing.
I shivered, my wrists aching from where the handcuffs were chafing against my skin. My shoes were lost someplace back at the Halcyon, so my bare feet were numb. Fuck, it was cold in here. After the heat of the Nevada desert, it was like I’d been transported to Siberia…or a refrigerator.This is all part of their game, Sloane, I thought to myself.They’re trying to make you crack.
I didn’t know how much time had passed when the door finally opened. I guessed that was the point. Leave me alone with my thoughts so I could stew over what I’d done. Be more pliable to confess. Etcetera, etcetera.
I studied the man as he walked in. He was tall, had dark features—maybe Italian descent—bushy eyebrows, chocolate eyes, and was heavyset. A complete tough guy. It was the same agent who’d done the honors back to the Halcyon, minus the gun pointing at my face.
“Betty Marini,” the man said. “I’m Agent Sloss.”
I hated him already.Don’t fucking call me Betty.
Sloss slid into the chair across the table and leaned back, regarding me with a closed expression. His eyes gave nothing away, but he made it crystal clear he was the one with the power, and I had nothing.
“Nice dress,” he said, his voice loud in the silence. “Were you going somewhere fancy?”
I didn’t reply. Instead, I thought about what Chaser would do. Good fucking question. We’d never gone over interrogation dos and don’ts. Best to say nothing and don’t twitch. Twitching was bad. Television had taught me interrogators were trained to pick up on body language so they could tailor their questioning to hit the right buttons.
“Fine. Let’s skip the pleasantries and get down to business. You care to explain these to me?”
Sloss opened the file and took out several photographs, then slapped them onto the table in front of me. Lining them up, he glanced at me, waiting.
I stared at the photographs while attempting to keep my expression passive.Don’t twitch, Sloane.I recognized all the images from my road trip with Chaser. The service station where the Hollow Men tried to shoot me out the back. The bus station in New Mexico. The train station in Albuquerque. I was in all of them, Chaser was in some, but we were on film. That was bad.
I looked up at the agent, and he raised his eyebrows expecting an answer.
“I’m cold,” I said.
Sloss leaned back in his chair and gestured toward the two-way mirror. We proceeded to have a staring competition, both of us stoic as fuck until the door to the interview room opened and another agent walked in and handed him an FBI branded jacket.
It was adding insult to injury, but I let Agent Sloss drape it over my shoulders. He didn’t even bother to uncuff me so I could wear it properly. If it slipped and fell on the floor, it would be too bad. Snide assholes. To him, I was just another piece of shit criminal he’d dedicated his life to putting behind bars. He didn’t want to know my story, he just wanted to pin a motive on it, sit me before a jury, bask in the glory stamped on his report card, and then claim his government pension and a gold watch when he retired.
What would he do if I told him about my father’s plan to sell me to King? What would he do about my self-defense argument? He could be a good guy, or he could be firmly in King’s back pocket. Either way, I was headed for bad news city, population me.
Sloss already believed my guilt, and I couldn’t help thinking about what the FBI did to Chaser. He’d dedicated himself to them, and they’d abandoned him when he needed them most. I wanted to believe there was good left in the world, but I was highly doubtful I’d find any shred of it here.
Best to say nothing.
Sloss sat down again and nudged a photograph forward.
“This,” he said, tapping the image with a thick finger. “This is you, isn’t it?” It was a grainy still from a security feed, the footage taken from a service station. “We found two guys shot up out the back the same day this image was taken.”
I assumed he had a whole case planned out where this led to linking me to the murder of my father. There had to be evidence somewhere, or this could be him clutching at straws. They’d had a tip-off—enough grounds to arrest—but hadn’t found enough evidence to charge me. He might be counting on me to slip up to solidify his case.
I hated not knowing. Shit, that night when Chaser and I had driven toward LA, I’d had the chance to turn around and leave this life behind. Chaser offered me everything, but I wanted revenge for me and also, on his behalf. Had I been selfish? I felt a pang of regret and glanced at Sloss.
“What’s all this about, Betty? You hide away on the other side of the country, live a normal life, then you team up with this guy and return to California.”
He knew so much…
“What happened at the Fortitude compound?”
I said nothing.
“A few weeks ago, there were reports of gunfire. When the local PD investigated, the place was empty.”
