Page 91 of Surrender
Carrington pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Well, isn’t that convenient?” he hissed, nostrils flaring. “And is there anyone to verify that?”
I stared at him, letting the silence stretch and the bastard grow more and more agitated by the second.
There was someone.
One person I was sure he was dying for me to name so he could drag her into this shit show too. However, I didn’t want to involve Darcy in this. I didn’t want Carrington anywhere near her, especially not in some small room alone like this.
So I kept my voice steady. “I had a couple of boys waiting out front for me while I locked everything up. They’ll be able to verify the time.”
“We will get their details,” he answered smoothly. “But myquestion would be, if the club closed at two, why did it take you until after three to get things locked up?”
Dane scoffed, leaning back into his chair with his arms folded. “Now you want to criticize him for being thorough and doing his job well?”
“That’s one explanation,” Carrington mused, his fingers drumming on the table. “Or, he went out the back, rode to the apartment building just a couple of blocks away, killed Roxanna Newcombe, and rode back. All before his friends out the front knew he’d been gone.”
“That’s wild!” Dane replied with a short laugh. “I appreciate your imagination, Mr. Carrington, but you’re really clutching at straws here. The man in this picture has his face hidden, along with any other identifying features. This isn’t a game of Cluedo. You can’t just fire out accusations and theories and hope that one is right.”
Carrington clenched his teeth, tearing a third picture from the folder and slamming it down on the table. “Someone killed this woman,” he shouted, though the emotional outburst was actually void of any emotion. “And they’re gonna pay for it.”
Fuck.
Dane grabbed the picture and turned it upside down, but I’d already seen it.
The blood.
The knife.
Her eyes were wide and frozen in a moment of fear.
It was like a match to gasoline, and I went up in flames of anger.
I yanked hard at my cuffs, jerking the table with a loud clunk.
It barely moved.
It barely moved because they were bolted to the ground in these rooms specifically for men like me who would use it to beat the shit out of the guy sitting on the other side.
“You’re right about one thing,” I growled, leaning in and lowering my voice. “Whoever did this is going to pay for it. And I am the man who’s going to take that payment.”
Carrington’s grin didn’t drop, but a muscle near his eye twitched.
A guilty twitch.
Or one of fear.
“Well,” he sang as he gathered his photographs and papers. “That’s all—”
The door to the interrogation room cracked open before he could finish, and a uniformed officer stepped inside. “Mr. Carrington, there’s a Darcy Robbins here,” the officer explained, and my stomach sank. “She said she is Nathaniel Brooks’ alibi, and she has the proof.”
Hell fucking no.
No.
I knew what that proof was.
“Excellent!” Carrington crowed, getting to his feet and practically skipping toward the door. “Isn’t that great, Mr. Brooks? Darcy is here to assist you. I can’t wait to see what she’s got to say.”
I turned hard toward Dane, urgency in my eyes.
