Page 55 of Rogue Mission
As he sits down, Detective Pacer straightens his jacket. Taking a long time to smooth the lapels, he makes a show of it.
Following that, for a strained moment, his head tilts left, then right, studying me.
“So, a scientist, huh?”
The intonations—or lack of—makes his voice impossible to read.
Not that I’m good at anything relating to people. Give me scales and spectrometers, I’m good. People are like strange animals in the forest.
Every time I encounter a new one, I’m not sure what they’re going to do.
“Yes.” I shift in the chair, trying to hold myself together. Barely managing.
“And what do you study specifically?”
Sitting up more, my body starting to feel like I’ve had one too many coffees, I ask, “Is this relevant?”
“It is.”
Robot answer.
The knot inside my stomach tightens when he slides a pad of lined paper onto the table.
The writing on the top page is neat, perfectly spaced. Not large. Not small. The text reads: Breaking and Entering, premeditated murder.
A slingshot catapults my heart up into my mouth.
He watches my reaction with those corpse eyes. “What were you doing in West Mountain Scientific two days ago?”
I can’t contain my shock or my utter disgust. “I was being held there against my will.”
Questions in his expression, he taps his pen on the notepad.
Click. Click. Click.
“Surely you can read.”
“I can, and I can also tell you that I was not at West Mountain of my own accord. I think you might want to be asking the owner, Mr. Westerly about kidnapping.”
He lifts a brow into a weird arch. “Westerly’s head of security is the one who filed the breaking and entering charge against you.”
“He WHAT?!?”
Shock almost knocks me over. Beneath the table, my feet start to tap like chattering teeth.
The detective sets down his pen as he offers a slow, feral grin. “They have you on video, sneaking around.
Oh crap.
More importantly, did I really kill that guy with the microscope?
It was self-defense. I’m smart enough to know this is a conversation for a lawyer.
If Justice’s team disabled the cameras… then it’s a lie he has a recording of anything.
“Look, Detective Pacer,” frustration raises my voice, but while my blood pressure is going up, I feel the blood draining from my face.
An icy stiffness settles across my cheeks.
