Page 39 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“Uh, what I meant to say was… she’s indisposed.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait.”

His persistence is another bad sign. Whatever—or whoever—drove Charity here, the fact that a detective showed up shortly afterwards and insists on speaking with her does not bode well.

I need to find a way to get him out of here.

“Detective… was it Murray?”

He nods.

“I’m sorry, but she’s really tired at the moment. I don’t think she’s ready to see anyone just yet.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?” he asks directly.

“Elyssa.”

“Elyssa,” he repeats. “I’ve been given a tip off about your friend. A witness saw her flee in a panic from the Bellagio. I need her to come down to the station to make a statement.”

I hear a sound from behind me. I adjust my position and see Charity standing there in my peripheral vision. She’s probably been listening to our entire conversation this whole time.

I pull the door forward a little so that the detective won’t be able to spot her. Charity takes the opportunity to inch closer.

Floating my hand behind the door so that the detective won’t be able to see, I gesture for her to get to one of the back rooms. But of course, she doesn’t listen.

“Uh, listen, Detective—”

“I’m Charity.” Before I can stop her, she’s rounded the door and is standing in full view of the officer, a few feet behind me.

His eyes rake over her. “Wow,” he murmurs. “It’s as bad as they said.” The sympathy in his tone doesn’t quite translate to his eyes, though.

“Who told you?” Charity asks. “What witness?”

He clears his throat. “An anonymous source saw you running from the hotel,” the detective repeats, sticking with his story. “He called the station and reported it.”

“And you just knew where to find me?” Charity asks dubiously.

“The witness tailed you here to the shelter.”

Charity and I exchange a glance. I can see it in her expression: she’s not buying this load of crap either.

The policeman is lying.

“Some random stranger saw me run out of the hotel, he followed me here, and then called the cops to report a crime?” she asks slowly.

“Yes.”

“It sounds a little hard to believe.”

“Stranger things have happened,” he says with a shrug.

His tone is even. Almost calm. But I can see his patience start to unravel beneath the surface.

“Why don’t you come to the station with me now?” he suggests. “I can help you make a statement.”

Charity squares her shoulders. “Thank you, Detective. I appreciate that. But it’s not necessary.”

“Excuse me?”

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