Within the halo of the squad car’s headlights, Brett and Lucas were huddled together, talking to another man. A dark haired one. One she vaguely remembered from two years ago. He was one of Brett’s ex-SEAL buddies. Rio, or something similar. Back then he’d been a cop with the San Diego Police Department.
When the men broke apart and headed in her direction, Sarah straightened, unease hitting. How much should she tell them? Not everything, certainly. Nothing that might blow back on Sean.
But what if she held back some of the details, and then Langley filled the cops in? A discrepancy in their stories would raise red flags. How much had Langs heard from that room?
Massaging her temples, Sarah tried to focus. She’d just have to wing it and pray her answers satisfied everyone.
Before the three men reached the cruiser, Brett peeled off and headed back toward the house. She watched him go, the tears building again. Just more evidence that it really was over between them. Two years ago, he wouldn’t have left her to handle the cops on her own.
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat as Lucas opened the cruiser’s back door.
“Sarah—”
Lucas’s voice was gentle, soothing, as though he were afraid a rough word might shatter her.
“—this is Rio, he’s a detective with the San Diego police. He needs to ask you some questions.”
Sarah nodded, her gaze following Brett’s back as he disappeared into the house.
“Sarah?” Lucas’s voice was quiet.
With a shake of her head, Sarah returned her attention to the men clustered in the open car door. “I heard you,” her gaze skimmed to the right and the huge, black-haired cop beside Lucas. “Rio, right?”
“Detective Addario,” Rio said. Flat, blue-grey eyes scanned her from head to shoe.
It was too bad Detective Rio’s gray eyes were so cold and distant. They would have been quite beautiful if they weren’t so full of ice.
“We need a full statement from you. Officer Herrera will take you to the station.”
“Is Langley okay?” The question burst from her, giving voice to one of her worries. Nobody would tell her where her friend was.
Addario frowned slightly, before shrugging. “From what I’ve been told, she’s fine.”
Well, at least that was a relief. She sighed and scrubbed wearily at her eyes.
“Can this wait until tomorrow? I’m tired and hungry and I need to get out of these clothes.” Which wasn’t a lie. Her skin had started crawling just thinking about the blood on her dress or what the material had picked up in that awful house.
God only knew what kind of bacterial or biological pathogens she was carrying around now.
Addario’s hooded gaze studied her face. He shook his head. “I’ll have Herrera swing by and pick up some takeout. But we need the statement now, while the details are fresh in your mind.”
Seconds later the cruiser was backing down the driveway, beneath the expert maneuvering of the stocky, black-haired cop currently playing chauffeur.
“I’m under orders to feed you. What sounds good?” her escort asked, his dark eyes watchful, as he expertly backed onto the main road.
Her stomach heaved at the thought of food, but she could hardly admit that. Not after telling the icy Rio that she was hungry. “It doesn’t matter. Anything will do.” She sighed, staring blankly out the window. “Do you know if Langley is at the police station?”
“No. I don’t.” Those dark, assessing eyes studied her in the rearview mirror again. “Detective Addario never mentioned her.”
That didn’t mean Langs wasn’t there. Sarah went for optimism.
Her escort stopped by a local drive through hamburger joint and picked her up a combination meal complete with diet soft drink. She managed to force a couple bites down before her stomach rebelled.
The police station smelled like burnt coffee, body odor, and faint traces of vomit, which didn’t calm her twitchy stomach. Her legs heavier with each step, she followed her escort across the lobby to the elevators. The elevator took them to the third floor. They got off and walked down a long white hallway and into a small, equally white room.
The interrogation room, because that’s what it was, looked exactly like something from a television show—complete with a large square table, four chairs, and a huge mirror anchored to the wall. She looked up, slowly turning. Bingo. An overhead camera sat tucked in the corner between wall and ceiling. Just like in the movies.
“Would you like some water?” her police escort asked.