in the pot and not much to take away from them. The police officer led me out with his hand tight on my right elbow, squeezing hard enough to make me wince. He took me out of the cell block, past Crash, and down a short hall to a small room with no window. A simple folding table and two chairs sat in the middle, leaving little space for anything else. I sat in the chair, the cop left, and a moment later, Crash stepped into the room and shut the door behind him with a soft click.
The smell of clean, freshly showered man flowed from him, a hint of coal fires, and some sort of aftershave that mingled through the air and made me want things I really shouldn’t have. Damn my hormones for not getting with the program.
“They don’t have any cameras or listening devices in this room.” Crash pulled the chair out across from me and sat, resting his hands on the table, fingers linked loosely. His eyes swept over me, as if looking for something. Maybe bruises? Wounds? Evidence that I really had killed Alan?
“No? Are you sure about that? If you’d asked me yesterday, I would’ve said the police would have no reason to arrest me, and yet, here I am. Apparently about to be strung up for a murder I didn’t commit.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs at the ankles. I was not in the least relaxed, but I was not going to give him the . . .well, satisfaction wasn’t the right word. He looked tired, and why not? We’d been up into the wee hours the previous night—no, not having that kind of fun—fighting for our lives against a goblin and his accomplice, who worked for the council of Savannah.
We’d survived, but even just sitting here I could feel the bruises and muscle tension slipping over me.
He frowned. “How did you know?”
Alan, who’d, of course, followed me, muttered to himself as he paced the tiny room, and I realized that as much as we hated each other, he was trying to figure out a way for me to not be executed. Focused on his own thoughts, he didn’t make a single noise about Crash.
I blew out a breath and waved my cuffed hands in his general direction. “Alan. He did a quick recon mission and told me. He doesn’t like me, but I’d bet he’s worried we’ll be stuck together for eternity if I die like this.”
Crash gave a slow nod. “Alan, were you able to see what exactly they have on her?”
Now Crash couldn’t actually see Alan, not the way I could. I suspected he could catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, or a shadow of sorts where my ex-husband was pacing, whereas I could see him as if he were still alive.
Alan paused. “They have my blood in a bottle, and they are currently putting it on the knives they took from her. They are also planting the blood on her hip bag and that jacket she has. They aren’t even making the splatter pattern correct, which tells me that they are truly just going to sink her hard. But why? Who’s after her? Was I killed just to frame her?”
I shook my head and then realized that Crash hadn’t heard any of that. I passed it on, and Crash stood and left the room without a word.
I could almost feel my life ticking away as the seconds slid by. Gawd in heaven, what a mess. I rubbed my hands over my face, the cuffs clinking. If I was killed, would my spirit be with Gran? No, I couldn’t think about that right now.
I focused on the moment. “Alan, I know you had dealings in the shadow world. Was it just with Davin, or did you have dealings with, like, the mob or something? Someone who might want to get whatever money you have left?” I asked. Maybe there had been someone he’d pissed off. Not impossible considering his attitude.
He didn’t slow his pacing. “Yes, just with him, but he had connections that went far higher up and I . . .well, I wanted those connections. I thought it could help me with my firm, get me better paying cases and maybe my own company.” He grimaced and waved a hand at his ghostly body. “Look where it got me.”
I closed my eyes, thinking through the possibilities. “No loopholes