Resonance of Stars (Greenstone Security #5) - Anne Malcom Page 0,5

credit, his pause after I told him I’d just witnessed a murder was less than a second before he started shouting orders at me.

I’d listened, because I was afraid, uncertain and too fucking weak to do anything else.

The police arrived at the mansion within minutes, only half an hour before Andre himself, which was impressive considering the LA traffic.

He’d been by my side the entire time, or as often as he could be while the police questioned me. First it was the uniforms, but as they recognized who I was—immediately—they made calls and a detective in a bad suit took over questioning.

Luckily, they didn’t seem to think I had anything to do with the shooting, since they’d arrived so soon after I’d made the call. They’d swabbed my hands for gunshot residue “to rule me out as a suspect.” Briefly, I wondered what would’ve happened if they’d found it. Or, if no one believed my story and they pinned the murder on me. The trial would be big. A circus. Huge news. The killer movie star. The spectacle of it all.

Likely, my high-paid defense attorneys would get me off. Probation. House arrest. That’s just what happened when you had enough money and fame. The right status.

But no, of course they didn’t take it further. They took my word for what it was, the truth. Maybe because they couldn’t imagine the woman they’d all likely jerked off to doing this, but more likely because my all white outfit didn’t have a speck of blood on it.

Things changed drastically when I finally managed to say the name of the man I’d recognized doing the killing. I’d been off to the side with the detective at that point, the scene already buzzing with uniforms. Such a quick and effective response was only reserved for the rich.

The detective had been scribbling my statement in a notebook, until I said the name. Then he stopped, pen midair, frozen for a moment. His eyes met mine. They were no longer cold, jaded from years on the job. No, they were alert now.

“Are you sure? This is very important. Are you sure you saw Coleson Kitsch commit the murder?”

Something inside me told me to lie. I had no reason to, but there was a deep instinct that screamed at me to protect myself. Hide the truth amongst all the other hidden things inside me. Another lie wouldn’t mean much, I was good at it.

If I told the truth here, everything would change. It was an odd thing to think without all the information I’d later learn, but a woman’s intuition was nothing but somewhat magical.

Of course it would be a federal crime but I wasn’t overly concerned with that. Self-preservation was more important for a narcissist like me.

But something caught me. Was it the horrible stillness of death that would follow me around for the rest of my life? Was it a shred of decency inside me?

It didn’t quite matter why I uttered, “Yes, I’m sure.” All that mattered was that I did.

Things moved very fast after that.

The detective shut his notebook, stepped right into my personal bubble, and informed me not to tell anyone what I’d just told him. Well, apart from Andre, who was within eavesdropping distance.

Then we were taken to the station and men in decidedly more expensive suits took their time interviewing me. They weren’t so much concerned with the details of the murder but making sure I was absolutely sure it was Coleson whom I saw.

It seemed my intuition was right, this was a big deal. He was a big deal. Especially when there were talks of things like witness protection and Andre, of all people, talked the suits out of this because he’d made “other arrangements.”

My very expensive lawyer then handled the details so I was relatively ignorant, despite being interviewed for hours. As a competent, intelligent woman, I should’ve gleaned more details from the situation, if not demanded them. I was not scared to demand things. Not afraid to come across as a bitch.

In fact, it was the norm.

But things were not fucking normal right now. So I let two men—ones I paid handsomely—take care of things for me. Something I’d never done. However fucked up I was, however cold I was, I’d always been in the driver’s seat of my own life.

All it took was a gunshot to surrender the wheel.

Andre was cursing into the Bluetooth. The person on the other end of the phone was on speaker, but