Rogue Descendant (Nikki Glass) - By Jenna Black Page 0,71

I couldn’t help getting crankier as time went on. I wanted to get the hell out of there. I wanted a little quiet time in which I could try to process everything I’d just gone through. And I was so bone tired, I wanted a little time to sleep it off, too. None of which I was getting.

I put my foot down when they started talking about skull X-rays and an MRI. If they started ordering tests where I’d have to wait my turn to get in and then wait for the results, I was going to be in there all day. I had a right to refuse medical treatment, and I asserted it with a vengeance.

I swear every person in the entire ER tried to talk me out of checking myself out. It felt like I had to repeat myself to about twenty people, everyone from the attending physician to the freaking janitor, before I was finally given some papers to fill out that basically said it wasn’t their fault if I died a horrible death due to leaving the hospital against medical advice. If I’d been merely human, they might have scared me so much with their warnings and predictions that I’d have caved.

I was mere moments from escape when the police caught up with me.

For a little while there, I’d almost forgotten that I’d been found bound in duct tape in the trunk of a car. Naturally, the police wanted to know how I’d gotten there. The authorities had caught on to the fact that I was a common denominator between three separate fires—thanks to the Glasses’ insurance company, no doubt. I’d never been a direct target, and the first fire had been declared an accident, but it didn’t exactly lead them to believe my abduction was a random act by some wandering psycho.

I saw no reason not to tell them the truth about the abduction, with a few errors and omissions. Like how I never mentioned being hit in the head with a tire iron, which would be completely unbelievable when I didn’t have any obvious wounds on my head. I knew there was some blood in my hair, because everyone had been looking for its source, but the wound itself was gone. I didn’t know how anyone was going to explain away the blood, and frankly, I didn’t care.

The policemen shared a couple of significant looks as I told them about my abduction. Maybe they thought I was too shaken up to notice. I knew those looks meant something about my story was striking a false note, but I didn’t know what—unless my abductor was still alive and had told all, including the stuff I was leaving out.

“Did the guy who tried to kidnap me survive the crash?” I asked, surprised that I hadn’t thought to ask before. Though maybe I’d been too preoccupied trying to get myself out of the hospital to think about anything else.

The cops looked at each other again. Then one of them, a Detective Taylor, answered me.

“A few broken bones, a lot of stitches, and even more bruises, but yeah, the lucky son of a bitch survived. He’s got a list of priors longer than my arm, and he was real eager to talk.”

Shit. That probably wasn’t good for me. The more stuff didn’t add up, the more suspicious the cops were going to be, and the more determined they were going to be to get to the truth.

“Are you sure you don’t know someone who might have a serious beef with you?” Taylor continued.

I gave him my best baffled face. “I have no idea. I’ve made enemies because of my job, but I don’t know of anyone who would hate me enough to do all this to get back at me.”

Taylor gave me a piercing look, no doubt trying to convey the message that he could see right through me. “Think hard.”

I made a show of thinking about it, furrowing my brow as if I were racking my brain. Then I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I can’t think of anyone.”

“A woman, maybe?” he prompted, still not satisfied with my answer.

“I assume you have a reason for asking that,” I said, hoping my face had shown no reaction. If they had reason to suspect a woman was gunning for me, there was only one logical suspect on my list.

“I told you the guy was eager to talk. Said he was hired over the phone by some woman.