Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I nod because arguing won’t get me anywhere, plus I can’t imagine what it would look like to have been in handcuffs twice in less than two weeks and then leaving the country.
I leave the room without another word, realizing that as much as I’m grateful to have them on my side, the only opinion that matters to me right now is Lennox’s. If she has any doubt in her mind about me being involved, it would kill me.
She confessed I was with her, but would it take much for her to shift gears back to her original thinking?
Would that asshole Dresden try to convince her that I did it?
I know it wouldn’t be wise to seek her out. If anything, she wouldn’t want to be bothered while she was working her case, but she could be trying to build a case against me.
What kind of sick person would she think I was to kill Rochelle and then spend the next two hours making her obey my commands and getting turned on more and more when she discovered she couldn’t?
I know it looks bad, and not knowing the details of what happened to Rochelle makes it even more difficult to plead my case.
I know I’ll end up wearing a fucking hole in the floor pacing back and forth. Going to her isn’t an option, and I wouldn’t risk bringing any more scrutiny to the club by showing up at the police department. The guys could be right. The entire department could be making evidence fit together to consider it enough to arrest me right now.
I change out of my jeans and t-shirt and pull on some athletic clothing. I’ll punch the fucking heavy bag in the weight room until I can no longer stand. Exhaustion is the only damn thing keeping me from leaving the clubhouse and begging Lennox Maison to believe me.
Chapter 23
Lennox
I left the office more confused than ever. I don’t know if the chief wants me to believe Sawyer Maddox is connected to these murders or not. He went back and forth, telling me not to waste my time on him, but then he promptly not only pulled me from the case, but he also suspended me.
I no longer have access to anything. I can’t fixate on my sister’s murder while sitting at my computer, but then again, I’ve been over that information so many times, I can close my eyes and see every document in perfect clarity.
As far as Sawyer is concerned, I hate that part of me that I’ve willingly fed year after year that told me I couldn’t trust anyone. It’s that part of me that keeps whispering that there might be a connection, that I should trust that gut instinct I had from the beginning, the intuition that carried me to the Rio Grande National Forest to arrest him in the first place.
It’s as if two parts of me are at war with each other. My heart is telling me that it can’t be possible, reminding me of the timeline. My brain says there might be circumstances I don’t know about that makes it possible—that a lot can happen in five minutes, that he’s strong enough to overpower someone without getting dirty or breaking a sweat, especially a hundred- and fifteen-pound woman.
His readiness to engage in sexual activity with me means nothing. Sexual assault is about power and control, and although we found blood evidence at the scene, we still didn’t find semen. It’s too soon in Rochelle’s investigation to determine if she was assaulted in that way. Maybe he didn’t rape her.
On the other hand, he has never even hinted that he was interested in making me beg him to stop. He has always liked more and harder, and I know from extensive training that assailants don’t normally change their needs. If it’s hurting someone that gets their rocks off, then that’s what they stick to.
I’m so lost in my head, I don’t know how long I’ve just been sitting on the front porch of my house. After getting dropped off by the rideshare company, I haven’t even bothered to go inside. Coming home usually entails a shower, a bite to eat, and an attempt to get a couple of hours of sleep. I can’t seem to muster the energy for any of it.
Free time isn’t something I ever have. I don’t allow idle hands. Staying busy is the only way to keep the voices at bay.
I huff a humorless laugh, knowing my thoughts make me insane. I don’t hear actual voices. There’s just a part of me that knows more can be done, more can be investigated, all with the hopes that I’ll uncover a rock no one else noticed or one investigation will lead me to another which might lead me to Niers’ partner so my sister can finally rest in peace.