Page 23 of Ashes to New

Infants were much easier to adopt than traumatized girls. She hadn’t seen him since the accident, but she had been told he’d gone to a good home. When she thought of him, her imagination would bring forth the image of what he must look like with the passingyears. He was always surrounded by faceless parents, who loved and adored him.

Her future remained uncertain, but time continued its relentless march. The cops arrived.

The cops brought in a female to talk her out of the shower. Elsbeth’s mind was numb. She moved on autopilot, lathering with soap, rinsing, washing her hair, and then drying everything off. The lady cop walked with her into the closet and picked out a shirt while Elsbeth tugged on a pair of jeans and toed on her shoes. The cotton blouse slid over her head and settled around her waist.

Now what?She turned to the cop. “Are you going to arrest me?”

John Snowden had planned to steal her future by turning her into his slave. Now, she’d handed over her freedom to the justice system—and willingly, too. She’d rather spend the rest of her life in jail than spend another moment under the power of men like Clark Preston and John Snowden.

The woman put her hand on Elsbeth’s shoulder. “We need to ask a few questions.”

“Forest didn’t—”

“Shh.” The woman had warm brown eyes and black hair tied into a bun. The corners of her eyes dipped down, mirroring the sadness etched on her face. “Is there anything you need? A purse maybe?”

The badge pinned to the woman’s chest identified her last name as Naples, but Elsbeth didn’t know how to address the cop. She didn’t think the woman was a detective, based upon nothing more than the woman’s age.Weren’t detectives older?

Thoughts moved like molasses in her head, and a kind of buzzing filled her ears.Must be the early stages of shock.

A purse? She had one but where? And why? Wouldn’t the cops simply take everything and put it in one of those plastic bag things?

Elsbeth moved to her room, shadowed closely by Officer Naples. Her purse hung from the chair by her desk, but there wasn’t anything important in it, except for her school ID. She had no driver’s license and no money. Clark Preston might have allowed her and Forest to attend school—because the foster system frowned upon homeschooling of foster children—but he had drawn the line at the independence or freedom a driver’s license would have granted.

Elsbeth picked up her purse and turned to the cop, seeking direction.

A gentle gaze greeted Elsbeth.

“Come.” The woman gestured. “Detective Grady wants to question you.”

The cavernous house had always been a place of echoes, but now, the walls practically buzzed with activity. Dozens of cops filled the kitchen, the great room, and even trickled down the long hall leading to the front of the house. They worked with quick efficiency, collecting evidence.

Elsbeth scanned the sea of blue, seeking Forest. A group of men were clustered around the couch. One shot pictures of the crime scene while others stood, pointing, conversing, and taking notes. All that evidence would seal her fate.

Officer Naples took her arm and steered her toward the front of the house. Elsbeth was guided to the formal dining room where the woman pulled out a chair and told her to have a seat. It was an order, not a request.Easy enough.Elsbeth had been taking orders for years.

Across the way, Forest’s shock of blond hair was unmistakable against the men in their dark uniforms. He was taller than most of them. Her little Beanpole was growing up, but he was still skinny as a rail. It made him look smaller, more fragile, than he really was.

What were they doing in the study?

Forest was speaking with the men, his arms animated and his fingers pointing all around the room. A pair of cops stood behind Clark Preston’s desk, the glow of the monitor lighting their faces in a pale light. They had another photographer in that room. Why the man was snapping photos in there was beyond her. A couple of others were combing through files.

Forest’s head lifted over the men. His gaze caught hers, and he dared a smile.

A smile.

His gentle nature remained. He lifted his hand but not to wave. The gesture was meant more as an acknowledgment.

Forest took a step toward her, but the man he was talking to pressed a hand against Forest’s chest. A scowl formed on Forest’s face, and then resignation filled his eyes. She understood. The cops would be keeping them separate until they could ask their questions.

She took in a deep breath and prepared for her interrogation.

A thickset man wandered down the hall. He stepped into the dining room and paused to take in her shaking form. Elsbeth tilted her head to meet his expression. Bushy thick hair framed the stern lines of his face. Despite his fearsome appearance, she relaxed, thankful he wasn’t one of the many men Clark Preston had brought into the house.

“Your brother says your name is Elsbeth?” His soft tone blanketed her with reassurance. She knew, instinctually that she could trust him. “May I call you Elsbeth, or is there another name you prefer?”

Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. “Elsbeth is fine.”

“It’s a pretty name.” He pulled back a chair and took out a pad of paper from the breast pocket of his blazer. “Elsbeth, my name is Detective Grady. I need to ask you a few questions. Do you think you can answer them?”