Page 119 of Not Mine to Rescue

He narrowed his eyes. “Who killed the woman inside?”

Winter was dead? I shouldn’t have felt relief hearing that. “I will give my statement when my attorney shows up.”

“You killed her?” There was a gleam of glee in his eyes.

“Do I have to repeat myself? Lawsuit, wrongful arrest. Remember?’

Begrudgingly, he uncuffed Fly, who joined Lemon as she loaded Molly into her Jeep. “We’ll let you know how Molly’s doing soon, okay?”

Officer Langer stepped between us and stared at me. “I need to place you in custody, Ms. Ryder.”

“I understand.” I allowed him to detain me and place me in the back of his squad car. Jim’s Lexus pulled into the drive. The parking area was now cluttered with crime scene vehicles. From the mobile forensic unit, to the multiple police vehicles, an animal control truck, and a fire rescue squad vehicle idling near the house, there was little room for him to park. He met with the lead investigator on the scene first. That man pointed toward the squad car where I waited.

“Get her out. My client will make a statement after I meet with her.”

“You can’t do that. She’s under arrest for the murder of Winter Fuller.”

“Who?” Jim asked.

Officer Joe Langer rocked on his heels as if he were silently laughing at me. “She’s one of those groupies who hang around the Destroyers’ clubhouse and fuck all the men.”

He said it loud enough I heard it plainly through the glass. Jerk.

“It’s a classic case of jealousy, don’t ya think?” he added.

I turned to stare straight ahead and keep my face stoic. While I didn’t think Joe or any of the other police present could read it, Jim would be able to. And I wasn’t about to give him any more fodder he could use against me. It was bad enough he had to be here, but to witness my downfall so personally must be the perfect bookend to our divorce.

“Get her out. She’s an employee of the firm I work for, and I know you don’t want me to call Stephen Poe at this hour of the night. He’ll dismantle your entire department for that alone.”

My god, I was going to lose my job.

I didn’t think.

I truly didn’t.

My hands shook as I tuned out the conversation outside the car. I looked down at them and saw blood. And fur. Molly’s fur. Wombat’s blood, maybe both of theirs was on my hands.

And I’d killed someone.

What was I going to do?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Wombat

Pain. The worst beatdown couldn’t compare to the sweat-soaked state I was in. My blurry vision focused on the tile ceiling first. Then the top of an IV stand, down the tubes, onto a bunch of monitors I didn’t have the time or the energy to decipher, then landed on probably the last person I wanted to see.

James Crowne, Esquire. Jesus. I turned my head back to the ceiling.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked the pitted white tile instead of Honor’s ex.

“To quote Walt, and probably your friend, what was his name, Fly? Yeah. I’m here for shut the fuck up Friday. That’s a funny video by the way. I wish I’d thought of it.”

There were a ton of questions going through my head, but one was pretty damn important. “Was I arrested?” I didn’t have any memory of it if I were.

“That remains uncertain. Why were your prints on the handgun that was used against you?”

Oh. That was an easy answer. “I tried to get it away from her.” Winter. “Bitch.”