Page 107 of The Outpost (Jamison Valley 4)
Blink.
I was sitting in a living room chair that I had turned backward toward my windows. With my legs tucked under my rear, I stared into the dark city, counting how many seconds I could go without blinking.
I’d done my best to become invisible, and over the last six hours, most of the people in my apartment had forgotten I was sitting here. Behind me, a team of investigators was talking in hushed voices while others snapped countless pictures of the crime scene. An hour ago, the coroner had zippered Anton’s body in a bag and loaded it onto a squeaky cart that would wheel him to the morgue.
Through it all, my eyes stayed glued to the windows. Even though I was trying to block out conversation, my ears were still active and I listened to a couple of newcomers get an update.
“Are we taking her down to the station?”
“No. Agent Dalton says she stays here.”
“Has she been questioned?”
“I don’t know. I only got here a couple of hours ago.”
One man pushed out a loud breath. “That’s a lot of blood.”
“No shit. Bullet straight to the heart at close range. That fucker was dead before he hit the floor.”
A chill crept down my spine.
I killed a person today.
I had taken a life.
One tear slid down my cheek but I quickly swiped it away. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry. Not yet.
Somehow, I had managed to keep it together as I stood over Anton’s lifeless body with a gun in my hand. When Agent Mitchell had broken through my door, his gun drawn for an already neutralized threat, somehow I hadn’t panicked. And somehow, I hadn’t cracked when agents had photographed my white clothes streaked with blood before leaving me in my bathroom to strip them off into a plastic evidence bag.
Somehow, I was keeping it together. And I would keep keeping it together.
My breakdown would have to wait because Henry still had to take my official statement. He’d gotten a high-level recap earlier but then had to leave, promising to come back soon to go
through everything again in detail.
Ignoring the men behind me, I went back to counting and staring until the mood in the room tensed.
“Have you finished processing the scene?” Henry demanded behind me.
“Uh, not yet.”
“Finish,” he ordered. “Now.” Shoes scuffled as people scurried. Henry came and crouched next to my chair, patting one of my knees. “How are you doing?”
I shrugged and unglued my eyes from the windows to look at his face. His forehead was creased with worry and his eyes were pleading for forgiveness.
“I’m so sorry, Sabrina.”
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault.” I didn’t blame Henry for any of this. If he had come inside and not gone out for pizza, Anton would have shot him. I was glad he hadn’t been here.
“It is my fault.”
I didn’t have the energy to convince him otherwise so I turned back to the window.
He sighed. “I’ve got to talk to a few people and then I’ll be back to get your official statement.”
“Okay.”
“Sorry, it’s going to take a while longer tonight.”
