“Going to be hard to do that from a jail cell,” Troy said. “Christian Mathers, you’re under arrest for murder.”
Of course he and Lauren didn’t get easy.
Nineteen
Lauren
“This is a new low, Troy,” I hissed across the table.
He looked at me with an expression resembling pity, but I wasn’t buying it. Because he had arrested Gage. For murder.
And he had all but forced me into the interrogation room with the whole club standing tense sentries like a repeat of last time. Though, unlike last time, I had a sinking feeling that Gage and I wouldn’t be walking out of there.
“I have evidence, Lauren,” he said evenly. “DNA. Fingerprints.”
My stomach dropped, but I didn’t let that show. “Doesn’t matter. He’s innocent.” Gage was far from innocent of murder, but of that crime, he was.
Troy stiffened. “You don’t even know who it is.”
I laid my palms flat on the table. “It doesn’t matter, since he didn’t do it,” I said through clenched teeth.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because if he did, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave evidence.”
Troy leaned back as if I’d struck him. “Jesus, Lauren,” he muttered. “What has he done to you? This isn’t who you are.”
My back straightened. “You don’t know a thing about who I am, Troy,” I hissed. “You think you know everything because of what you see on the surface. Because that’s all you see—surface. You have no idea what’s underneath.”
I stood, the scrape of my chair ringing against the room. “Am I free to go? Or are you going to try to charge me next?”
He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Of course not, Lauren.”
“Right.” I turned on my heel, intending to stomp out so I could break down privately in the ladies’ room.
I’d give myself two minutes to do that.
That was all.
Because then I needed to get my shit together.
Gage needed me.
And no way was I letting him down.
My mind wandered for a moment to opening that envelope and the feeling of warmth that had spread over me. I held on to that, because no way was I losing it.
“You want to know who it is, the man he killed?”
I stopped with my hand on the door, regarding Troy with carefully blank features. “Sure, tell me the name of the man who you’re wrongfully convicting my boyfriend of killing.”
“Harvey Hayes.”
The name was worthless. I had no idea who he was, and I was about to tell Troy that.
“But I’m sure Gage didn’t catch his name before stabbing him in the middle of a bar full of people,” Troy continued.
I froze.
For about a second.
Then I turned the knob. “You better get your keys ready, Troy, because you’re going to be using them to unlock Gage’s cell pretty soon.”
Then I walked out the door, wishing I believed the words that had sounded so firm.
“Are you sure you don’t want a cocktail?” Amy asked, sloshing her glass at me. “Because if there’s ever a time to take up drinking, it’s the day your boyfriend gets arrested for murder.”
“Don’t tell her to drink,” Mia scolded. “She needs a clear head for the interview.”
“What interview?” Gwen demanded.
Mia rolled her eyes. “The one I’m going to get Lexie’s publicist to set up. About wrongful prosecution.”
“He hasn’t been prosecuted yet,” Amy said, sipping the drink she’d outstretched to me.
Mia waved her away. “Well wrongful imprisonment, then, planting evidence. Whatever. I watched Making a Murderer, and that’s the main thing. We’re going to make sure everyone knows Gage is innocent.” She paused. “Well, not innocent. But of this crime, at least.” She bit her lip, looking at me. “Right?” she clarified.
“Right,” I said firmly. “No way he did this. Not because I don’t think he would murder a guy for touching me in a bar—that’s totally within the realm of possibility—but no way would he get caught.”
“Okay, that’s what we need to say in the interview,” she decided. “But maybe not verbatim.” She started tapping on her phone.
The women were providing a welcome distraction from the truth.
Which was Gage had been arrested for murder and they had fricking DNA evidence to prove it. I wasn’t an expert by any means, but I knew that actually meant there was a chance that Gage could be prosecuted.
That there could be a trial.
No. This was not going that far.
The men already knew it was bullshit and they were shut away in ‘church’ while we sat in the women’s version, the bar at the club. I had to put my faith in outlaws.
But for now, I needed some kind of quiet.
My hand itched for my paintbrush. For solace. But that was only found in Gage. And they wouldn’t even let me see him. I hadn’t fought Troy on that earlier because the frayed thread I was holding on by was in danger of snapping. But I would tomorrow.