His Hostage(52)

“What did you do?” I snarl at her. She backs away slowly, looking to her left, then her right. Her hand comes up to her chest and if she were wearing a necklace she’d be clutching it.

“They called to tell me they found you,” she answers.

“Found me?” I practically yell. “You knew where I was!”

“It’s okay.” She reaches out for me again. “We’re going to get you out of this mess.” I stare blankly at her as she continues. “I know he kidnapped you. I was so worried.”

I sneer at her. “Were you worried when you called me a bitch for not giving you more money?”

She looks to her right and lowers her voice. “Just calm down. The police are going to give us a place out west. We’re going to go into the witness protection program. Everything is going to be worked out. Just as long as you tell them whatever they need to know.”

I look at my mother up and down. Does she think she’s getting a fresh start? Is that what she sees this as? A get out of jail free card where her past mistakes vanish, and she can use this to her advantage?

“I love you. I really do.” My voice cracks because it’s true. I do love my mother, and for some reason it makes me sick. But I deserve better. I raise my voice and harden it. “I told you that you could call me. And you called once, for money. You really were ‘so worried,' weren’t you?”

“Elle.” My mother tries to make her voice sound stern.

“You're drunk, mother. Go home and take care of yourself.”

“I can’t afford it on my own!” she yells at me. That’s really what it all comes down to. It’s always what it all comes down to.

“Then get a fucking job!” The officers come between us, and one pushes me toward the back, while a third comes behind my mother.

“You ungrateful bitch!” she screams at me as the officer pulls her away. She’s drunk and being stupid and she tries smacking the officer away. I can’t watch. She needs to get her shit together. I keep moving and try to ignore my mother’s screams as the cops lead me to a back room. My heart fucking hurts. I can’t help her if she doesn’t want it though. I just can’t put up with her shit anymore.

They open a door on the left and I walk through and almost laugh. It’s just like the movies. A mirror and everything. I guess they’re going to interrogate me. I choke on the ball forming in my throat.

At least they didn’t handcuff me. I sit down and take a shaky breath. I’m not going to give them anything. Not a damn word. As soon as they close the door I say, “I want a lawyer.”

“Miss Hawthorne. There’s no need for a lawyer; we just want to ask you a few questions.” My eyes dart to theirs. They have to give me a lawyer, don’t they?

“I want a lawyer,” I say without confidence. My heart beats louder in my chest. The weight of the situation comes down hard on my shoulders. I’m in the police station. Even if I don’t say anything, they’re going to know I was here. The familia will know. I close my eyes and for the first time in a long time I wonder if Vince will be able to save me.

If I don’t say anything, they won’t be mad at me, right? They can’t blame me for being taken here against my will. I stand up quickly, and the chair tips over behind me. I look at each of them as though they’ve cornered me. “I want to leave!” My body heats, and anxiety overwhelms me. A man walks in. He’s bald with bushy eyebrows, but he doesn’t seem old. Maybe it’s his broad build. His eyes are sharp, and his teeth are perfectly straight and white. He gives me a tight smile as he takes a seat across the table. He places his badge on the table.

“Hi there. Miss Hawthorne, I’m Detective Anderson, and I’ve been assigned to your case.”

“Hello,” I answer back.

“Try to calm down. We just have a few questions to ask, and then you can leave if you wish.”

“We’d like to make you a deal,” one of the female officers says. I forget her name. She told it to me, but I forgot. It all seems like a blur. The other woman picks up my chair and motions for me to sit. I sit down calmly and put my hands on my thighs. I stare at the table.

“We know you’ve been held against your will, Elle,” the sweet blonde who looks about my age says. It’s the first time she’s really spoken. She sounds kind and she puts her hands out for me to hold, but I don’t take it.

“I can’t imagine everything you’ve been through. But we’re here to help,” she adds.

“We know you were abducted by Vincent Valetti on Sunday, May 16th.” How do they know that? As if hearing my unspoken question, the blonde answers. “You were seen being forcefully pushed into the trunk of his car.”