God, please let him be okay. She sent a silent plea out into the universe as a horde of police converged on her. “Turn around slowly! Hands above your head!”
It would figure that the one time she got pinched would be the one time she was actually innocent. Claire did as she was told, pivoting on one foot toward the authoritative tone. The breath stalled in her chest as she took in the empty sidewalk, all but two of the bodies that had littered the side of the street gone.
What in the hell …
* * *
“Okay, Miss Thompson. Tell me one more time what you saw.”
Claire sat in one of the booths of the diner, recounting the morning for the detective for what felt like the millionth time. There wasn’t any way the L.A.P.D. could consider her a suspect thanks to Lance vouching for the fact that she’d been inside the diner when the shots were fired. The detective’s tactics were admirable, though. Obviously trying to shake her down in the hopes that she knew something more than she was telling them. She’d run out into the thick of it, after all. No one with even a scrap of self-preservation instinct did anything that stupid.
“Lance was in the back doing prep work for the breakfast rush and I was getting ready to open. I heard a fight outside, followed by gunshots.” The detective—Rourke, according to his badge—eyed her with an intensity that made Claire’s insides quiver. It was the cold stare of an animal, emotionless and calculating, as though he was sizing up a potential threat. She swallowed against the dryness in her throat and bolstered the confidence she needed to sell her story. “There were two men lying facedown on the sidewalk and three more dragging another man toward the alley. I ran out and shouted for them to stop because it was obvious the other guy was being kidnapped or something, but by the time I caught up to them they were gone.”
Detective Rourke rapped his pencil on the tabletop, the tap, tap, tap drilling straight into Claire’s skull. “And you didn’t know the man who was being apprehended?” Rourke fixed her with a stare that sent an icy chill through her soul. “You have no idea who he was?”
She shook her head. “Do you think this was gang related?” Not that it mattered. Claire just wanted him to answer one of her questions to create a baseline for his responses. She didn’t trust him, or the shadow that passed over his gaze. It was time to put her internal lie detector to work.
“Not necessarily.”
Truth. Or at least a vague enough response to make her think he was being truthful.
“What we’re concerned about is an act of violence perpetrated by a very unstable man who might be tempted to lash out again. Next time, it could be in the middle of a mall or at an elementary school. Anything you can remember would be helpful, Claire. We want to find the person responsible before any more lives are lost.”#p#分页标题#e#
Again Rourke spoke with just enough truth to the lie that it was hard for Claire to get a clear read on him. Too soon to call bullshit. His familiarity with her sent a tremor through her. First “Miss Thompson” and now “Claire.” As though he was trying to foster some sort of intimacy and trust between them. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than the use of her first name to put her at ease. “I told you, the man I saw was being taken against his will. I don’t think he was the one who killed those men.”
Rourke’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “How can you be sure if you didn’t see anything that happened prior to leaving the diner?”
Worry ate away at her and Claire swallowed down the fear that congealed in her stomach like a stone. “What precinct did you say you were with, Detective?”
His indulgent smile didn’t reach his cold eyes. “Metropolitan Division.”
Lie.
“Oh.” Claire pinned him with her gaze. “My friend Leah works as a dispatcher there. Do you know her?”
“Sure, I know Leah. She’s a great girl.”
Lie. Claire didn’t know anyone who worked for the L.A.P.D. and neither did Detective Rourke. “Well, you’ll have to tell her I say hello the next time you see her.” Claire rose from the booth and he followed suit, the way he mirrored her action with fluid precision sending up another red flag. It was an intimidation tactic she’d used a few times herself. “I wish I could be of more help, but that’s all I know. I hope you find the guy. This neighborhood doesn’t see much excitement and I’m sure a lot of people would like to keep it that way.”
Rourke stared at her for just a beat too long, his lips a thin, hard line. She recalled what Mikhail had told her about the Sortiari infiltrating every facet of society and a shiver raced from the base of her neck all the way to her toes. Her only consolation was that if this guy was in fact with the Sortiari, then it meant that the guys who’d dragged Mikhail away weren’t members. She hoped in this case Mikhail would be safer with the devils he didn’t know.