Page 42 of Captive Audience

“Found it,” called out the female officer. She came out of my room with a plastic evidence bag containing the gold watch from the photo. “Is there anything you want to tell us about this?” She shook the bag with a raised brow.

“That’s not mine. I’ve never seen it before in my life.” I had the urge to face-palm for sounding like every guilty thief who’d ever lived.

Rook. This bullshit stunt had his manipulative fingerprints all over it. When he’d planted the watch, I didn’t know, but that son ofa bitch had known I’d run home as soon as I could. He’d been one step ahead of me this entire time.

Idiot. I should’ve fled somewhere he couldn’t find me.

“Ms. Sparks, you’re under arrest,” said Briggs, who proceeded to cuff me and lead me to the door.

“Did Rook put you up to this?” It had to be him. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

Neither officer answered as they carted me down three flights of stairs, past a half dozen nosy neighbors, and into the squad car waiting out front.

I’d never experienced a walk of shame quite like this.

But shame was only the beginning of my problems.

21

ASHA

Upon arriving at the station, I’d had my fingerprints and mug shots taken, been searched and had my phone confiscated, then been tossed into a holding cell with a half dozen other women. In the two days since, the station police had given me the runaround.

I’d asked repeatedly to speak to my lawyer. Their response?Soon. The angrier I got, the more they ignored me.

My chances of accessing a phone were zero, and bail hadn’t even been set. Even if I could call my friends, what would I say, anyway?Hey, remember the hot guy I spent the night banging? Turns out he’s in the Mob and thinks we’re married. Please come bail me out of jail so I can murder him. I was utterly screwed.

“What are you in for?” asked the woman beside me, who might or might not be a sex worker.

I grunted. “Having terrible taste in men.”

She shook her head. “You and me both, girl.”

Figures.

What stung the most was that I’d never seen any of this coming. Not once had I suspected Rook was playing me. He’d made me feel beautiful, special, desired. All the things I’d longed to feel. It was like he knew all the pretty words to make me temporarily forget men were a scourge that couldn’t be trusted.

My stomach rumbled. My head hurt. I smelled worse than aSurvivorcast member. Mostly, I just wanted a warm bed where I could curl up and pretend the last couple of days never happened.

But the only way out of this situation was to do something unthinkable. I had to call the devil himself. Which was exactly what Rook wanted and why he’d reminded me on my way out of his apartment that his contact details were in my phone. The bastard knew I’d come skulking back with my tail between my legs. Probably had every cop in here paid off to do his dirty work.

I approached the bars and called out to Officer Petty, “Hey.” The ornery old cop and I had become great pals, or whatever the opposite of that was. “I need to make a phone call.”

He didn’t even look up from the keyboard he stabbed at with his index fingers like some goddamn tech dinosaur. “I told you. You can call your lawyer soon.”

“Not my lawyer. I need to call”—I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the cool bars—“the owner of the watch Iallegedlystole.” I almost dry heaved saying those words out loud. But apparently they were the ones Officer Petty wanted, because he pulled my phone from a charger cable and brought it over.

“Aren’t I supposed to use the pay phone?” I asked.

He looked at me as though I were a dumbass. “Do you want to make the call or not?”

Sheesh. Cranky.

He held the phone up to my face, and it unlocked, which shocked me because I probably looked like an eighty-year-old crack addict right now.

I watched him pull up the contacts. “Name?”

“As if you don’t know.”