I shrugged. “Simon’s a friend. I gave him a ride.”
“How did you meet Dr. Pellar?” Stevens spoke up.
I had gotten so sucked into Keller’s bit with the folders, just as he’d intended, I’d almost forgotten she was there. “Ma’am?”
“You said you and Dr. Pellar are friends,” she prompted. “How did you two first meet?”
Oh. I gave her the same story I’d told Elise—that I’d visited one of Simon’s classes because I was thinking about auditing. “When was this?” she asked, pen poised over her notebook.
“Sorry, I can’t remember. Early September sometime.”
“What was the name of Dr. Pellar’s class, the one you attended?” she pressed.
Damn. I had kind of hoped this woman would be my ally, but if this was her version of “good cop,” her bad cop might be worse than Keller’s. I spread my hands wide. “Sorry, I don’t recall.”
“Is the relationship romantic?” Stevens asked.
“No, ma’am,” I replied. “Simon has a girlfriend. We’re just friends.”
“That doesn’t make sense to me,” Keller broke in. “Two people in their thirties with nothing in common, no romantic attachment, suddenly spending all this time together?”
I gave him a look. “So your theory is, what, that the two of us are forming a gang of local hooligans who break windows and eat people?”
“How do you explain your relationship with Dr. Pellar, Lex?” Stevens asked kindly. Ah, there was the good cop. Too late now, lady.
“How do you explain your partnership with Keller?” I countered, pointing a thumb at the other cop. “You lose a bet? Transfer in from somewhere else?”
They both ignored me, taking a moment to shuffle their papers and scribble notes I couldn’t see. With her eyes glued to her notepad, Stevens said in a casual tone, “Dr. Pellar is a fairly well-respected professor. His supervisors say he’s brilliant, but he has a little trouble with time management. Doesn’t publish much.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“He also has a lot of contacts in other countries,” Keller said pointedly. “Contacts who might be able to get him a big snake or even a Komodo dragon.”
Now Keller was accusing Simon? “Maybe he does,” I allowed. “But you guys came to him, not the other way around. Elise was the one who—” I cut myself off, but it was too late: Keller pounced.
“The one who wanted to call in Pellar? We know. We also know that you were the one who told her to do that.” He gave me a thin smile. “So you see, Ms. Luther, once again a suspicious situation can be traced back to you.”
“Are you ready to tell us who you were with last night?” Stevens said, her voice innocent.
“I was with Simon and his sister Lily,” I said, but my voice didn’t sound as strong as I’d have liked. We’d planned the alibi when I was walking them out to Lily’s car, but that was before I knew the police considered the Pellars my co-conspirators.
There was nothing to do now but stick to the story. “Lily was really upset over a breakup, so she asked Simon and me to come over and spend time with her. When I left last night, I told her to call me if she needed me to come back, and shortly after I arrived at John’s house, she did call.” That much was true—she’d called my cell to let me know the buzzer on Quinn’s apartment building wasn’t working. “I was worried, so I headed back as soon as I could. We stayed up late talking and watching movies at Lily’s house, and I ended up crashing on her couch.” I tugged at the front of my wrinkled shirt. “I haven’t even been home yet this morning.”
Keller started to bark something, but Stevens subtly signaled for him to wait. “Why didn’t you just tell us this last night?” she asked me.
“Because I didn’t want to tell you my friend’s secrets without her permission,” I said, trying to sound casual. “But I spoke to her this morning and she said it was okay.”
“And we can confirm all of this by checking your cell phone records?” Stevens asked mildly.
“No, you may not.” Both of their eyes narrowed at the same time, but I just shrugged again. “You would need a warrant for that, and I have a right to my privacy.”
Keller made a skeptical grunt in the back of his throat. “Riiiiiight,” he drawled. “So you’ve got this flimsy story, and we have no way of proving that any of it is true. How convenient.”
“You’re welcome to speak to Simon and Lily,” I said. I kept my tone even, because I am a grownup, and I wasn’t about to give in to the tiny voice suggesting I give Keller the finger. “Although of course I’d prefer that you not waste your time on me when you could be finding the real vandal.”
Keller and Stevens exchanged a look. She gave him a barely perceptible nod, and he turned to face me, looking angry. “Here’s what we’re thinking, Ms. Luther,” he said. “You came home from Iraq a hero, but then a few years passed. Now you’re in a dead-end job, no real friends, no romantic attachments because you’re in love with your dead sister’s husband.”
“John and I aren’t—” I began, but he cut me off.
“You act out a little bit, get arrested a couple of times, then finally, you get an idea: You’ll stage a kidnapping. Get even more attention and glory for yourself, and your brother-in-law’s gratitude, to boot.”
Even though I’d figured it was coming, I still felt like I’d been slapped. I could tell by Keller’s smirk that it showed on my face. “But eventually the hubbub from all that fades too,” he went on, “and suddenly you’re bored and alone again. So you and your new pal Pellar cook up another, more exciting plan, kind of a fun Strangers on a Train twist: You help him get some exotic snake-thing and let it loose in Chautauqua. You hook him up with Elise, making him look like a big important police consultant, which makes him look good to his bosses at the university and helps balance out his lack of publishing. And in return, he helps you trash your brother-in-law’s house. Was it like a revenge thing, because he’s with another woman?”
“Simon’s walking with a cane,” I pointed out. “His doctors can confirm that for you.”
Stevens jumped in. “He doesn’t actually have to be the one who destroyed the house,” she remarked. “Maybe he stood watch, or kept an eye on John while he was on his date.”
I felt my temper heat up. The worst part was that their whole theory had terrifying little bits of truth in it. I had acted out after the army, not to get attention, but because I was all twisted up with fury and frustration and had nowhere to put it. And there was a time when I’d been a little bit in love with John, but I was certain that was over now. I loved him, but it was because he was family. Because he was Charlie’s dad. But how could I prove that?
One of my bigger problems here was that I couldn’t point them toward Quinn as either my alibi or my “boyfriend,” not that I’d use that term anyway. If they managed to find him before the sun set, he wouldn’t exactly be a credible witness. In fact, that would just set off a giant pile of new and more dangerous problems.
On the other hand, I was starting to get a bit nervous that they were actually going to arrest me for vandalism and maybe manslaughter-by-giant-lizard.
They were both staring at me expectantly, and Keller had begun to tap a pen on the table, trying to unnerve me. Ignoring him, I took a slow breath, in and out. “Your theory is full of problems,” I said, as calmly as I could. “If I had planned the whole kidnapping, do you really think I would have let myself get hurt enough to actually die several times in surgery? If my whole goal was to attract attention and hero worship, why did I turn down interviews from every newspaper and news blog within five hundred miles? Pick a major paper, and they called me the week after the thing at the Depot. You can verify that too.”
Keller started to retort, but now it was my turn to talk over him. “You have absolutely no evidence connecting the break-ins to the kidnapping, and even if you did, there’s no evidence connecting those crimes to the pellets, or the pellets to me. All you know is that I gav
e Simon a ride. You’re just fishing.”
I saw the glint in Keller’s eyes, and knew the emotional attack was coming before he opened his mouth. “You tore up that little girl’s room,” he said softly, dangerously. “I saw her crib, after someone ripped it apart. It takes strength to do that, real strength.” His eyes flickered down to the sleeves of my hand-me-down jacket, where my biceps strained against the leather. “It takes a messed-up brain, too.”
“It’s not your fault, Lex,” Stevens put in, her voice dripping with sympathy. “A lot of people came home from the war with wires crossed. We can get you the help you need.”
“Before you hurt anyone else,” Keller added. “Like that little girl you claim to love so much.”
For reasons I will never fully understand, I felt stinging tears flood into my eyes. I cursed myself inwardly. I was making everything worse by crying, goddammit. I had known he was going to take a cheap shot, so why did it sting this much?
Because I was afraid of getting Charlie hurt. That part was real. But it wasn’t because I thought I would hurt her, not directly. I worried I wasn’t going to be good enough, strong enough, to keep her safe from the whole Old World. And that terror suddenly flooded my body, sharp and crippling.
There was a long, terrible silence, while I struggled for control of myself. Stevens’s and Keller were looking at me with expectant faces—Stevens’s was kind, and Keller was obviously trying to mask his glee. Before I could speak, however, the interview room door flew open and a woman walked in. She was about fifty, with that silvering blonde hair that looks great on middle-aged women. Her strong, competent features gave her a commanding appearance, which was further emphasized by her blue tailored business suit and the thunderous look on her face.
“Chief!” Stevens jumped to her feet, with Keller right behind her. “What are you—I mean, how can we help you, ma’am?”
The woman ignored the both of them and beelined for me, holding out her right hand for me to shake. “Ms. Luther. So good to meet you. I’m Kim Bryant, the chief of police.”
Uncertainly, I stood up and shook her outstretched hand. She had a strong grip. “Um, hello.”
Only then did Bryant turn her attention to Keller and Stevens, who were busy exchanging identical mystified looks. I was guessing that the police chief probably didn’t storm into interview rooms all that often. “Can one of you two please explain to me why in the hell you’ve brought this young woman in here?” Bryant demanded.
“Uh . . .” Keller hastily picked up the pile of case files from the table. “She’s been linked to a number of recent crimes—”
“Because she’s a victim,” Bryant snapped. “Not to mention a decorated war veteran and the daughter of an extremely prominent local business owner.” She gave me a sincere look. “Thank you for your service, Ms. Luther.”
My jaw dropped open. I never know how to respond when people say that to me, but this moment was so bizarre that I just sort of nodded my head. She’d mentioned my father—had he set this up? Had he sent his eight hundred-pound gorilla of a lawyer in to . . . no, that didn’t make any sense, either. My dad had a little pull, probably enough to get me some nice manners at a questioning, but he had no idea I was here. Even if John had told him, he wouldn’t have called the chief of police; he would have sent the lawyer. I wasn’t sure he’d ever had a conversation with Bryant, let alone an interaction that would give him this amount of sway.
“You are free to go, of course, with my apologies,” Bryant was saying, reaching out an arm to gesture toward the door. “I would walk you out, but I need to have a word with my detectives.” There was real fury in her voice, but I had stopped listening. As she raised her arm toward the door, I saw it: a heavy-duty Band-Aid stuck to her right wrist. Suddenly I understood everything.
Quinn.
Chapter 28
I seethed the whole way to Denver.
I couldn’t believe Quinn. He’d made me a promise not to press Keller, and what did he do but go out and feed on the goddamned police chief instead, knowing damn well that he was ignoring the spirit of my argument in favor of obeying the letter of it.
And then, I realized, and then he’d come back to his place and had sex with me? I pounded a fist into the driver’s-side window, hearing it creak a little under the pressure. How could he just go behind my back and fuck around with my life, and then come to bed with me? I was so angry . . . and so hurt, too. Although he’d kept his promise not to press Keller, he’d carelessly used someone just to arrange things for me. And he’d done it after I specifically requested he stand down, as though I were some simpering princess who needed a rescue and was too foolish to ask for it.
He also saved your ass, said Sam’s voice in my head. She sounded amused. Keller was gonna put you in a cell.
“I am not talking to my dead sister right now,” I said out loud. “And if I were, I know she would be on my side.”
Silence from the voice in my head. Oh good.
It took some effort, but by the time I hit airport traffic I had more or less pushed away that line of thought. I didn’t have time to meditate on the ethics of mind-control powers, and there was nothing I could do about it until Quinn woke up anyway. I tried to focus on the drive, and what I was going to say to the thaumaturge witch when I picked her up. I was eager for her to help—given the events of the last few days, it seemed more important than ever for me to talk to Nellie, Maven’s old contact. The fact that the ghost in question was also a boundary witch had me practically salivating with the desire to speak to her.
I scrounged up a clean piece of notebook paper and a permanent marker from the backseat of my car, and made a tacky sign to hold up at the entrance to baggage claim. Probably not up to the thaumaturge witch’s usual standards, considering her fee, but it worked: a few minutes after I arrived, an East Indian woman with a sleek rolling suitcase separated herself from the crowd and moved toward me with a relieved nod. She glanced over her shoulder every few seconds, which showed off a silky black fishtail braid. As she got closer, I realized she was probably a few years older than me, but had that youthful look of someone who took care of herself. And she was gorgeous. I’d sort of imagined she’d be glamorous in a cheap, Las-Vegas-on-TV kind of way, with fake boobs, sky-high heels, and a tight sheath dress, possibly red. Instead, Sashi Brighton looked like she should be on the cover of a catalog for an upscale women’s boutique. She wore slim-cut jeans, a silk top the color of lemonade, and one of those thick draping cardigans, mahogany-colored and probably soft enough to cuddle at night.
“Hello,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Allison Luther, but everyone calls me Lex.”
For a moment her big brown eyes sparkled with surprised good humor. “Lex . . . Luther? Like the comic book character?” she asked, with a slight English accent. Of course she’d have an elegant accent to match the outfit. “Superman’s archnemesis?”
“It started as an army nickname,” I said with a shrug. “After a couple of years, it started to feel weird to be called anything else. I really appreciate you coming on such short notice, Ms. Brighton.”
“Call me Sashi, please,” she said, glancing behind her again. “My daughter was just in the restroom—oh, here she is.” A gawky teenager came moseying over to us, wearing plastic-framed glasses and a pink Caesar’s Palace sweatshirt over yoga pants. Her skin was a bit lighter than Sashi’s, but her features were just like her mother’s. She had a bright purple backpack that looked a little young for her. I could instantly imagine the conversation she and Sashi had probably had over getting a new one when the old one worked just fine. “This is Grace. Gracie, say hello to Lex.”
“Hi,” she said to the floor. I held out my hand, and the girl shook it, a little surprised that I’d bothered. Then she shrugged and stepped back in line with her mom.
“It’s nice to meet you, Grace. I’ll take you guys to your hotel first so you can get settled,” I nodded toward Sashi’s suitcase. “Can I get that for yo
u?”
“No, quite all right. Shall we?”
On the way out to the car we made small talk about the weather in Las Vegas versus Colorado. I opened the back of the Subaru so Sashi could put in her suitcase, and we got Grace settled in the backseat. I made the mistake of asking her what she’d dressed up as for Halloween. “I’m fourteen,” Grace said with a scowl. “Halloween is for little kids.”
“Grace,” her mother warned.
“It’s okay,” I assured her. To Grace, I added, “I guess I’m used to younger kids. My cousins have kids who all still trick-or-treat. The oldest is Dani, and she’s twelve.”
Begrudgingly, Grace muttered, “Twelve was the last year I went.”
“Gracie, why don’t you listen to your headphones for a bit so Lex and I can talk business?” Sashi suggested gently.
Grace shrugged, which seemed to be kind of her default reaction to everything, and fished a pair of over-the-ear headphones out of her backpack. A moment later “Death or Glory” began blasting out loudly enough for us to hear it in the front seat. Sashi sighed. “Sorry about that. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to fry out her eardrums so she doesn’t have to listen to her mother.”
“Doesn’t bother me.” I glanced sideways. “The Clash?”
Sashi smiled. “She and her friends think they’re such originals for listening to them instead of Taylor Swift, or whoever’s hot these days. I haven’t the heart to tell her that teens have been thinking more or less the same thing for more than forty years.” She rolled her eyes fondly.
“Is she, um . . . like you?”
“A witch?” Sashi shook her head. “Near as I can tell, she’s in the middle of her window, where she has to activate her powers or lose them. But Grace doesn’t know anything about magic.”
And it didn’t sound as though Sashi was planning to tell her, which seemed awfully complicated to me. Then again, what the hell did I know? I’d realized I was a witch all of six weeks ago. “Her father, is he a witch as well?” I asked lightly. I wasn’t sure about the social protocol for asking a stranger a question like that, but . . . well, I was really curious.
Boundary Lines (Boundary Magic Book 2) Page 18