The Last Echo
Page 21
The officer took the book from Violet, turning it over to examine it as Violet went to stand beside Rafe and Krystal. The man’s lips thinned with impatience. “Do you mind explaining why you kids are in here?” His gaze fell on Violet this time as she wadded the paper into a tiny ball and shoved it into the pocket of her hoodie. She wondered why he’d singled her out. Did she really look that honest? Or just like she’d be easier to break than the others? “And I want the truth this time.”
Violet wanted to glare at Rafe for putting her in this position in the first place, for forcing her to lie to the police. Sweat beaded across her forehead as she pictured her uncle Stephen, the chief of police in Buckley, and wondered what he’d think of her if he knew what she was doing now, where she was. She swallowed, wishing the knot in her throat wasn’t choking her.
She opened her mouth, grasping—flailing, really—for the first excuse she could think of, but it was Rafe who stepped forward. “Fine,” he said, his voice smooth and his expression unruffled. “We get it, we’re in trouble. You caught us.”
“You got that right,” the cop said.
“Listen, just do me a favor. Can you call Agent Sara Priest for us?” Somehow he managed to say the words without smirking, despite the smugness Violet could hear in his voice. “She’s with the FBI. She’ll explain everything.” Rafe pulled a business card from his front pocket as if he kept them there at all times, for just such an emergency. He handed it to the officer, who looked at the three of them standing in front of him with unguarded suspicion, probably wondering why in the world someone with the FBI would bail them out of the mess they were in.
They’d been taken to the police station, but since they weren’t handcuffed, and hadn’t been fingerprinted, Violet assumed they weren’t actually being arrested or anything. At least not yet.
But she knew she was in trouble. Even though they’d been told Sara was on her way, she was still a minor. She wasn’t stupid; she knew her parents had probably been called too.
They would not be happy about this.
Violet chewed on the side of her fingernail as she played out a dozen different scenarios in her head . . . none of which included being allowed to keep her cell phone, or possibly even her car.
Still, they were lucky, she supposed. Apparently they hadn’t done anything bad enough to get themselves locked in the holding cells, where all the real criminals were waiting to be booked into jail.
Rafe didn’t seem to care that they’d been caught. And Krystal was just . . . caught up in all the commotion around them.
“This is your fault. If you hadn’t stolen that key . . .” Violet let the accusation hang there, both of them knowing what she meant.
A devious half smile lit Rafe’s face. “Then you’d be clean and safe and warm at home, wouldn’t you?” he offered, looking at Violet with blue eyes that were anything but contrite. “How boring is that?”
Violet shook her head. “It’s not boring, it’s . . .” She struggled, trying to find the right words, trying to find a way to make him realize he couldn’t just go around doing whatever he wanted. “It’s about doing the right thing. About not breaking the law.”
From the other side of Rafe, Krystal snickered, and Violet turned to glare at her. “I don’t see how this is funny,” she practically choked out. “Besides, I thought you’d be on my side here. I mean, look at us, we’re in jail!”
“We’re not in jail.” Rafe leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms across the top of it. His stance was far too casual, which only infuriated Violet even more. “Sara will spring us. Then you can go back to your safe, suburban little life.”
Violet was about to tell him where he could go—where they could both go—when she felt something in the air shift, making it suddenly hard for her to breathe. Hard to blink.
It took several heartbeats before she realized what was happening as she sat there, openmouthed, waiting to see who it was. Her chest tightened with each second that ticked by, constricting until she felt as if her lungs might implode.
And then she saw him. The source of her sudden discomfort.
A killer hiding in plain sight.
Unlike the three of them, this boy was most definitely being arrested. He was surrounded by three uniformed officers as he was pushed through the station doors. He didn’t bother struggling. It would have been futile, she supposed. His hands had been cuffed, and all three of the men escorting him were armed, as was nearly every other officer in the station.
Time slowed as Violet watched, and a chill gripped her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself, leaning closer to Rafe, seeking out his warmth. She could hear her own pulse as it established an eerie backdrop to the rhythm of each footstep the boy took.
Imprints clung to him like a thick layer of fog, so intertwined that it was almost impossible to distinguish one from the next.
Violet was stunned that the boy in front of her could be responsible for carrying so much death. He couldn’t possibly be much older than she was, hardly qualifying as a man. At first she thought she must be wrong, that she was confused . . . she had to be sensing imprints coming from the officers too. Surely these were men who had killed in the line of duty and were wearing those reminders on their skin.
But then she looked at the boy . . . really looked at him. He should have been too young to be so hardened, so dangerous. Yet Violet knew better. She knew that sometimes evil was born.
Violet wanted to glare at Rafe for putting her in this position in the first place, for forcing her to lie to the police. Sweat beaded across her forehead as she pictured her uncle Stephen, the chief of police in Buckley, and wondered what he’d think of her if he knew what she was doing now, where she was. She swallowed, wishing the knot in her throat wasn’t choking her.
She opened her mouth, grasping—flailing, really—for the first excuse she could think of, but it was Rafe who stepped forward. “Fine,” he said, his voice smooth and his expression unruffled. “We get it, we’re in trouble. You caught us.”
“You got that right,” the cop said.
“Listen, just do me a favor. Can you call Agent Sara Priest for us?” Somehow he managed to say the words without smirking, despite the smugness Violet could hear in his voice. “She’s with the FBI. She’ll explain everything.” Rafe pulled a business card from his front pocket as if he kept them there at all times, for just such an emergency. He handed it to the officer, who looked at the three of them standing in front of him with unguarded suspicion, probably wondering why in the world someone with the FBI would bail them out of the mess they were in.
They’d been taken to the police station, but since they weren’t handcuffed, and hadn’t been fingerprinted, Violet assumed they weren’t actually being arrested or anything. At least not yet.
But she knew she was in trouble. Even though they’d been told Sara was on her way, she was still a minor. She wasn’t stupid; she knew her parents had probably been called too.
They would not be happy about this.
Violet chewed on the side of her fingernail as she played out a dozen different scenarios in her head . . . none of which included being allowed to keep her cell phone, or possibly even her car.
Still, they were lucky, she supposed. Apparently they hadn’t done anything bad enough to get themselves locked in the holding cells, where all the real criminals were waiting to be booked into jail.
Rafe didn’t seem to care that they’d been caught. And Krystal was just . . . caught up in all the commotion around them.
“This is your fault. If you hadn’t stolen that key . . .” Violet let the accusation hang there, both of them knowing what she meant.
A devious half smile lit Rafe’s face. “Then you’d be clean and safe and warm at home, wouldn’t you?” he offered, looking at Violet with blue eyes that were anything but contrite. “How boring is that?”
Violet shook her head. “It’s not boring, it’s . . .” She struggled, trying to find the right words, trying to find a way to make him realize he couldn’t just go around doing whatever he wanted. “It’s about doing the right thing. About not breaking the law.”
From the other side of Rafe, Krystal snickered, and Violet turned to glare at her. “I don’t see how this is funny,” she practically choked out. “Besides, I thought you’d be on my side here. I mean, look at us, we’re in jail!”
“We’re not in jail.” Rafe leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms across the top of it. His stance was far too casual, which only infuriated Violet even more. “Sara will spring us. Then you can go back to your safe, suburban little life.”
Violet was about to tell him where he could go—where they could both go—when she felt something in the air shift, making it suddenly hard for her to breathe. Hard to blink.
It took several heartbeats before she realized what was happening as she sat there, openmouthed, waiting to see who it was. Her chest tightened with each second that ticked by, constricting until she felt as if her lungs might implode.
And then she saw him. The source of her sudden discomfort.
A killer hiding in plain sight.
Unlike the three of them, this boy was most definitely being arrested. He was surrounded by three uniformed officers as he was pushed through the station doors. He didn’t bother struggling. It would have been futile, she supposed. His hands had been cuffed, and all three of the men escorting him were armed, as was nearly every other officer in the station.
Time slowed as Violet watched, and a chill gripped her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around herself, leaning closer to Rafe, seeking out his warmth. She could hear her own pulse as it established an eerie backdrop to the rhythm of each footstep the boy took.
Imprints clung to him like a thick layer of fog, so intertwined that it was almost impossible to distinguish one from the next.
Violet was stunned that the boy in front of her could be responsible for carrying so much death. He couldn’t possibly be much older than she was, hardly qualifying as a man. At first she thought she must be wrong, that she was confused . . . she had to be sensing imprints coming from the officers too. Surely these were men who had killed in the line of duty and were wearing those reminders on their skin.
But then she looked at the boy . . . really looked at him. He should have been too young to be so hardened, so dangerous. Yet Violet knew better. She knew that sometimes evil was born.
