“He implied it,” Brent nodded. “Which is why I just assumed…”
“Right,” I said, turning away from him. “This day is the worst.”
“Hey, how about we make something to eat and just chill?” Brent suggested. “We’re both in need of some comforting.”
“You need comforting?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “My business turned out to be a bust.”
“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry, Brent.”
He shrugged. “I’ll try again one day.”
I gave him a half-hearted smile, wondering if I would be willing to try another relationship again one day. Somehow, I felt that even if I did, I would never feel about another man the way I felt about Phil.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Phil
The interrogation room was small and dark. There was glass on one side, and I knew a bunch of men and women staring at me from the other side, but all I could see was my own reflection. I sat there with my hands together, despite the fact that they’d taken off the cuffs when they’d brought me into the room.
I kept thinking about the call with Megan. I didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that my life was going up in smoke or the fact that she so easily believed that I was capable of what they were accusing me of.
I had to admit that actually finding the drugs in my apartment was pretty solid proof for anyone who didn’t know me—but I thought Megan and I had a connection that transcended normal relationships. I had assumed she would be here, demanding to see me and trying to convince everyone who would listen that I hadn’t done what I was being accused of doing.
So when I told her, and her immediate reaction had been anger and disappointment, I hadn’t been prepared for it. Which was why I probably didn’t handle the call as well as I would have liked. I hadn’t affirmed my innocence with any sort of persuasiveness because I didn’t think I’d ever have to persuade Megan to believe me. I had just assumed she knew me.
Apparently, I had overestimated our bond. Or maybe the sad truth of the matter was that I had overestimated her feelings towards me.
I kept replaying the conversation over and over again in my head. How could Megan of all people not believe me? She knew how hard I’d tried to turn my life around. Why would I risk everything, including my career, to deal drugs? It didn’t make any sense.
I was still brooding over the phone call with Megan when a new cop walked through the door. I hadn’t seen him before, but I could tell by the way he was dressed and the way he held himself that he was a detective. He was tall and lean, with a swimmer’s build and dark hair that was on the long side.
“Phil Roberts,” he said in greeting as he sat down opposite me at the little rectangular table. “I’m Detective Corey Jones.”
“I’m innocent,” I said immediately.
He smiled. “You can understand why that doesn’t count for much.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Because of the drugs in my apartment?”
“For starters, yes.”
“I was framed.”
“Convenient,” Detective Jones said.
His smile was starting to irritate the crap out of me, but I knew that pissing off the detective in charge of my case was not the right way to go about this. I suppressed every irritable emotion I was feeling and kept my cool.
“I know that sounds like a convenient excuse,” I said. “I know it sounds like an excuse period—but I don’t do drugs!”
“Fair enough,” Detective Jones nodded. “You don’t do drugs. I can believe that easily. With pounds and pounds of hard drugs stored away in your closet, I never thought for a second that you were going to take the lot yourself. You don’t look like you do drugs, in any case—but that doesn’t mean you don’t deal. Now dealing is very believable.”
“The drugs were found in my closet?” I burst out, ignoring everything else he had just said.
“Oh, right,” Detective Jones said, raising his eyebrows at me. “You had no idea they were in your closet, am I right?”
“I’m not acting.”