before you walked in. I have no idea how long I was unconscious, and your knock on the door jarred me into this bizarre scene. I don’t remember anything beyond being in my apartment getting ready for bed.”
Slade’s frown conveyed his skepticism.
“You wanted the truth and I’m telling you,” Asia continued, her words tumbling out faster. “When I caught sight of the dead guy—” She tried to point to Nevil’s body, but the handcuffs restricted her movement and the bloodied cloth tumbled to the floor. “I reacted. Just grabbed the thing off my lap and then you walked in.” She nodded toward the Glock. “I didn’t even realize it was a gun.”
“You don’t seriously expect me to believe that.” Slade stooped, lifted the cloth and reapplied it to her shoulder before moving to the TV and shutting it off. Silence hovered between them like an invisible shield of disbelief. “I need you to tell me what happened before I got here. I can’t hold off calling this in to dispatch any longer.” His caramel-brown eyes pleaded with her to respond, though he remained in his defensive posture.
Their history should eliminate the caution he maintained. They’d grown up together, had dated through most of high school, had basically known each other forever. Surely those memories counted for something. Asia’s gaze jerked from Slade to Nevil’s body, then to the weapon on the floor. Please, Lord, make my memory return. Give me wisdom in what to say.
“Was it self-defense?”
She met Slade’s penetrating look. All they were missing was a spotlight and metal table for the way his interrogation was going. “Nice try, but I didn’t kill him.”
“I saw you holding the gun.”
The allegation stung, raising her defenses. “Are you listening at all? I told you, I went to bed early. In my apartment. Next thing I know, I’m waking up here. Wherever ‘here’ is.”
“Can anyone corroborate your story?”
Asia sat up straighter and lifted her chin. “No, because I was alone. And it’s not a story. It’s the truth.”
“Fine. If you refuse to cooperate, we’ll stick to procedures and I’ll treat you like any other murder suspect.” Slade depressed the button on his portable shoulder mic. “Request assistance and ambulance. One injured suspect, one dead, possibly more people unknown and unaccounted for.”
“Ten-four, twenty-two fifty,” the dispatcher confirmed.
Asia jumped to her feet, unable to breathe past the vise squeezing her chest. Ten fifty at night. How long had she been here? “What day is it?”
Slade tilted his head. “Don’t even try the helpless damsel thing.”
She clamped a hand onto his forearm clumsily and demanded, “Tell me what day it is.”
He plucked away her fingers then led her back to the chair. “You have to sit down. We don’t need you losing more blood.”
“The date?” Asia insisted, searching his eyes.
He cocked his head to the side and blew out a breath. “December twenty-second.”
“Are you sure?” The room swayed, and Asia’s hands fell heavy in her lap.
“Of course I’m sure.” Slade adjusted his mic wire, clearly frustrated. Well, he wasn’t the only one.
“No. That’s not possible,” Asia mumbled. “It can’t be.” Her thoughts traveled to her color-coded salon appointment book. Pink for haircuts, blue for pedicures—and December twentieth in bold print at the top of the page. Horrified, she doubled over, pressing her bound wrists against her stomach.
“Hey, are you okay?” The warmth of Slade’s hand on her shoulder kept her fixed in the moment, though she longed to escape.
“I don’t... How can it be December twenty-second?” She sat up. “How did I lose two days of my life?”
He shook his head. “Asia, stop messing around. I’ve gotta start this report before backup arrives.”
She blasted him with her best death glare. “Slade, I’d love to spout the answers you want, but let me clue you in. I was in my apartment on December twentieth. It was payday, and I was trying to figure out how to make my rent. One of the many joys of being a widow whose drug-addicted husband took everything and sold it to supply his habit.”
Doubt marked his frown, and he knelt beside the Glock, surveying but not touching the weapon. “Still doesn’t explain why you were pointing a gun at Quenten.”
Asia bit her lip, scanning the room again, and landed on Slade’s unbelieving frown. “I’m trying to help you, but you can see how this will sound to the district attorney.”
She stiffened. “I am being honest, and no, thanks—I’ve seen your idea of help.”
The verbal slap tightened Slade’s jaw and irritation flashed in his eyes, but his tone remained unwavering. “Asia, I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am that Zander is gone. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him. He was my friend, my partner.”
“Wow, beautiful. Is that the same little speech you told Sergeant Oliver before you betrayed Zander?” She pinned him with a glower. Slade was a traitor, and he’d destroyed her life.
They held their wordless staredown until Slade glanced out the window, watching for backup. “Zander made his own choices and put us both in an impossible situation, including backing me against the wall. Turning him in was my duty. I had no other options.” He spun to face her.
Asia looked away. Choices. There was no disputing the facts. Zander had chosen drugs, a plethora of other women and repeated binges. The combination proved to be the catalyst for their separation a year before his death had made her a widow at thirty-four. He’d walked a dangerous path, leading a double life as a trooper and working for Quenten. Eventually, it was bound to catch up to him. Asia had warned him repeatedly to get help and talk to Sergeant Oliver. In the end, Zander’s murder hadn’t been a surprise. He’d played too long with a dangerous, consuming fire.
Still, Asia would never pretend to be okay with Slade’s method of handling things. He could’ve helped Zander. Been a real friend. Instead, Slade earned accolades by arresting Zander and putting a homing target on him that led Quenten’s men right to him. They’d silenced Zander permanently as a result of Slade’s by-the-book philosophy.
Asia had lost everything. And Zander was dead.
Slade was to blame. It was that simple.
The familiar sorrow she’d befriended beckoned again.
Slade exhaled, and his posture relaxed. “What happened with Quenten?” A gentle tone slipped through, reminding her of the boy she’d once known. He withdrew a small notepad from his uniform pocket.
Stay angry. It’s safer. Easier. “If you ask me a hundred more times, I will tell you the same thing. I don’t know how or why I’m here. I never shot him. And I. Don’t. Remember. Anything.” Asia kept her voice tight and controlled, maintaining her composure to prevent any weakness from leaking through.
“If
