you want my prints,” she told him tersely, “you just have to ask. My DNA, too.”
He laughed softly, humorlessly. “Everybody’s a CSI wannabe.” Glancing around, he beckoned over a policeman. “Sergeant, take the doctor down to the precinct. We need to get her statement.”
“I can do it,” Henderson volunteered, pocketing the small notebook he always used to take down information that came his way.
“I need you here,” Tony told him. “I’ll have a patrolman drive her in.” He spared a glance at Sasha. “I’ll see you at the station.”
“Doesn’t matter where you’ll see me,” she informed him, “the answers will still be the same.”
He merely nodded, walking away to speak to one of the patrolman. “Good, means you’re not lying.”
Sasha felt a flash of temper. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, feeling it more prudent not to say anything until she had more control over what could come out. All she knew right now was that the detective was getting under her skin at an amazing speed and rubbing her completely the wrong way.
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