Riven Knight

by Devney Perry

  I’d been here for almost an hour, sitting in this colorless room alone. The officers who’d escorted me here had given me a Dixie cup of water, then disappeared.

  “What’s this about?” I asked.

  “I’ve got some questions for you.” He gave me a kind smile. “If you don’t mind.”

  Fuck yes, I minded. “Not at all.”

  This entire thing was off and I had no reason to stay other than that I wanted my ass in this chair, not Isaiah’s.

  And damn it, I was curious.

  Being in an interrogation room was never a good idea, especially without Jim present, but I wanted information. Why was I here? The fastest way to find out why I was here was by playing along.

  I gave Chief Wagner an innocent smile and sipped from my cup.

  I hadn’t met the chief before, but we’d talked on the phone after Mom’s murder, when I’d been determined to make Draven pay for the life he’d taken.

  Oh, how things had changed.

  During our phone conversations, Chief Wagner had told me to call him Marcus. He’d given me his personal cell phone number in case I ever needed to talk. He’d reassured me, time and time again, that Draven would be punished for his crime. Marcus’s need for justice had seemed as strong as my own.

  I’d liked that about him. And I’d liked that his voice had always put me at ease. It had a deep, rich timbre, and now that I could put it with a face, it fit the mental picture I’d built. He was a large man, solid and tall, with a broad chest and barrel of a stomach that could withstand any punch.

  Clearly, Marcus kept in shape. He was probably in his late fifties or early sixties but he hadn’t let himself go. In a way, he reminded me of Draven. They had the same stature and confidence. They were probably around the same age. Marcus was handsome; the gray by his temples and in his bushy eyebrows just added to his appeal.

  He had a wide, thick mustache shadowing his upper lip. It was neatly combed but hid enough of his face that it made reading his expression more difficult. He could scowl under that thing and one might mistake it for a smile.

  Marcus studied my face, but the look wasn’t intimidating, more curious. It was almost . . . tender. He didn’t seem at all angry or on guard.

  Shit. Had I misread this entire thing?

  “The officers who came over didn’t tell me what this was about. Care to help me out here? Because I’m pretty confused about why I had to come to the police station on a Sunday.”

  “Sorry.” He sighed. “They were my two on patrol today. I was running late, otherwise I would have swung by myself. All I asked was that they ask you to come down. I hope they were polite.”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Very.”

  Marcus continued to study me and an odd silence crept into the room. It stretched on and on, until my heart thundered in my ears and my palms began to sweat. What did he want? Why wasn’t he talking? Why was he just staring at me? Something about the look on his face made the hair on my arms spike.

  Was that how he got his confessions? By staring at someone long enough that eventually they spilled their guts?

  What are you looking at? What do you want? I screamed the questions in my head. This was worse than sitting across from Tucker Talbot and his creepy biker posse.

  I broke. “You had questions?”

  Marcus blinked, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment. “It wasn’t how I’d hoped he’d pay. He took the coward’s way out.”

  Draven. This was about Draven, not the cabin.

  The air rushed out of my lungs.

  I hadn’t spoken to Marcus since my kidnapping. Why would I? I’d been firmly pulled into the fold at the Clifton Forge Garage. While I’d been learning about my father, working to prove his innocence, the chief had stayed the course to punish Draven for Mom’s murder.

  Draven—Dad—hadn’t been a coward.

  He’d saved my life. And Isaiah’s. And Dash’s.

  But I couldn’t exactly say that to the chief, could I? It would fall on deaf ears. Marcus thought Draven was guilty. Rightly so. They had a murder weapon with Draven’s prints. They had Draven at the scene of the crime.

  Marcus had done his job. He’d found evidence and arrested his suspect.

  “As you know, he’s my father.”

  Marcus nodded. “I know.”

  Everyone knew. This was a small town and the daughter of a victim associating with the alleged killer had spread like wildfire. Add to that a positive paternity test, I’d been a juicy topic. Luckily, not much of that had reached the garage. But I was sure it had reached the chief’s desk. I was sure he’d looked for me at the trial, but Jim had thought it best for me to stay away. Marcus had probably heard about my Sunday breakfasts at the diner too.

  Jim had actually planned to use my relationship with Draven at the sentencing hearing, hoping it would garner sympathy for Draven.

  Bryce had told me that Marcus was revered and respected around town. After the Tin Gypsies had disbanded, the crime rate had dropped to nearly nothing, and many gave the chief credit for their peaceful community. He was supposed to be an excellent investigator who ran the police force with a firm, honest hand.

  So why hadn’t he investigated the knife? Bryce had published an article not long after Mom’s death speculating a weapon of Draven’s had been stolen. Had he ignored it? Maybe he had investigated but there’d been nothing to find.

  No surprise—we hadn’t found anything either.

  “Why am I here?” I asked. And why now? Dad’s death was months ago. What was there to discuss?

  “Draven killed your mother.” His statement, the tone, was full of venom.

  “I don’t believe that’s true.”

  End of discussion. My allegiance would forever be to Draven. Yes, he’d been a criminal. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten along with the chief. But as far as I was concerned, the Draven topic was off the table.

  Marcus’s jaw ticked. The mood in the room shifted. The tension returned as his stare hardened. He shifted in the chair, its legs scraping against the concrete floor as he fished a bag out of his pocket.

  The room spun as he placed it on the table between us.

  My mother’s necklace lay encased in the clear, plastic bag. It was the necklace I’d been looking for since her death. The necklace I’d described in detail to both pawnshop owners in Clifton Forge and dozens around the state.

  How did he have it? Had she been wearing it when she died? Everything else from that horrific morning—her purse, the suitcase she’d had in the motel, even her toothbrush—had been returned to me after the police had deemed it was not part of the investigation.

  Was this necklace evidence? If so, why hadn’t it been included in any of the trial materials? Jim had let me go through Draven’s case file last month. I’d asked him to. Begged, really. I’d needed that piece of closure. There had been no mention of the necklace.

  “Do you recognize this?” Marcus asked, though he already knew the answer. I hadn’t even tried to hide my wide-eyed reaction.

  “Yes. It was my mother’s.”

  The dainty gold chain didn’t sparkle underneath the plastic. It was dull and coated in black. The crystal in the center of the North Star pendant had a ring of dirt and grime around the base, like someone had wiped only the large part of the stone clean. Only the center was clear enough to catch a hint of the overhead florescent light.

  “Do you remember last summer when that man was burned to death in a cabin in the mountains?”

  It took me a moment to register Marcus’s question. Then the sinking feeling in my gut nearly pulled me through the floor.

  This wasn’t about Draven or my mother’s murder.

  This was about the cabin.

  It always came back to that fucking cabin.

  “Um, yeah. I think so. It happened right before I moved here.” I kept my gaze locked on Mom’s necklace, using everything in my power to keep my voice from shaking. I sat on my trembling fingers.

&nbs
p; A year ago, I’d spent countless hours rehearsing what I’d say if I was arrested. Over and over I’d practiced, in the shower or as I’d driven to work.

  Nothing had happened. I’d gotten complacent. Where were those practiced lines now? Where was the fake surprise?

  Marcus touched the plastic bag, pulling it to his side of the table. I wanted to grab it and snatch it back because damn it, that necklace should be mine. “That fire’s been a cold case for almost a year. The investigators ruled it arson, but we haven’t been able to find a trace.”

  “Okay.” I nodded.

  “There were some things in the cabin that we linked to the victim. We’d thought this necklace was his as well. But turns out . . .”

  I forced my eyes up to meet his gaze. “It wasn’t.”

  How had Mom’s necklace ended up in that cabin? I hadn’t been wearing it that night. I would have remembered.

  I didn’t wear jewelry to sleep. The only exception was my wedding ring. I’d been in pajamas, my face washed and teeth brushed, ready for bed the night I’d been kidnapped. Besides, Mom had never given me this necklace.

  The last time I’d borrowed it had been—when?—in Denver. Mom had lent it to me in college for a third date. That date had gone terribly because the guy had only shelled out twenty bucks for a cheap pizza buffet and thought it was enough for sex. When I’d turned him down, he’d huffed and said Don’t expect to hear from me again.

  Mom had taken me out the next night for a mother-daughter date, with decent pizza, and I’d given her the necklace back. I’d teased her, saying it was bad luck.

  That was the last time I’d worn that necklace, I was sure of it.

  I’d given it back.

  “Any idea how it got there?” Marcus asked.

  “No.” Shit. I should call Jim. I needed to shut up and call Jim. But how did Marcus know this was Mom’s necklace?

  My spine prickled. That was why I was here, right? Because he knew this necklace had belonged to Mom and he’d brought me in for questioning. Did that mean he knew I’d been in that cabin?

  Or was this a tactic, keeping me waiting in this room for an hour before coming in to deliver short, leading questions that would trap me in a corner? I rewound our conversation, replaying my every word and measuring them carefully.

  If Marcus hadn’t known this necklace was Mom’s, I’d told him.

  Marcus Wagner was no friend. The chief wasn’t on my side.

  Which meant I was done talking.

  Almost.

  “How did you know it was my mom’s?”

  He held my stare, hesitating to answer. It was like he was assessing me, like he knew I’d just pegged him as the enemy. “A picture in the paper.”

  Fuck. One of the pictures Bryce had printed in today’s paper had been a photo of Mom wearing this necklace.

  I was here because Marcus had a new lead on that cabin fire. He sure had acted fast. The paper wasn’t even twenty-four-hours old.

  Someone had planted that necklace. Someone who’d wanted to blame that fire and murder on me. It was probably the same man who’d killed my mother and kidnapped me and Bryce.

  The same person or persons who’d killed Dad.

  The Warriors.

  “According to your credit card records, you were in Montana the day that cabin burned down. You flew into Bozeman the night before.”

  The air left my lungs. I nodded.

  “Why?”

  I took a sip of water from the Dixie cup. Was it telling that I needed water? Did only guilty people drink from those little paper cups? I choked the water down. “I came to see Mom’s grave. I hadn’t been here yet.”

  “And did you?”

  No. I’d been taken and shoved in the back of a trunk.

  But I couldn’t tell Marcus about the kidnapping. There was a reason I hadn’t gone to the police, and that reason was my husband.

  “Genevieve?” Marcus prompted when I didn’t answer.

  “Am I being charged?”

  His mouth set in a firm line. Even the mustache couldn’t hide his irritation. “No.”

  “Then I’d like to go.” I shoved my chair back and stood. “I’m not comfortable talking without my lawyer present.”

  My guess was I’d be back in that chair in a day or two as the primary suspect in an arson and murder investigation.

  Law school would have to wait.

  My troubles were far from over.

  Marcus stood too, picking up the necklace. The bag returned to his pocket as he opened the door, waving me into the hall.

  The walk through the bullpen was silent other than our footsteps. Every desk was empty, just like it had been when I’d arrived. The only other person here was the officer stationed up front.

  “Quiet day. Do you work on Sundays?” Wasn’t that something the chief of police got to avoid?

  “Normally, no. But today’s the exception.”

  Spotting that photo had been a surprise to him too.

  Marcus reached the door that opened to the exit. He held it open for me, nodding his goodbye.

  Then I was free. I could walk right out the front door. So why did I feel like this was all a trick? I was sure at any moment that the chief would summon me back and tell me I’d never be free again.

  I quickened my steps, pushing through the exterior door and into the bright sunshine. The moment my eyes adjusted to the light, I spotted the one person I needed most.

  “You’re here.” I rushed into Isaiah’s arms.

  “Been here since the minute I got off the phone with Jim.” He pointed down the sidewalk where Jim was standing, talking on his phone.

  He saw me and held up a finger.

  I breathed in Isaiah’s smell. He’d been standing in the sun, wearing black. There was a hint of sweat beneath the clean-fabric scent of his T-shirt. One inhale and my heart rate slowed.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not really.”

  Jim came rushing over and pulled me from Isaiah’s arms, giving me a hug of his own. “What happened?”

  “Honestly?” I cast a glance at the station. “I’m not sure. Something is off.”

  An eerie feeling crawled up my skin. The hair on the nape of my neck stood on end, like someone was watching me. I let Isaiah go and glanced around the parking lot. There was my car, Jim’s SUV and Isaiah’s bike; otherwise it was empty save for a few police cars.

  But the niggling sensation wouldn’t go away.

  I was missing something. We all were and had been for months.

  “What?” Isaiah asked. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I muttered.

  “Did they charge you? Question you?” Jim asked.

  I nodded. “No, and yes. I answered a few but then I refused to continue unless you were present.”

  “Good,” he said. “Next time, don’t go at all.”

  “Sorry. I was curious and wasn’t thinking.”

  “Let’s go to the firm and talk it through,” Jim said.

  “Can we do it tomorrow morning? I’m . . . my brain is fried and I’m an emotional wreck.” And before I talked about anything with Jim, I wanted to discuss it with Isaiah.

  “Okay,” Jim agreed. “But first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Get some rest.” He squeezed my arm, nodded to Isaiah and walked to his car.

  I wasn’t sure what was bothering me, but I wasn’t going to figure it out in the parking lot of the police station. So I took Isaiah’s hand and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Isaiah

  Dash stood beside the office door as we pulled into the garage. His arms were crossed and his face expressionless.

  He was pissed.

  So was I.

  Genevieve parked in her space as I pulled in next to her with my bike. Before she had the chance, I opened her door and held out my hand to help her out. Her feet had just hit th
e pavement when two other bikes raced down the street, filling the parking lot with their thunder as they rolled in.

  Emmett’s and Leo’s expressions matched Dash’s.

  I clasped Genevieve’s hand and led her to the shop. Dash had already opened the first bay door.

  “Did you call them?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Dash had been my second call after Jim. Then I’d texted him before Genevieve and I had left the station that we were on our way.

  “You good?” Dash asked Genevieve, uncrossing his arms as he came to her side.

  For a moment, I thought he’d pull her into a hug. He hesitated, thinking it over, and then she was ripped out of my grip. He wrapped her up, squeezing tight. “Sorry this happened.”

  She tensed, her eyes going wide for a second, but then she relaxed. “I’m okay. And it’s not your fault.”

  No, the blame was mine.

  Emmett and Leo flanked me, standing by as Dash hugged Genevieve. Since she’d called him on his shit, he’d been a different man around her. He’d started acting like a brother. They were adjusting to life as siblings. They didn’t have a bond like Kaine and me, but they’d get there.

  I was glad she had him. Nick too. They would watch out for her if I couldn’t.

  Because one thing was certain, if there was even a chance that she’d face charges for what had happened at that cabin, I’d confess in a heartbeat.

  Genevieve wouldn’t spend a minute in prison.

  “Come on in.” Dash let Genevieve go. “Let’s talk.”

  We walked deeper into the garage and found Bryce sitting with Xander in her arms. The baby was slugging down a bottle.

  Had it just been this morning that she’d come over with the paper? It felt like days had passed as I’d waited for Genevieve outside the station.

  Normally, there weren’t a lot of places to sit in the shop, just a few rolling stools. If we had to congregate, we went into the office. But a few extra chairs had been dragged in and situated in a circle along with the stools.

  There was a mess of tools scattered around the ’74 Chevy Nova we’d been restoring this past month. The car’s hood was up. Dash and Bryce had probably come here right after I’d called them, wanting to be here when we showed up. Dash must have kept his mind occupied with work.