The Pretend Boyfriend (The Pretend Boyfriend #3)(13)
Author: Artemis Hunt

“What?”

*

Brian hightails it to the police station as fast as his second hand Jeep would allow him. Yes, he has enough money to mount bail, but it’s practically all he has left. Everything has been sunk into the gym and its creative advertising.

What is it about the two of them and police stations?

He barges in, only to be told that she is in an interrogation room with Officer Cutter. Yes, the black cop who questioned him.

Brian nervously posts bail, and then says, “Can I see her?”

The officer at the desk jerks his head back. “OK, I think they’re about finished now.”

“Why is he with her? Did he arrest her?”

“No. She asked for him, citing that it was urgent. She wanted to show him her photos. He came.”

Oh yes, those photos. Brian had heard the gist of those photos over the phone. During the ride here, his mind had run over the different permutations those photos entail. He hasn’t seen them, of course. Not yet. But what woman would have a whole corkboard of his photos unless she was obsessed with him?

Obsessed enough to want revenge.

But what had he done to her? Was she someone he had f**ked before, left high and dry, and forgotten? His thoughts tumbled over the various faces of the women he has been with, and to his dismay, he can’t even remember most of them. He hadn’t had any long-term relationships, that was for sure. No one he had made unrealistic promises to. No one he had sworn unending and undying devotion to. That wasn’t his style.

But a clear realization beats like a pulse in the center of it all – a white beacon in the darkness.

I am not a ra**st!

I am not my father’s son.

Does he dare hope?

His mind is still churning with the flotsam of his memories as he sits in the waiting hall – waiting for Sam to be released.

After a while, she comes out, disheveled and bleary-eyed. He stands up, his stomach churning painfully to see her like this. She falls into his open arms immediately. He buries his nose in her hair and inhales, feeling his heart swell with unaccustomed emotion.

“Oh Sam, Sam, Sam, what the hell did you do?” he murmurs.

Officer Cutter comes out. Brian lets go of Sam.

“Look,” Brian says, “she didn’t do anything wrong, OK? She did it for me. To try to save me.”

“It’s no use,” Sam says dully.

Brian swings to her. “What do you mean?”

Officer Cutter clears his throat. “She’s right. All those photos she has taken in an apartment that she broke into and entered – ” he places an emphasis on the phrase “ – merely prove that Ms. Faulkner may indeed have an interest in you, Mr. Morton.”

“An unhealthy interest,” Sam claims.

“But it still doesn’t prove that you didn’t rape her,” Officer Cutter continues.

Brian is stunned.

Whaaat?

“I didn’t rape her,” he says with conviction. The whole thing stinks of a setup, not that he has time to mull over the new evidence. He repeats, more sure of himself now, “I didn’t rape her.”

“I would advise you to present everything you gathered to your lawyer,” Officer Cutter says. “Be forewarned that this new evidence to cast suspicions on Ms. Faulkner’s motives may not be viewed favorably by the court, as Ms. Fox obtained it unlawfully.”

“But – ” Brian begins.

“Ms. Fox has contravened Article 8 of the Human Rights Act, which establishes the right to respect an individual’s private life, which includes her home and what she has on her walls.”

“She was trying to find out the truth!”

“Which still doesn’t prove anything.” Officer Cutter eyes Brian with a cutting stare. “Your se**n was found in Ms. Faulkner’s vagina, Mr. Morton, along with signs of trauma. Whatever her motives may be, those are hard facts. Unless you have harder facts obtained by lawful means, the fact remains that she still accuses you of raping her, and she has the medical evidence to prove it.”

Sam grips his arm and squeezes it, and Brian lets the awful truth seep in. He’s still as helpless as he was before to prevent this. And now, Sam’s innocence is at stake too.

When Officer Cutter is out of earshot, Brian murmurs to Sam, “So how did the police find out about your little escapade?”

“I didn’t take anything,” Sam says.

“I know.”

She looks down at her feet. “I suppose the ease of how I got into her apartment should have alerted me that it was a trap. I think I kind of knew it when I saw her photos of you. If she had tailed you all this time and taken those snapshots of you from a distance, she must know your comings and goings pretty well.” She takes a deep breath and adds, “Of course, she must have seen you with me plenty of times.”

Of course, Brian thinks, but doesn’t say. Sammie, what the f**k were you thinking?

She was just trying to help you, you hopeless bastard.

Yeah, but what the f**k was she thinking of? Dressing up like a ninja in the middle of the night and committing a felony knowingly?

Sam goes on, “She had a hidden camera trained on the door at all times, recording visitors – legal or otherwise. I think she was expecting me, even though I left no trace that anyone had been there. At eleven thirty, when she came home and played the video feed, she called the police on me.”

Brian’s heart sinks as he hugs Sam again to his body. The whole thing was frighteningly and sickeningly premeditated.

11

In her apartment, Sam and Brian pore over the photographs in greater detail. They are hers to keep, even though they were obtained through unlawful means. They were taken by her camera, and therefore, they were her intellectual property. It is the ‘breaking and entering’ that is a chargeable offence.

Sam is still shaken, but she’s trying not to show it. Brian has got enough on his plate.

He seems to sense it though. He keeps glancing over at her.

“You OK?” he says solicitously.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, we will get you out of this,” he says with feeling.

She doesn’t know how, but she says “Yeah” anyway. She’s an adult. She knew what she was doing when she went into it with both eyes open. She just isn’t very good at subterfuge.

Remind me never to become a private detective.

“I mean it, Sam.” His brown eyes arrest hers.

“I know.” A rush of warmth fills her chest every time she looks at this man, God help her. She quickly averts her face by focusing on the mélange of images before her. Oh shit, those images are all of him, and so she has to look at him anyway.