“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Slade repeated, though it held no promise for her freedom. The wretched ringing of his cell phone interrupted the conversation.
Asia watched his expression as he answered the call. The crease in his forehead said the news wasn’t good. He disconnected and met her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Her pulse quickened as each silent second ticked by.
“Let’s talk later.”
Common sense said to keep quiet; this wasn’t the time or place. Asia ignored her instinct and blurted, “No. Tell me now.”
“Later.”
His brush-off bothered her. She had the right to be informed of every detail of her case. “Slade, I can take whatever you have to say.”
He sighed, and Asia jerked to look at the EMT, who avoided her gaze. Slade leaned closer and spoke in a barely audible volume. “Magnum found cocaine in your purse.”
She gripped the stretcher’s rails to keep from jumping up. “No! That’s not possible. I don’t... It wasn’t my purse, then!”
“The investigators also discovered your wallet and phone inside.”
“Whatever they think they found, it wasn’t mine.”
Slade shook his head. Disbelief? Preoccupation? “There’s more. The CSIs identified the gun at the scene.”
She swallowed, and her heartbeat pounded in her ears. “That was fast.”
“The state patrol emblem was inscribed on the side with a badge number.”
Asia held her breath, dreading the next words.
“It was Zander’s service weapon.”
No. “But the investigators took all of his equipment after...” Asia paused midargument. Why would she have his gun? Zander always kept it in his possession, and he hadn’t lived with her for over a year. The department collected all his issued items. She’d refused to go to his apartment, but they’d told her everything had been cleaned out. Why hadn’t she confirmed?
“Zander’s weapon went missing before his murder,” Slade clarified.
Asia’s shoulders tightened. “You can’t seriously believe I killed Nevil Quenten using Zander’s gun? Or that I was running drugs? Slade, come on.”
He seemed to age before her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Asia gritted her teeth. What didn’t he know? Whether I’m a murderer? Whether I’m lying now? The three words plagued her from every angle. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here, and her only ally didn’t know if he believed her. Wretched irony.
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