A Billion Little Clues (20 page)

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Probably more than half an hour later, by my fuzzy count, I was finally headed out of the police station.

At this point, I was feeling like my head was about to come unscrewed. I had managed to prove who the real murderer was, and even get a confession - in front of a police detective! I considered that to be my crowning achievement. More importantly, I had figured that, after the man had confessed, my work was pretty much done. At that point, the detectives would step in and handle the rest, just like they were paid to do. From my tax dollars, probably.

But instead, I'd found myself besieged with questions, an endless litany of requests for more information and depth and details. So many details. I was asked about everything, from the outfit I had worn to Roman's house party on that first night, to whether he'd ever insinuated anything about working on other projects outside of work with Zinn, to what sort of deal he had given me when I was assigned my shiny new office up on the twenty-eighth floor.

To many of these questions, I could offer little more than a helpless shrug. I didn't remember everything about what everyone had said whenever they were anywhere near me! I felt like the detectives almost expected me to pull out a tape recorder, one that had been running nonstop for the last few days, and present it to them.

The few times when I did have an answer to the question, however, I barely had time to get out more than a few words before they were already asking me the next question. I'd start to answer, feeling relieved that I finally knew one, and they'd already be on to the next on their list.

Eventually, after what felt like at least a million questions, they backed off. "Had to go write up the statement for me to sign," they said.

And then they left me alone in the interrogation room.

I thought that being deluged with questions from three or four cops at a time was bad. But being left alone in that room, with nothing to do but wait, was almost worse.

At first, I decided to take advantage of the situation by cleaning out my purse, a task that I swear that I'd been meaning to do for a long time now. With the whole open metal table in front of me, it seemed like a great opportunity. So I quickly upended my purse over the table and watched as dozens of items all came pouring out.

I quickly realized that I probably could have, and should have, taken a less haphazard approach. Change was already rolling away, the coins spilling over the sides of the table and tumbling off to the far corners of the room in a waterfall of silver and copper. A pen came dancing across the table, nimbly evading my grab at it, and landing somewhere beneath my chair.

Definitely not the best idea. As I stared down at the mess that I had just made, I decided that it would perhaps be best to save this task for later. I held my purse just beneath the edge of the table and did my best to sweep all of the junk back into the container from which it had emerged. This motion was well-intentioned, but most of the little ends and bits on the table missed the open mouth of my purse and instead joined their fellows on the floor with a series of clatters.

Of course, that was when the original female detective reentered the room.

She was good, I knew that. Even as she took in the mess that I had managed to cause in just a minute or two, the little flick of a smile at the corner of her mouth was gone in an instant. I barely even caught it at all.

"Miss Gaines," the woman said after an instant of silence, which I was sure was due to her attempting to swallow her laughter. "I have prepared a draft of your formal statement. If you wouldn't mind reading it over, you can sign at the bottom if it appears correct."

She reached into the folder that seemed to be a permanent part of her, tucked under one arm, and produced a sheet of paper. As I straightened up, dropping my now-mostly-empty purse on the ground by my feet, she searched for a place on the table where she could set the paper down without covering up coins, pens, gum, or (and god, this was embarrassing) tampons still in their crinkly wrappers.

Finally, the detective just swept out a neat rectangle in which to deposit the sheet. "The door will be open, and you can simply bring the sheet back out to me," she informed me. Her eyes once more darted around the room at the mess. "We'd prefer it if you could leave the room as clean as you found it, of course."

And before I could manage to put together a suitable response, she was gone, out of the room and once again leaving me alone.

At least with my purse all spilled out like this, it was no trouble at all to find a pen to sign the statement the detective had set down in front of me. Yes, I did take the time at least to ride through it before I signed.

Well, okay, I browsed through it to make sure they got all of the main points before I put my pen down to the paper.

Well, okay, I browsed through it after I had already signed the end. I was supposed to be cleaning up, right? And that included putting away the pen!

Well, okay, I just flicked my eyes over it. But it looked right. And I wasn't being accused of anything, and they'd already let Roman go! What else could they need to say? I had already accomplished everything, and I was set!

With the paper signed, and the rest of the items from my purse now swept back in, I did one last quick check around the room to make sure that I had picked everything back up. And then, signed statement in hand, I opened the door to the interrogation room and stepped out.

Time to finally get out of here.

The reception that I received upon finally emerging from the police station out into the sunlight was decidedly more enthusiastic.

Before my eyes had even adjusted to the bright morning sunlight streaming down from the clear skies, I felt a pair of strong arms sweep around me, lifting me bodily up off the ground. As I blinked my vision back into focus, I saw Roman beaming down at me.

"I can't believe it!" he exulted, setting me back lightly on my feet and letting me catch my breath. "You actually did it, Melinda! You proved my innocence!"

I brushed a couple of strands back from my forehead, hoping that my hair hadn't completely fallen apart. "Well, of course I did!" I replied, trying to brush this off like it was nothing, like I went around proving that accused murderers were innocent every day. "That's why you promoted me to be your assistant to do, isn't it?"

Roman shook his head. "You're treating it like it's nothing," he pointed out.

I shrugged. Of course it wasn't just nothing! It was amazing, a huge accomplishment! "Well, you know," I said modestly. "I mean, maybe a small thank you wouldn't go unappreciated, but no need to go out of your way."

"It's not nothing," Roman insisted. "You just saved me from having to go to trial, from possibly going to jail - for a crime that I didn't commit!" He smiled at me, that delicious, infectious smile of his. "I really owe you my life."

Wow. If that doesn't set a girl's heart aquiver, well, it must be made of stone. My heart was not made of stone, and those words made me acutely aware of its rapid and excited beating.

The man had set me back down on the ground again. I noticed, however (in fact, I couldn't stop myself from noticing), that his hands didn't leave their spots on my sides, just above my hips. They had landed there when lifting me, and they didn't quite seem to want to let go.

Not that I minded in the slightest, of course. I kind of enjoyed him holding me...

When I next looked up at the man, I could see his eyes resting on my face, darting down occasionally towards my mouth. The message was clear. I could see in his face exactly what he wanted to do.

So I stepped forward up to him, put my arms up around his neck, and pulled him in towards me.

He took no further urging. His hands tightened on my waist, and his lips met mine in a hungry kiss. We didn't care about the fact that we were still right on the steps leading into the police station, that there were members of the public streaming past us in both directions. All that mattered were that his hands were around me, that his lips were on me, that his breath was flowing over me in a hot rush.

My hands were up over Roman's neck, wrapped around at his nape and feeling the soft, very short little hairs there pricking into my skin. Every inch of my body felt overcharged with sensation, awakened as if there was pure caffeine coursing through my veins. This man made me feel excited, aroused - alive!

We kissed for as long as we could, the billionaire's tongue sliding in between my lips to frolic and explore as I welcomed him in, but eventually we had to break apart, gasping out for air. Roman had been lifting me up, holding me physically pressed up against his body, and now, as he released, I slowly slid down him. I imagined that it felt nearly as good for him, me running over his chest and abs like that, as it did for me!

Roman's eyes were still sparkling down at me, their dark pupils catching the bright sunlight and making them twinkle. "Now, how in the world am I going to be able to thank you?" he wondered aloud as he gazed down at me.

"That wasn't your thank you?" I shot back, licking the taste of him off of my lips.

The man shook his head. "Oh, I don't believe that it was nearly enough," he replied. "For my life? I'm pretty sure that I owe you far, far more than just a kiss." His eyes were alight with dirty possibilities.

Oh, there were so many tempting possibilities! But something held me back from speaking, from throwing out a half dozen or so excellent suggestions.

I almost felt as if this moment was fragile, as if there was just too much good news. Something had to go wrong, a little corner of my mind cried out! I had just come through, had proven a man's innocence, had an awesome new job promotion, and had a billionaire, a gorgeous, perfect man, interested in me in the most wonderfully romantic of ways.

There was no way that this could last. I almost felt as though I was too happy, as though the universe was simply waiting to drop the other shoe and bring my happy little illusion crashing down around me. And it would happen any second now, right when I was happier than I previously believed to be possible.

Perhaps that explains why, as Roman kept his arms on me, I suddenly burst out into tears.

#

I was standing on the front step of the police station, out in the bright mid-morning sun. A few people were filing past me, intent on their own business, but my attention was focused instead on the tall, dark-haired, perfectly dressed man who was standing beside me, his arms still lightly wrapped around me. We had just shared what had to be one of the top five most passionate kisses in my life, and I knew that he wanted more from me - wanted to sweep me up in his arms and carry me off like a trophy of war.

And I couldn't seem to stop crying.

These weren't the lovely, gentle, feminine tears, either. These were big, blobby, chest-wracking sobs that made me sound like some sort of wounded water buffalo. I was fairly certain that there was already a gob of snot hanging down from my nose, probably quivering with each breath I sucked in between wails.

My vision was clouded by the little droplets of water, but when I looked up at Roman, I was able to make out an expression of total confusion on his face. He hadn't let go of me yet, and that was a good sign, but he appeared totally and utterly lost from this sudden outburst of emotion.

"Hey, hey," he tried to console me, one of his hands sliding up to rub along my back. "What's going on? What's wrong? Did I make some mistake?"

I couldn't speak, but I shook my head back and forth, sending tears flying in all directions. I opened my mouth, trying to find the words to explain, but all that came out was another wail. So instead, I just buried my face in Roman's chest - probably completely ruining the fabric of his suit. The thought of that didn't seem to cheer me up at all.

For a minute, we just stood there, the billionaire probably feeling confused and incredibly uncomfortable as he rubbed my back, me just pouring out all of my emotions in a flood of wetness that was already soaking through his very expensive suit and shirt. But finally, after a while, I managed to get myself at least partway under control.

I stepped back, finally lifting my face up. I was sure that I looked like a total mess. "I just am afraid that something's going to go wrong!" I managed to choke out, blinking up at Roman and hoping against hope that he would somehow understand what this meant.

He didn't, of course. Typical man. Even billionaires can't follow the thoughts of women. "Go wrong with what?" he asked. "We all heard Zinn confess, I don't think there's any way that even a lawyer like him could spin this around."

I shook my head back and forth fiercely. "No, not with that!" I sobbed. "With us! I'm afraid that we're not going to work!"

For a second, I saw the billionaire's face go blank. Then he shook his head - and, to my astonishment, burst out in a grin.

"Really?" he asked, almost laughing. "You're afraid of us not working out?"