Courting Darkness by Melynda Price Page B

other in different ways. Actually, she’d broken his heart, he repeatedly reminded her in his failed attempts to get back together with her. When she’d refused, needing time and space to heal—to remember again—he’d turned downright nasty. Case in point, his treatment of her last night.
    What was she supposed to do with this information? How was she supposed to respond? Of course she was shocked, she’d just seen him last night and their parting words had been harsh. She held no affection for the guy and felt guilty she wasn’t more grieved by the news. It was sad to hear that a human life had been lost, but other than the passing empathy she’d have for any stranger, she wasn’t overly broken up about it as it seemed these two officers carefully eyeing her expected her to be. They glanced more than once at her arm, then exchanged questioning looks.
    A hand gently took her bicep, and she winced against the pain. Glancing down, she saw dark purple bruises poking out above Tate’s hand that no doubt covered the worst of it. But it was too late. By the expressions on the officers’ faces, they’d already seen her arm. She looked up to see Tate guiding her a step back. The expression on his face was unreadable, except for the small furrow of his brows. “Come on. Let them inside.”
    Numbly, she moved back, and the officers entered. She guided them to the kitchen and offered them a cup of coffee, which they both declined. With a steaming mug in her hand, she sat across from them and beside Tate, whose displeasure seemed to grow by the second.
    The older of the two officers began to speak. “Please tell us the nature of your relationship with Mr. Mathis.”
    “We were engaged, I am told. A few months ago, I had an accident and have since lost my memory. I have tried to end things with him on several occasions, but he hasn’t taken the breakup well. Why do you ask?”
    “Before this can be ruled as an accident, an investigation must be done, Ms. Norton. We’ve found some evidence that could be…questionable. We just need to ask you a few questions. We’ll be brief, ma’am.”
    “What do you mean by ‘questionable’? Are you saying you think someone killed him?”
    “Possibly.” Tate replied before the officers could answer.
    She shot him a concerning glance. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it,” he grouched. “But someone did. Why else would the police be questioning you?”
    “Can you tell us where you were last night and what happened between you two?” The larger of the two officers asked.
    “Nothing happened.”
    “Something happened. Witnesses reported seeing the two of you together. How did you get those bruises on your arm, Ms. Norton?”
    Shit… “Mitch grabbed me,” she confessed, posting her elbows on the table and scrubbing her face with her hands. She didn’t have to be a detective to know how bad this looked. “But I didn’t do anything. He saw me at the bar and he wanted to talk. I didn’t. He was drunk, as usual. He grabbed my arm and pulled me off my stool. That’s how it got bruised.”
    Tate hissed a curse beside her and for a moment, she was grateful for the police presence so she wouldn’t have to weather Tate’s I-told-you-so glower.
    “Someone saw us arguing and he intervened. I left right after that, and found my friend, Ashley. Then we went home.”
    “Any idea who the guy was that intervened?”
    How could she answer that? “No.”
    Tate crossed his arms over his chest, looking wholly unconvinced, his surly scowl turning downright livid.
    The officers stood, and the younger one reached into his pocket, handing her his card. “That’s really all for now, Ms. Norton. Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch. Again, we’re sorry for your loss. If you think of anything else…”
    “I’ll be sure to let you know,” she offered.
    Olivia walked the officers to the door. A knot of dread fisted in her gut as she re-entered the kitchen, preparing to face