Undercover in High Heels by Gemma Halliday Page A

I want to answer any more questions without an attorney present.”
    Ramirez lifted one eyebrow, then muttered, “Jesus, ” under his breath.
    Rodgers gave me a hard stare and flipped his notebook shut with an audible thud. “Fine. We’ll be in touch.”
    “So I can go?”
    He nodded. Then to Ramirez, “Escort her back to the set.”
    “I don’t need an escort.”
    Ramirez stood up and grabbed my arm. Hard. “Oh, yes, you do, ” he said under his breath.
    Ramirez steered me out the door and down the hallway. “This is police brutality, ” I hissed as his grip on my arm tightened. He opened a door and pulled me into an empty storage room. Then he spun me around with enough force that I feared whiplash.
    “Ow!”
    “What the hell was that in there?” he asked, his dark eyes blazing.
    I froze. I’d never seen him like this before. Sure, I’d seen him exasperated, frustrated, even a little peeved with me at times. But this was different. This was downright angry. There was no hint of humor glinting behind the fire in his eyes. This time he was serious.
    I bit my lip to stave off the unpleasant emotion bubbling up inside me. If I had to put a name to it, I’d say it was somewhere between anxiety and all-out dread.
    “You just don’t get it, do you, Maddie?” he continued. “This is a homicide investigation. And that was a homicide detective. This guy isn’t playing around.”
    “But you’re a homicide detective, too, ” I squeaked out.
    Again his eyes blazed, only this time I could see the exhaustion of the past week creeping into them. “No, I used to be a homicide detective. Now I’m a glorified security guard.”
    “Thanks to me, right?” I finished for him. The dread was bubbling up so far it was stinging the backs of my eyes now.
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You didn’t have to.”
    “Jesus, Maddie.” Ramirez ran a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you just tell Rodgers what you knew? Then you could have gotten the hell out of here.”
    “They think Dusty did it!”
    “Yeah, and now he thinks you’re covering for her. Does the word accomplice mean anything to you?”
    Does the word girlfriend mean anything to you? I longed to retort back. But I was suddenly too afraid of the answer. Instead, I let out a feeble, “Dusty’s innocent.”
    “Maybe.”
    I shook my head. “No, you don’t know Dusty.”
    “Do you?”
    I bit my lip. “Maybe not. But why would she do this?”
    “What about the argument she had with Mia?”
    I shook my head again. “Dusty wouldn’t kill over that. Besides, Dusty must have known Mia was right. With her coloring, she really is a Spring.”
    Ramirez narrowed his eyes at me. “That’s it? You believe her because some woman is a season?” He shook his head. “Jesus, Maddie, I don’t get you.”
    “No, you don’t, ” I said, realizing just how true that was. Damn. The stinging was getting worse. Another minute of this and my mascara would be toast. “Look, Dusty’s my friend, and I know she’s innocent. And if you or your law-and-order posse have any more questions for me, you can ask them through my lawyer.”
    I turned and tried to stalk out of the room, making a really dramatic exit. But the stinging behind my eyes had morphed into tears that were suddenly blurring my vision. I kind of stumbled instead, half running, half tripping down the hall and out the back exit onto the lot. I blindly ran through the Sunset city, not caring where I was going, just wanting to get away. Away from the accusations, away from the chaos of the set, and, most of all, away from the man who, instead of comforting me, was interrogating me!
    Sure, Ramirez and I had had our ups and downs in the past. But this felt different. This felt like only downs. Where were our ups? Were we ever going to have one again? Not likely, the way things were going. Maybe Ramirez had been right all along—maybe we just weren’t relationship material. I’d known from the beginning