He looked professional.
Flashing my eyes back to Marco, I stumbled back a step as the men closed in around me.
“Calm down, Clare,” the older guy urged while I backed away, feeling like a caged animal. “We’re not here to cause any trouble,” he assured.
“Then back up,” I returned.
He lifted a hand and both officers came to a sudden halt. I was able to put a few more feet between us before he spoke again.
“Better?”
“I’d be better if you left.”
He pointed toward the now scabbed-over cut over my eye and said, “I don’t doubt that’s the truth, but we need to have a word. You’re a hard woman to track down.”
That’s because I wasn’t allowed to leave our house and it would have to be swallowed by a sinkhole in order for Walt to allow emergency personnel through the front gate.
“Not hard enough, apparently,” I shot back.
He grinned and then gave a chin lift. “Boys, give us a minute.”
They didn’t delay in following his order.
I was far from in the clear, but I instantly felt better now that I wasn’t boxed in anymore.
“Now, is that better?” he asked.
I didn’t answer his question, but with no one at my back, I once again started toward the door.
“Mrs. Noir, we need to talk.”
I didn’t. I needed to get inside.
“I’m sorry. If you have something to discuss, please contact my attorney and make an appointment,” I called, tucking Tessa’s face into my neck.
She was oblivious to what was happening, more content to play with the small, gold chain at my neck—another of Walt’s “gifts”—but I still hated that she was involved at all.
“Clare, my name is Charles Rorke. I’m a detective with the APD, and I’ve spoken with your husband’s attorney more than I have my own wife this week. Your husband has refused to speak to us, so I’m here, attempting to talk to you.”
“I have nothing to say.” I turned to walk away.
“Not even about the fact that Tessa might not be biologically yours?” he told my back.
Cops hated me. Well, actually, they hated Walt. And then me by association. But never in my life had anyone been crueler—and that was saying a lot, considering I was married to a man who beat me on a near daily basis.
But that, whatever angle he was going for, was scraping the bottom of the barrel.
“You son of a bitch,” I breathed, turning to face him. A surge of adrenaline made me strong—physically and emotionally. Taking a step toward him, I squared my shoulders. “You show up here to ask me a few questions while spouting shit like that?”
“I wish it were shit, Clare. But we’re investigating the possibility of criminal activity involving Peach City Reproductive Center.”
“Oh, screw you.” I started to walk away when the Earth suddenly crumbled under my feet.
“We have reason to believe that Walter Noir was involved in a situation that led to embryos purposely being switched in the lab!” he shouted at my back.
I froze, my legs nearly buckling.
A meteor could have fallen from the sky and I couldn’t have moved.
“Walter Noir was involved in a situation.”
Now, that I could believe. Walter Noir was involved in every situation, especially those that would hurt me. And this would rip the heart straight from my chest.
My nose began to sting as I desperately fought an onslaught of tears back.
I dropped the gym bag from my arm and shifted Tessa to my other hip. Then, cupping my hand at the side of her head, I covered her ears as though it could stop me from hearing it all.
“What?” I croaked.
His body slacked, and his voice softened. “I see he hasn’t mentioned our conversations to you.”
“What?” I repeated, tears finally breaching my lids.
“We need a DNA sample from Tessa, Clare. That is the only way we can prove this once and for all.” He took a step toward me before reaching out to give my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
I didn’t back away. That would have required the use of my legs, and it was a miracle they were still holding me upright.
“What?” I repeated once again, like a skipping CD unable to move forward.
I was dazed, my mind frantically trying to keep up, when I saw the giant approach out of the corner of my eye.
“Back the fuck up,” he ordered.
I lifted my eyes and found Brock, one of Walt’s trusty henchmen, stepping in front of me. He must have arrived for “Clare duty” just in time.
“Walt won’t consent to the DNA, Clare,” the detective spoke around him. “We need this from you.”
“Don’t fucking talk to her.” Brock moved closer to Rorke.
The uniformed officers quickly reappeared.
“Not another move!” Marco shouted.
I couldn’t keep up. Someone had pressed fast forward while my mind was still stuck in slow motion.
“Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it!” Marco shouted while Brock issued his own angry orders at the officers.