Back to Me (Book Three ✓)

thirty-seven

BEAU

I hate police stations.

And I really fucking hate cops.

But watching Emma curled on the seat beside me, her arms wrapped protectively around her belly, no, our goddamn child, I don't know what else to fucking do.

I run my hands through my hair another time, my legs bouncing on the plastic seat so fast it's making screeching, creaking sounds.

The station is crowded, late on a Friday night, and the cell is full of intoxicated delinquents. The smell of stale coffee and vomit permeates the air. Cops come and go, their walkies constantly chattering.

Will someone fucking talk to us already?

"Beau," Emma places a hand on my thigh and I realize my outburst was actually out loud.

The female officer who told us where to wait raises her brows at us before walking over, a tired look in her dark eyes.

"Would you come with me please?"

Finally.

Emma gives me a stern eye before standing, taking my hand as we walk towards the officers desk.  But she doesn't stay.

"Officer Howard will be with you in a moment."

"Thank you." Emma murmurs, her face still pale and expressionless like it was when I'd found her in the kitchen, surrounded by shattered glass and water.

The hand not holding Emma's clenches into a fist against my thigh.

Whoever is fucking doing this to her... when I find him, I'll kill him. He better hope the police find him first. I'll...

My thoughts are interrupted.

A portly man, his gut bulging over his belt, with dark sloppy hair, I'm assuming Officer Howard, approaches the desk. Setting down a mug of coffee and a notepad, he leisurely rests back in his chair, crossing his arms over his stomach.

Eyeing me up and down, gaze lingering on my earring and tattoos, the contempt crystal clear, he lazily presses a couple of keys on the computer to wake the screen.

"Are you going to fucking take our statement or what?" I snap, desperately wanting to shake the man till his secret stash of donuts comes rolling across the floor.

"Easy, kid." He mutters, not glancing my way. "What's your name, Miss?"

I clench my jaw, keeping my eye line straight ahead, not daring to look at Emma's terrified face again.

"Emma Carter."

Fuck, her voice sounds so small.

"So what's been going on? You mentioned a potential stalker?"

"Not potential. She has a fucking stalker." I lean forward, wondering why he isn't more hurried, more pressed.

Doesn't he see how important this is? How important she is?