The Forgotten Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a killer twist by Daco Auffenorde

Author:Daco Auffenorde [Auffenorde, Daco]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkubator Books
Published: 2022-07-16T16:00:00+00:00

37

How can I explain all this to DeLuca? How can I reveal that I buy and sell precious rubies people will kill for? That I might actually be a swindler? Or a money launderer, as Lorraine suggested. Would DeLuca even hear me out? I’m certain Roudebusch would send me to a prison cell without hesitation.

Two local cops speak with some of the kids who were present at the time of the crash. DeLuca greets the local cops and then glances toward me. I turn away, embarrassed. I’m glad the EMTs are by my side, happier that I’ve passed the concussion protocol. When the EMTs are done with me, DeLuca approaches. I expect him to stop, to say something, but he passes me and goes to the pond. He stops by the water and surveys the area. When he turns back, his lips are pressed together in a tight frown.

He speaks to the attending EMT, not to me. “How is she?”

“No signs of fractures, concussion, internal bleeding, cardiac event,” the paramedic says. “Vital signs are strong. Heart rate elevated, but not too high, considering. We’ll know for sure when she comes in and we perform a full workup.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m sick of them.”

DeLuca kneels. “You should get checked out, Blue. Please.”

“I told you, I’m fine. How are the kids? One of the girls froze in the middle of the street. I think I missed hitting her, but …”

“No one got hurt. But they say you were speeding.”

“I may have been going a little fast. Can we talk about this in private?”

He places a gentle hand on my shoulder. His touch is calming. More than calming. It carries a charge. I still can’t tell him who I am. I can’t admit that I’m dirty. “What do you say you go to the ER and see what the doctors over there have to say?”

Our eyes meet. I don’t want to argue with him. The man confuses me. Despite our disagreement after Lorraine and I were attacked in the park, he always seems to have my back. “That’s not happening. I need some privacy and dry clothes.”

“Okay,” he says.

A local police officer comes by and I tell him everything that happened after the incident at Sant Ambroeus. No, I can’t describe the man looking in my car, nor did I get a plate number on the SUV. No one pursues the matter. I sign off on the incident report and give the towing company permission to pull the car out of the pond and take it to the dealership. I think of Lorraine. How am I going to explain the car to her?

When the last cop departs, DeLuca asks if he can give me a lift to where I’m staying. It’s not an offer, more like a friendly command. He really seems to care about me. But he’s a cop, after all, and I’m a criminal.

We walk toward his vehicle; every step is painful. Not physically, but exhaustion hits me like a brick wall.

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