Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 2) by Melinda Leigh Page A

her sandals.
    “Me too.” Brianna wrapped her towel around her body twice and tucked the corner in to hold it up.
    Carly herded Brianna between her and Bruce as they walked toward the road. The figure in the woods didn’t follow, but she could still feel his intent focus on her back. Was it Darren, and what did he want?

CHAPTER SEVEN
    The interview room at the Rogue County Juvenile Detention Center in Hannon was the size of a walk-in closet. A rectangular metal table was bolted to the floor in the center. Seth and Zane sat across from Peter Rollins and his attorney. The kid was average-size, clean-cut, with no visible tattoos, piercings, or other body modifications. The black-pants-and-gray-T-shirt uniform of the detention center hung loose on his lean teen frame.
    In a corner of the ceiling, a camera whirred away. Though Seth wanted to jump into the interrogation, he let Zane, as the arresting officer, take the lead. Seth’s new job had its good points. He hadn’t been shot at in ages. But he missed the hands-on aspects of running an investigation.
    Zane rested his forearms on the edge of the table and linked his fingers. “What time did you say you met with Russ to make the buy?”
    Peter slouched in the metal chair. He was trying to look cool, but under the table, his black athletic shoe tapped a rapid and anxious beat. “Right after work.”
    “Where did you meet him?” Zane asked.
    “In the woods. Up near O’Rourke’s.” Peter ran a hand over his choirboy hair.
    “The lake?”
    Peter shifted in his chair. “Between the lake and the construction site.”
    “Russ doesn’t have a car. How did he get up there?”
    “I think he had his dirt bike.” Peter squirmed.
    “You think he had a dirt bike?” Zane tilted his head. His focus tightened.
    “He had his dirt bike,” Peter said with conviction. Too much conviction. Maybe Carly wasn’t completely wrong.
    “What color is it?”
    Peter glanced down at his hands, then brought his gaze back up to meet Zane’s. “I don’t know. It was covered in mud.”
    “Mud, really?” Zane raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. We haven’t had rain for weeks.”
    The teen’s face reddened. His mouth opened and closed like a salmon’s on the riverbank.
    The lawyer leaned forward. “My client would have no idea how Russ Warner’s dirt bike became covered in mud.”
    Zane conceded the point with an inclination of his head, then jumped right back into the interrogation. “How did you get up there?”
    If an investigator asked enough questions, a liar was bound to screw up at some point. Suspects never anticipated how difficult it would be to keep all the little details straight. It was impossible to anticipate every possible question.
    “I took my ATV.” A sheen of sweat broke out on Peter’s forehead, though air conditioning kept the temperature in the small room comfortable. Seth wasn’t sweating, and he was wearing a tie and suit jacket.
    “Why meet up near O’Rourke’s? Why not closer to town?” Zane pressed.
    The teen leaned back, clearly more comfortable with this question than the previous one. “I was on my way home from work. Dad helped me get a part-time job at the site.”
    “What was Russ wearing when he met you?”
    Peter scratched his ear. “Wearing? I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. Clothes I guess.”
    Zane gave the kid an incredulous look, as if he didn’t believe a word he said. “Was he wearing shorts or jeans?”
    “I said I don’t remember.” The boy’s tone sharpened and turned snotty. “Dudes don’t check out other dudes’ clothes.”
    “I think we’ve established that my client doesn’t remember what the other boy was wearing,” the lawyer chimed in.
    Zane paused. Seth knew he was giving the boy a minute to sweat and think about all the things he didn’t know. “What were you wearing?”
    The kid shrugged. He obviously intended the gesture to appear casual, but his movements were nervous-tic-abrupt instead