Free Bitter Sweets by G. A. McKevett Page B

enough to chop a police chief?

    Of course, the answer was “No.” But she kept her position until he took a step backward. It was all such a stupid game they played.

    So what if she had investigated his city councilwoman girlfriend for murder last year, had exposed their affair and caused the woman to lose her council seat? So what if she had uncovered the greatest scandal ever to rock the sleepy hamlet of San Carmelita? So what if she had nearly caused him to be ousted from his precious job and ruined his life? Was that any reason for him to hate her forever?

    Okay. Maybe so.

    “Now, chief,” she said, trying to sound reasonable, patient...anything but furious. “In the first place, we don’t know that Lisa has been killed. So, we both know that you can’t honestly threaten to charge me with being an accessory to murder. Secondly, even if-God forbid-something has happened to her, you have no proof that I had anything to do with it. Because I didn’t.”

    Hillquist’s jaw tightened, and the sun-leathered, golf course lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Do you deny that you were working for Earl Mallock?”

    She sighed. “We’ve been over that a dozen times. I was, but I didn’t know it at the time.”

    “And you expect me to believe that?”

    “What I expect...” she said, fixing him with a level, blueeyed gaze that had, occasionally, caused weaker souls to quake in their sneakers, “... is that you are going to put our differences in the past, where they belong, and handle this like the professional we both know you are.”

    When he said nothing, she continued, “I haven’t broken any law-”

    “That we know of.”

    “That you know of, and you can’t continue to hold me.” She glanced at her watch. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I have a nail appointment. Thanks to you, I’ve already missed my pedicure.”

    To her surprise, he allowed her to pass. He didn’t say another word as she left the stuffy confines of the tiny interrogation room.

    But she could feel his eyes boring into her back, could sense the rage building inside him, the still-hot ache for revenge. If someone had messed with her life the way she had interfered with his, she would have wanted to get even. She had always been a bit nervous, waiting...anticipating his next move. Somehow, she knew that Hillquist’s idea of vengeance would be more dramatic than just seeing to it that she received more than her share of traffic tickets.

As Savannah got into her Camaro and headed back toward Lisa Mallock’s house, her sense of apprehension grew by the mile. Fear for Lisa, for Christy, and an uneasiness about her own immediate future.

    Deep in her gut Savannah knew something terrible had happened-or was about to happen-to Christy’s mom. And somehow, it was her fault.

    Chief Norman Hillquist wasn’t about to let a chance like this slip by.

    Savannah just had to make sure that her own sense of guilt, misplaced or otherwise, didn’t make it any easier for him to nail her to the nearest wall.

    Through a red haze of pain, fear, and fury, the woman stared up at the face of her tormentor and wondered what had gone wrong. Once, she had loved and trusted this person.

    A lifetime ago.

    “1 want to hear it,” the voice was saying. “1 want to hear you admit that you aren’t the saint you’ve always claimed to be.”

    ne twist of the wire. Then another. The agony in her wrists compounded. A hot, searing sensation shot up her arms and into her shoulders and neck.

    Any minute now, her soft moans would give way to screaming. She wouldn’t be able to help herself. Not even for Christy in the next room.

    Another twist. More misery. This time in her ankles. Her calf muscles began to knot in twitching spasms, more painful than anything she could ever remember.

    She heard the voice again, but this time it sounded farther away.

    “Say it, you self-righteous bitch. We both know you did it. Admit it!”

    When this had