Our Bodyguard|18+

Four

A languid snort leaves me when the Detective of my case asks again if I killed Anne. For crying out loud, what else does he want to hear? I already said I didn't, but it doesn't seem like he's ready to believe me anytime soon, so why should I talk?

For the second time I'm inside this room for a similar set of questions that were asked last night. Why did I go to Anne's? What did I do during that time? And I had some confrontations with her that evening to lead us into this case.

"Damn it!" He bangs his fists on the wooden table upon my silence. "Are you going to cooperate or stick to your Miranda rights, Mrs. Kingston?" His neck stiffens, vein throbbing, and lips trembling with anger and impatience.

I inhale a sharp breath, crossing my arms on the chest while staring back at him calmly. And why not? If the state gives me the right to remain silent when an investigator becomes a douchebag, wouldn't I use it? I'm tired of his queries.

Same questions. Same answers.

"Okay, fine!" He sighs as he straightens up, running a hand through his dusky brown hair, smart and trimmed.

Average height, fit build that's enhanced with the tight V-neck and jeans he's wearing, he still looks like nothing I haven't seen before. And his temper is unattractive.

"You think because your husband is filthy rich you'll get out of here by keeping quiet? You're sadly mistaken, Mrs. Kingston!" he says through clenched teeth, his tone as impetuous as if his only job is to make me plead guilty.

I nearly roll my eyes, despite the shrill of fright running through me intensely.

"Is that the only line everyone has around here?" I remark at last. "Your husband this, your husband that! Aren't you supposed to find who killed Anne instead of wasting your time here trying to turn me into her killer! I did not kill her! I already told you and I'm not gonna say otherwise because that's the truth!"

"Then why were you at her house at the same time she died?" he yells icily. "Why did you go to her house, Mrs. Kingston? From what I heard you two were no longer friends after you learned about her affair with your husband, right? You even fired her from your company, but all of a sudden you were right there on the same moment she was murdered!"

"I'm not saying anything unless my lawyer is here," I reply automatically. He narrows his eyes like a hissing cat, unappreciative of my response. "As I already told you, I didn't kill her. I didn't meet her that evening either. I don't have anything else to tell you because I am not a murderer!"

His mouth curves into a smirk. Like a mad chimpanzee he slams his fists on the table and shouts, "You think I'm buying that crap–"

The door bursts open before we hear "That's enough, Flint! I'll take it from here."

Stunned, I see none other than Detective Smith striding nonchalantly with an opened laptop in his hand.

"What? Why would you do that?" Flint, just as he was addressed by Smith, recoils.

He gives Smith a look of disfavor and I don't need spectacles to see the feud between the two of them.

"I'm taking over the case. I need all the files for that matter," Smith replies. He places the laptop on the table and I hold my gaze on him, unsure of whether I'm inclined to relief and dismay. "Now, boy." He glances at Flint, urging him to leave I suppose.

A macho staring challenge prevails for a minute or so, and then, like a momentary hurricane while muttering some incoherent words, Flint storms through the door and kicks it shut as he leaves.

"And what are you now? The good cop? Or the bad cop?" I blurt out, smothering the urge to laugh.

Honestly, I don't think I care anymore about who takes this case. It's as if every one here is only interested in making me the cold heart murderer than finding out who's really responsible for Anne's death.