The Enemy

Chapter 10

Edward

He sat like a statue in the unfamiliar office, his eyes closed. He heard their murmured voices just outside the room, but he didn't try to listen. His breaths filled up the space in his chest.

Of all the people in all the world, Emma Stapleton had barged back into his life and caught him. His eyes shot open. He could see her profile through the cracked open door. She was still as white as a sheet and hadn't stopped sneaking glances at him. She was in denial, and a part of him couldn't blame her.

She turned to face him now and pushed through the door. Her boss, he assumed, followed her in. He was a man in his later fifties with short cropped hair and a grimace. The boss and Stapleton sat opposite him. She avoided eye contact. He sighed. She was exactly the same despite the blonde hair. It still stuck out and frizzed in different directions. Apparently dye couldn't rectify that particular problem. She clasped her hands together and set them on the desk between them. Her nails were still bitten to the quick.

He exhaled and turned away. He was stuck with her again. Stuck with someone he'd never thought he'd ever see again. Of all things, he hadn't foreseen this. The last thing he remembered accidentally reading about her was about her divorce. Hadn't she left the Met months ago?

"Sir—" her boss cleared his throat. "My name is Mark Ward, and I'm the Senior Inspector for the Homicide and Serious Crime Command here at the Met. Before we can proceed, we need your name and identification."

"My name is Edward Dartmouth. I don't have identification on me."

"Where is it?"

He paused. "I was told that I 'do not have to say anything.' I'll choose that option now."

She didn't muffle her scoff. "I told you he would be uncooperative."

"If you have something to say, Stapleton, kindly say it to my face."

She lunged forward to face him. She looked ready to reach across the desk and throttle him. "Thank you for your suggestion, Mr. Dartmouth. If I'm in need of any further guidance on interrogation-decorum, I'll know exactly whom not to ask."

Whom. He clenched his jaw. She was still such a know-it-all bitch. His pulse increased. Stapleton. How was she was still a thorn in his bloody side?

She jabbed the point of her pen deep into a notebook in front of her. "Please state your age and address for the record."

"28 and a flat in the Alstadt neighborhood of Frankfurt."

"Street number?"

A familiar headache began at the base of his skull. It was like not even a day had passed between them. "123 Unicorn Lane, Stapleton. I don't want to say anything about that either."

"State the name of your current employer." Her pen dragged across the paper, and her knuckles turned white.

"The IT department of Deutsche Bank."

She hesitated. "And how long have you been employed there?"

"Around five years."

She stopped. She exchanged a look with Ward. "Where did you attend university?"

"No comment."

"State the name of your parents."

"No comment."

She smacked her pen down on the table along with the palms of her hands. "Why the hell do I owe you anything?" Her chest expanded with breaths beneath her blue t-shirt.