Ride Or Remember

CHAPTER 9

LIORA

“I don’t know who she is,” I repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, forcing each word out slowly so the officer would finally understand me. “I walked into Dr. Hampson’s office for my appointment, and the next thing I saw was her lying there… in a pool of blood.”

The officer lowered his gaze and scribbled something into the tiny notebook resting on his lap. I stared at the movement of his pen, not bothering to hide my irritation.

Since the moment I had been dragged into this interrogation room, I had said the exact same thing over and over again, yet he kept writing like every sentence coming out of my mouth was some groundbreaking discovery.

I sucked in a slow breath, exhaustion creeping into my bones. My head was beginning to ache from the harsh fluorescent lights hanging above us.

“Can I leave now?” I asked, blinking tiredly at him.

The officer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, studying me with narrowed eyes.

“And her blood ended up all over you… how exactly?”

For a second, I simply stared at him in disbelief.

Is he seriously asking me that again?

“I already explained it,” I gritted out. “The shock of seeing her like that made me trip. I fell.” My voice tightened with frustration. “How many more times am I supposed to repeat myself?”

I rubbed my temple before continuing.

“Where is Dr. Hampson anyway? Has anyone even spoken to him? What is he saying about all this?”

The officer sighed heavily, then snapped his notebook shut.

“I’ll be the one asking the questions here.”

“Well, maybe you should spend less time questioning me and more time looking for the actual killer,” I shot back with a hiss. “I’m not a murderer. I’m just an innocent person who walked into something horrifying and probably won’t sleep properly for weeks after what she saw.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a brief smile, though it vanished almost instantly, like he caught himself reacting.

“Why did you use the stairs instead of the elevator?”

I deadpanned at him. “Because I wasn’t exactly excited about seeing my therapist.”

That earned another twitch at the corner of his lips. “Then why pay for therapy,” he asked, “if you dislike it that much?”

My eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Isn’t this interrogation starting to get a little too personal?”

“Answer the question, Ms. Hart.”

I pushed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, fighting the growing irritation clawing at my nerves. After taking a deep breath, I leaned back against the stiff chair.

“I only attend therapy because it keeps my parents from worrying too much about me,” I hissed out reluctantly. “What next? Do you want me to explain why I started therapy in the first place too?”

For a brief moment, I genuinely expected him to say yes. The man looked exactly like the type who would gladly peel apart every embarrassing detail of my life if he thought it would help his investigation.

Instead, he surprised me.

“Did you notice anything suspicious while using the stairs?” he asked calmly, his sharp eyes carefully scanning my face for the slightest reaction.

My entire body stiffened.

Instinctively, my hand twitched, wanting to curl nervously against my arm, but I quickly forced it down onto my thighs before he could notice. My fingers twisted together restlessly instead.

“What do you mean by suspicious?” I asked cautiously.

“Did you see anyone unusual? Anything that stood out?”

Immediately, my thoughts flashed to Evans and the men standing with him. More specifically, the streak of blood I had noticed on the blonde man’s sleeve.

My stomach tightened.

I should tell him.

That was probably the smart thing to do.

But something stopped me. Maybe it was because Evans is involved in this mess and I don’t want him getting hurt.

“I passed by a group of men,” I admitted. “But I honestly can’t remember much about them because I was distracted with my phone.”

The officer held my gaze silently for several long seconds, studying me so intensely it made my skin crawl. It felt like he was trying to pull the truth directly from my head without me speaking it aloud.

Then, eventually, he gave a slow nod.

“Fine.”

The door suddenly creaked open, pulling my attention away from the officer in front of me. Another policeman stepped inside the interrogation room and leaned down to whisper something into the seated officer’s ear.

Almost immediately, the man’s expression darkened into a frown.

My heart dropped straight into my stomach.

Oh God.

Was there a camera in the stairwell?

Have they figured out that I lied?

A thousand terrifying thoughts rushed through my head all at once. My palms instantly turned damp, and I had to force myself not to panic right there in the chair.

Was I about to get arrested?

Would they charge me for withholding information?

Would I actually end up in jail over this?

“It seems,” the officer finally said after a long pause, leaning back in his chair, “that someone doesn’t want you sitting in a jail cell tonight.”

I blinked at him, confused.

“What?”

“You’re free to go.”

My eyes widened so much they almost hurt. “Just like that?”

The corner of his lips curled upward slightly. “What happened? You were practically begging to leave a few minutes ago.”

“So… I can actually leave?”

“You sound disappointed,” he mused dryly.

I narrowed my eyes at him, still half expecting someone to stop me at the last second.

Then he tilted his head slightly. “Do you need someone to drive you home?”

A ride? From a police officer who already looked at me like he could see every lie hiding behind my face?

Absolutely not.

“No,” I answered quickly. “I’m fine.”

He nodded once before rising to his feet. The movement was slow and oddly graceful for someone built like him. Then he gestured toward the door.

“Have a lovely evening, Ms. Hart.”

Lovely evening?

I had just found a dead body and nearly convinced myself I was going to prison.

Still, I wasn’t about to argue with freedom.

I shot to my feet, grabbed my jacket from the table, and hurried out of the interrogation room before anyone could suddenly change their mind.

The second I stepped outside into the cool evening air, I pulled out my phone with shaky fingers and booked a taxi.

Who the hell didn’t want me in jail?

And why?

I had barely reached the last stair when the loud roar of an engine almost ruined my ear drum.

A black motorcycle sped toward the curb and came to an abrupt stop right beside me, so close that I gasped and stumbled backward to avoid getting hit.

My heart nearly leaped out of my chest.

“What the hell is your problem?” I snapped at the biker, glaring furiously as adrenaline continued pumping through my veins.

The man calmly removed his helmet, completely unbothered by my irritation.

“Did I scare you?” he asked, amusement dancing in his voice.

The moment I saw his face properly, I recognised him instantly.

It was him.

One of the men from the stairwell earlier.

The man who had calmly announced to his friends that I wasn’t mentally stable.

My eyes narrowed immediately.

“Were you the one who didn’t want me jailed?” I asked suspiciously.

A low chuckle escaped him as he ran a hand through his messy black hair.

“I don’t know you well enough to care whether you end up in jail or not.”

My eyebrow slowly arched upward. “So it wasn’t you?”

Instead of answering, he grabbed another helmet hanging from the side of the bike and stretched it toward me.

I stared at it blankly before looking back at him.

“Why are you giving me that?”

His lips twitched lazily. “Surely you’re not planning to cook with it.”

I deadpanned at him.

“It’s for you to wear, obviously,” he added sarcastically.

“I’m not getting on a bike with you,” I replied flatly. “You’re literally a stranger.”

“A stranger you just lied to the police for.”

Every muscle in my body stiffened.

How the hell did he know that?

“And you still expect me to believe you’re not the reason I got released?” I shot back.

“Your fiancé is the one who saved your ass,” he drawled lazily.

The word fiancé sounded wrong and mocking to me.

My jaw tightened instantly.

They all think I’m crazy… I’m sure of it.

“He wants to see you.”

My brows pulled together. “Evans?”

“Ryder.” He corrected flatly.

My confusion deepened. “Why does he want to see me?”

He didn’t answer, instead, he lifted the helmet again and held it out towards me. “You’ll have to see him to find out.”

I stared at the helmet, then at him.

“No,” If Evans was the one seated on this bike, I would hopped in. “I don’t do mysterious rides with strangers who show up out of nowhere and start speaking in riddles.”

A faint sigh left him, like I was the difficult one here.

“You’re already involved.”

“That’s not an answer on why he wants to see me.”

“It is,” he replied, unbothered. “You just don’t like it.”

My heartbeat kicked up again, because the worst part was… he wasn’t wrong.

I was involved.

Whether I liked it or not.

“And if I say I’m not going?” I asked.

His gaze dropped briefly to my phone still clutched in my hand, then back to my face.

“Then you go home in a taxi,” he said. “And hope nothing follows you from the station.”

My grip on my phone tightened.

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough for me alone to hear.

“But if I were you,” he added, “I’d stop pretending you didn’t see what you saw in that stairwell.”

My throat went dry.

Then he straightened again, offering the helmet one last time.

“Your choice, Ms. Hart.”