Bren
The door opened and the two detectives from before came in. The woman carried a folder.
“Let’s try this again.”
The other cop didn’t sit. He moved against the wall behind me, his arms folded.
She sat, her head down as she skimmed through the papers.
One, I knew what they were doing.
Two, they’d already tried the friendly, we’re-just-trying-to-help-you act.
Three, this b***h knew exactly who I was, because I knew who she was.
Four, I’d asked for my lawyer, so the most I had to worry about was curbing the inner feral Bren I turned into when I was feeling cornered, which no doubt was their new agenda. It was in my files. I’d undergone counseling. It was well-documented that I lashed out when I felt pushed into a corner. So we were now on to their second attempt: emotional and phy
