Chapter 7
Owen looked up and saw they were at the sheriff’s office—the entire trip there was a blank. He was escorted through the door of the low, red-brick building and into a small interrogation room.
The sheriff unlocked the cuff on Owen’s left hand and snapped it to a steel ring in the middle of the bolted-down table. “Sit down. I gotta get the paperwork.”
Owen heard the door lock snick in place as the man left, and suddenly there wasn’t any air in the tiny room. Gasping, he felt his knees give way, and he dropped into the orange, plastic, molded chair.
Carefully focusing on drawing air into his lungs and expelling it evenly, Owen gradually moved from panic to anger.
Paperwork. Have to make it all legal so they can lock him up. For f*****g what? He hadn’t done anything. Owen jerke
