“I’m Charity.” Before I can stop her, she’s rounded the door and is standing in full view of the officer, a few feet behind me.
His eyes rake over her. “Wow,” he murmurs. “It’s as bad as they said.” The sympathy in his tone doesn’t quite translate to his eyes, though.
“Who told you?” Charity asks. “What witness?”
He clears his throat. “An anonymous source saw you running from the hotel,” the detective repeats, sticking with his story. “He called the station and reported it.”
“And you just knew where to find me?” Charity asks dubiously.
“The witness tailed you here to the shelter.”
Charity and I exchange a glance. I can see it in her expression: she’s not buying this load of crap either.
The policeman is lying.
“Some random stranger saw me run out of the hotel, he followed me here,
