KATHERINE'S POV.
My tapping nails had increased speed rapidly and I couldn't help but be internally surprised at how much I had gotten pissed off.
Just a couple more of his damned questions and I might actually be brimmed with anger and lash out, and right now, I would love to see how that would turn out.
Maybe they would finally put me in the cell as they want and tag me as the rabbid wolf they claim I am.
How many times would I have to tell them that I didn't do it.
I. Didn't. Kill. Her.
It's either they don't understand English which is their mother tongue by the way, or they don't understand basic reasoning which I highly doubts both situations are true.
Hell, they know I didn't do it, and I know they know I didn't do it, and they know I know they know I didn't do it. A stupid never ending circle.
They just want to be complete dick heads.
Said dick head or person working for the dick heads is currently starting at my rapidly tapping nails. He is either analyzing my behavior or admitting them. I could call him out but that would just be petty. Besides, he probably thinks it's me being anxious. The opposite actually. I really needed to use the convenience.
"So you weren't there on the night of the murder?"
Williams Brent stopped looking at my nails too move his unwavering gaze to my face and I stared right back into his eyes.
I was not scared by any Alpha's gaze. Not anymore.
"No. As I stated my answer remains the same. I stayed at my grandma's place that night. She and her neighbors can confirm it. They are my alibis."
William stared at the note which he was taking during the interrogations, probably thinking of what next to say because he ran his hand through his dark brown hair and huffed out a breath in thought.
In a fleeting moment I thought that such a gorgeous face should not be working for a shitty government.
He would have fit well as a singer but even if he did I may not have known him because of the amount of people in the music industry and the fact that I don't really keep up with it.
Maybe I would have known him if he was an actor?
"Ninety percent of Moira's assets went to you in her will. Was this because you were her lover? Or was it something else more personal?"
Maybe I would have known him if he was a reporter. His questions sound like he would have made it big in the news industry.
"I wasn't her lover, I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when we met and she clung to me."
Which was the absolute truth by the way.
"Were you aware she placed you as her next of kin?"
"No. It came as a shock to me when my presence was requested in front of her relatives and close friends when her lawyer read the will. I wasn't the only one who was surprised."
"Hell you weren't." I heard William mutter under his breath.
"I didn't kill Wang Moira for her fucking money." My self control was slipping slowly.
"I never said you did."
"Well you are definitely framing it to look like it."
Williams glanced at my nails quickly and went back to looking at my face as if he didn't want to get caught and I thought that was weird but I just pushed the thought aside.
"For now you're a prime suspect."
"Just because I'm her next of kin?" I questioned with genuine disbelief.
I was already feeling irritated for being in the interrogation room for a long time.
"Wang Moira was young, rich and successful and then you recently entered into the picture and before we know it she's murdered in cold blood and you magically turn out to be the my next of kin? What else do you want me to believe Katherine?"
I knew what the problem was, it was because I was an Omega and the police department were filled with Alpha's with God complexes that believe that Omega's are meant to be housewife's and birth machines and then there is Wang Moira's family members and friends who either want me dead or in jail all because I decided to be Moira's obsession and now have practically all her assets.
I know that they don't care for Moira's murder case, they just want the money. Complete dick heads, the lot of them.
"I never gave you permission to call me by my first name." I bit back my growing anger.
"My apologies Miss Roberts."
I had to squint my eyes a little with anger because I know he must be finding the whole ordeal amusing.
If I could just reach over the table and use my polished nails to scar his face, maybe scratch off his right eye, that would be one less dark brown eye staring at me.
"You're getting on my nerves Detective Brent." I declared curtly.
"I know." He smirked.
Forget the face I wants to go straight for his dick.
The door opened before I could decide whether I was actually going to lean across the table and do something I would absolutely not regret.
A uniformed officer stepped in, leaned toward Brent, and murmured something that made the detective's jaw tighten just slightly, the only crack in his composure I had seen in two hours. He stood, adjusted his jacket with the kind of deliberate calm that I recognized as irritation being swallowed whole.
"We're done for today, Miss Roberts."
"Obviously," I said, already pushing back my chair.
"Don't leave the city."
"Wasn't planning to." I retorted as I picked up my bag from the floor, slung it over my shoulder, and paused at the door with my hand on the frame, not turning around. "Detective."
"Miss Roberts."
"Next time you want to waste two hours of someone's morning, at least offer them a coffee first."
I walked out before he could respond.
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The precinct's front desk smelled like cheap detergent and my bad decisions. I signed the release form with the flourish of someone who had been doing this exact thing for the third time in two weeks and was deeply over it. The officer behind the desk, a young Beta, visibly uncomfortable with the whole situation, didn't meet my eyes when he slid the pen back toward me.
Good. He should be uncomfortable.
I stepped through the glass doors and into the grey Tuesday morning and breathed, actually breathed, for the first time since I had arrived. The air was cold and tasted like exhaust fumes and I thought it was the best thing I had ever inhaled.
My phone buzzed the moment it connected back to signal.
Three missed calls from my lawyer.
One from my grandmother.
And one from a number I didn't recognize, saved by my phone's auto-preview as VOSS INDUSTRIES - DIRECT LINE.
I stared at that last one for a long moment.
Then I flagged down a cab, got in, and called my lawyer back first.
I had a feeling Lucian Voss could wait exactly as long as I made him to.
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