Sinful Secrets (Savannah Sharks Hockey and Mafia #2)

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

SAVANNAH

Cameras continue to flash as desperate paparazzi take my picture through the classroom window.

They have been following me for a few days now and, according to Spencer, they will leave as soon as they get wind of another story.

I let out a sigh.

In due time.

Times like this, though, I really hate not having blinds on our windows. Mrs. Kerry, my teacher, swears that natural light is better for designing because you can see the fabric better.

I think it’s a bullshit reason.

Mrs. Kerry glares at the men through the window before cracking it open. “What is all this about? Why are you interrupting my class?”

They ignore her, not phased at all with her annoyed tone.

Several photographers scream questions at me all at once.

“Miss Whitlock, how about an interview for the Savannah Times?”

“Miss Whitlock, how did you start dating a professional hockey player when you are still in school?”

“Miss Whitlock, what plans do you and Spencer have for the future? Will there be wedding bells in the near future?”

Ugh. They make it seem like I’m still a child and my and Spencer’s relationship is illegal. And why does me being in college getting my degree matter? Do they think I’m using him for his money?

Mrs. Kerry pushes one photographer, who is halfway through the window. “Leave, or I’ll call the police and have you all arrested.”

She slams the window and locks it, preventing them from climbing through.

Surprisingly, they turn around and walk away. No doubt waiting to ambush me after class.

“Miss Whitlock.” Mrs. Kerry says in a mocking manner. “I will not tolerate any more interruptions on your behalf. If you can’t come to class to learn, don’t bother coming at all.”

My face flames as everyone turns to stare at me.

Does she think I meant for this to happen?

Does she think I want all the attention on me and my picture to be in the tabloids?

She’s been my teacher for years. You’d think she’d know that I’m still the quiet and shy student that I have always been.

Maybe I’ve changed this year.

Maybe I’m not the same student I used to be.

Maybe being with Spencer has changed me in some ways.

She clears her throat and continues to talk about current trends and the fall fashion shows that are happening now that New York Fashion Week is over.

“The Los Angeles Fashion Week is coming up in a couple of days. Expect to see casual wear instead of the ballgowns and outlandish designs that are common in New York. That is why I am assigning you three sketches for everyday wear that are comparable to what we will see in the Los Angeles fashion shows.”

She sits at her desk and turns on the projector to share her screen. The Los Angeles Fashion Week web page shows similar designs that will make their debut.

Several designs are casual but dressy and range from summer dresses to party attire.

“Remember to make these three sketches fit into your future brand, but also be wearable. They are due in one week, but for now, we are going to have an open discussion about the designs that debuted in New York.”

Three sketches in a week shouldn’t be too hard, except I don’t really know what my future brand is going to be.

The screen changes to a slideshow of the designs from New York Fashion Week.

I zone out as I try to picture my future studio full of designs. Will it be full of cocktail dresses or normal, everyday clothing? Will I want to design high end haute couture or affordable casual wear?

A knock on the classroom door interrupts my thinking. A couple of police officers enter the room and look around before a man in jeans and a t-shirt pushes past them.

It’s Jacob Carter. This can’t be good.

His gaze meets mine for a second before he stalks toward me. He towers over me and gestures for me to stand up.

“You’re being detained.”

Wait, what? Why? What did I do? What do they think I’ve done? I haven’t done anything to justify this scene in the middle of class. It’s totally humiliating.

“For what?” I ask as I slowly get to my feet.

Jacob Carter doesn’t answer my question, so I ask him again. “What are you arresting me for?”

He reaches behind his back and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. The cool metal wraps around my wrists before they clamp down like a light vice grip.

Annoyed, I sigh and ask, “Can you tell me what I’m being charged for?”

He ignores me as if he doesn’t have a reason.

I know his reason. It’s because I said no to him. He now thinks I’m a part of the Arturo crimes.

Technically, I am, but all the evidence was burned in the club fire.

A male student nearby shouts out, “What’s your name and badge number?”

I think his name is Steven. His designs are over the top and flashy, like the designs in New York, and until today, he hasn’t spoken more than a few words and never louder than a whisper.

He knows his way around a mannequin, though. His designs are fitted to perfection.

Mr. Carter doesn’t answer him. He wraps his hand around my upper arms and leads me toward the other officers.

Glancing around the classroom at my classmates, my gaze stops when I see someone recording my arrest.

My face flames with embarrassment. First the paparazzi and now I have to worry about my classmates.

Mrs. Kerry pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a dramatic sigh. “All of this negative press won’t be good for a future in fashion, Miss Whitlock. I’d take a long hard look at your life and reevaluate your priorities.”

Anger fills my veins at her insinuation.

I have done everything I could just to stay in school and graduate on time. I go above and beyond on any and all homework assignments she gives me. And I’ve always tried to keep my personal life private.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to look at my classmate, who’s recording me. “Can you send me a copy of the recording? You can send it to my school email.”

She gives me a small nod before turning her phone toward the officers.

Another officer lightly grabs my other arm and leads me through the building. Luckily, most classes are still going on, so the hallways are empty except for a familiar face.

Justine.

She ends the call that she’s on and runs over to me. “What’s going on?”

The officers pull me past her. I turn my head to look at her. “I don’t know what’s going on because they won’t tell me anything. Call Spencer and tell him what’s going on.”

Thankfully, the team doesn’t fly out until tomorrow morning for two more away games. They were gone for close to two weeks, came home for one game, and now are leaving again tomorrow.

It’s no wonder he’s tired of traveling with a schedule like this.

Justine scrambles with her phone. “What’s his number?”

I recite Spencer’s phone number before I am pulled through the main doors and pushed into the backseat of a police car.

The drive to the police station is long and quiet. I don’t speak, and I keep my thoughts to myself.

There seems to be more going on than meets the eye. It’s like Mr. Carter is targeting me because I turned down his very generous offer to pay my tuition in exchange for information.

Can’t he find someone else to get the information he needs?

The car stops, and I am led into an interrogation room. The officer pulls out my chair before sitting down across from me.

The room looks just like it does on television shows, and I’d bet anything that Jacob Carter and the FBI agent are behind the large glass mirror watching this interaction.

He doesn’t speak. He just stares at me, making me feel like I’m under scrutiny.

The longer I’m forced to sit on this uncomfortable metal chair, the more pissed I get. “What am I being arrested for?”

He folds his arm across his chest, drawing attention to his name tag. My gaze stays on it long enough to read his name. S. Donaldson.

He lets out a breath. “You are being detained.”

“That’s what Detective Carter said. So what am I being arrested for?”

He keeps his tone calm and even. “You aren’t being arrested. You are being detained.”

“What am I being detained for?” I ask with an attitude.

He opens a folder and pulls out a sheet of paper. “We are willing to let all of this go in exchange for your cooperation.”

He’s not making any sense.

“All of what go? You haven’t listed any charges.”

“How about possession of drugs and drug trafficking to begin with?”

He slams the sheet of paper down on the table in front of me. The sudden movement and the loud noise make me jump in my seat.

I take several deep breaths to calm my racing heart.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

When I regain my composure, I glance at him and ask, “Where’s the proof? Where’s the evidence? I don’t have drugs on me. There aren’t any drugs in my dorm room or in my car.”

He doesn’t say anything. His beady eyes glare at me, like he’s calculating his next move.

I continue to ask question after question.

“Is this because I wouldn’t spy on the Marinos and the team? Is this Detective Carter’s doing? Or is this coming from the FBI agent?”

What was his name?

Taylor?

Travis?

I smirk as I remember his name. “Tyler Smith.”

The officer doesn’t flinch or show any emotion.

“This is a wrongful arrest.”

He rolls his eyes. “You aren’t being arrested.”

“Then why am I handcuffed and in an interrogation room? The least you can do is give me my one phone call and put me in a jail cell.”

The edges of his lips curl up into a smirk. “I can show you to a cell if that’s what you are wanting.”

“It has to be better than sitting here with you. So, can you show me where I’ll be staying while you sort out the paperwork for my arrest?”

He leans his head back and laughs. It’s not a funny ‘you should join in too’ laugh. It’s a cackle, like the Wicked Witch of the West.

The only thing he’s missing is the evil grin and the long nose. Well, and the green skin, too. I have to suppress a giggle as I imagine his skin turning a deep green.

Whatever is on Officer Donaldson’s mind causes him to chuckle. The deep rumble sends pinpricks down my spine. I narrow my eyes and clench my jaw until it hurts.

“What’s so funny?” I bark out.

He smirks. “You seriously want to be locked up?”

“No, I really want to be in my class learning about fashion and working toward graduating in a few months, but here we are.”

He leans back in his chair and rests his feet on the table, not speaking.

My shoulders and wrists ache from being in this position for so long and my fingers are starting to go numb. I roll my shoulders several times to the front before rolling them to the back, trying to get the blood flowing back to my fingers.

I stretch my neck from side to side, hoping it eases some tension. “Can you just have Detective Carter come in here and talk with me?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Why?”

I try to keep my tone calm and emotionless, but a bit of sarcasm leaks out. “So he can explain what is going on.”

He nods his head slowly. “Why?”

“So I can get out of these damn handcuffs.”

“Why?”

His one word questions are starting to piss me off.

Is he a fucking toddler?

A knock sounds on the glass mirror. Officer Donaldson jumps up and heads to the door.

“Hang tight.” He says before he closes the door behind him.

Where would I go? I’m handcuffed and in the middle of the police station.