I miss the days when I could resize the image I use. Stupid FB. Ah, well. Y’all are here for the words and not the pics, right? I have new ones–words, not pics–and they evolved into a scene that was coming up pretty soon in the plot so win! Also, I judged Thursday Threads last week, but I still wrote this snippet based on the prompt: **”How did you see her?”** Things are getting serious in Boston. I will give you a bit of a hint–the homicide cop involved in this scene has had a “thing” for Mick since they were kids. *bwahaha*

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They’d been sitting in this stuffy little room for almost two hours now. Mick was a model of nonchalance. He could unlock the handcuffs at any time but left them on his wrists since the street cop who dropped he and Declan off here had been nice enough to move them around to the front. He’d opted for the chair in the corner, where he could see the camera, the two-way mirror, and the door. Deck took the chair next to him but pulled it to the end of the table, turned his back to the camera, sat and promptly put his feet up on the table.

Mick had just closed his eyes on a yawn when the door exploded open, banging against the wall in which it was set. Detective Alan Bragg swaggered in, followed by two uniforms and another detective who was slightly better dressed than Bragg.

“Well, well, well,” Bragg smirked. “The great Michael O’Connor sitting in my interrogation room.”
Without removing his feet, Declan said, “Two hours. Was that enough time to manufacture and plant whatever evidence you discovered in my client’s home?”

Ignoring Deck, Bragg dropped into a chair—one that creaked ominously under his bulk.
“How? Did you see her when we brought her in for an interview? Did you go after her then?” Bragg snarled the words, leaning across the table in an attempt to intimidate Mick.

Remaining relaxed to the point he almost sprawled in the uncomfortable metal chair, Mick kept his mouth shut.

“That’s presuming my client actually saw her,” Declan said.

The cop still hardly glanced at Deck, keeping his main focus on Mick. “I’m not talking to you. I’m askin’ him.”

Mick sat straighter and leaned closer to the scarred wooden desk that separated him from the cops. “Her who?”

“The woman you murdered.”

The two Wolves exchanged a look but it was Mick who replied. “I have no clue who or what yer goin’ on about, Detective Bragg.” He sank a wealth of derision into Bragg’s rank. “Ya come to my home with a squad of coppers in the middle of the night. Ya trash m’place after ya put me in handcuffs and drag me down here with not a word as to the why of it. And now yer accusin’ me of murdering a woman? What woman, Bragg? Where? And when? And how? But most of all, why? Why would I kill some anonymous woman?”

“Because she fingered you for Tommy Gallagher’s murder.”

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Cue the dramatic music: Dun dun DUNNNN! I got a bit off track this weekend and had to put my train cars back on the rails. Time is moving too slowly in the book. Which I guess is not a bad problem except a certain amount of time has to pass in plot before certain things can happen and I am soooo ready for those things to happen. Why, yes. I AM impatient. Why do you ask? So writers, go for the prompt if it will help. Readers, ae you impatiently waiting for something?