(Lola)
The drive to the police station was quiet for the most part, Forster’s attention fixed on the road as he drove the swanky BMW (not remotely a cop car) through the busy streets. While Miller had his head buried deep in his phone, his fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard.
I had left the apartment without telling anyone where I was going or grabbing my purse to avoid Sam getting caught. So I took the opportunity now to send a quick text, from my own phone, not to Sam, but Tats.
Me to Tats:
I’ve gone with the cops. I don’t have my keys, so please don’t go anywhere. Pop’s formula is in the cupboard above the kettle, and the nappies are in the dispenser; if you need anything else, call Eleanor.
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