Chapter 211: Tara's Imprisonment

Chapter 211: Tara's Imprisonment
Tara's POV

"Don't move!" he trembled as he pulled out his phone. "I'm calling the police!"

I remained perfectly still, watching his shaking fingers dial. I had been set up, and quite masterfully at that. Someone had been tracking my movements, anticipating my investigation, and had laid this trap, knowing exactly when I would arrive.

"You know I didn't kill your mother," I said calmly. "You know better than I do what happened here. What I don't understand is what kind of price would make you willing to sacrifice your own mother?"

Shock flashed across his face, quickly replaced by anger. "What are you talking about? You killed her! I saw you standing over her with blood on your hands, and now you're trying to blame me? You're insane!"

He backed toward the doorway, eyes fixed on me as if afraid I might attack him at any moment. "The police will be here soon. You won't get away."

I made no attempt to stop him or flee the scene. There was no point. The trap had been meticulously set, and resistance now would only make things worse. A strange calmness settled over me.

My mind shuffled through scenarios with playing-card quickness, calculating probabilities, weighing options. Better to see how this played out, to understand what my opponent planned next.

Within minutes, I heard sirens approaching, followed by hurried footsteps pounding up the stairs.

Two officers burst through the open door, weapons already drawn.

"Police! Freeze!" one shouted, immediately training his gun on me.

I slowly raised my hands. "I'm not resisting."

The second officer moved to check Jamie's body while the first kept his weapon pointed at me. "Ma'am, step away from the victim."

I complied, moving to the wall as directed. The young man stood in the doorway, tears streaming down his face as he pointed at me.

"It's her! She killed my mother! I walked in and found her standing over my mom with the knife!"
The officer examining Jamie confirmed, "Victim has a stab wound to the abdomen. No pulse." He looked at my blood-stained hands. "Did you call this in?"

"No," I answered truthfully. "He did."

The lead officer narrowed his eyes. "We only received the call a few minutes ago. You're saying you just happened to find her right before the victim's son arrived?"

"I understand this looks suspicious," I said evenly, "but I didn't kill her. She was already dead when I arrived."

"We've heard that one before," the officer responded skeptically. "Ma'am, what's your name?"

"Tara Taylor."

"Ms. Taylor, why were you in this apartment?"

I considered my answer carefully. The truth sounded implausible, but lying would only complicate matters. "I came to speak with Jamie—the deceased—about information related to another investigation."

"What investigation?" he pressed further.

"A private matter," I replied. "I'm afraid I can't elaborate at this time."

The officer's expression hardened. "Ms. Taylor, you were found at a murder scene with the victim's blood on your hands. We need to take you in for questioning."

"I understand."

As he read me my rights and placed handcuffs on my wrists, I couldn't help but note how surreal this all felt. I had been in countless dangerous situations throughout my life, faced death multiple times, but this was my first arrest.

"Wait," the young man suddenly interjected, his voice shaking. "You're not just questioning her? She murdered my mother! I saw her do it!"

The officer tried to calm him. "Sir, we understand you're upset, but we need to follow proper procedure. I promise you we'll get to the truth."

As they led me out of the apartment, I turned for one final look at Jamie's son. Behind his mask of grief and anger, I caught a glimpse of something else—satisfaction, even triumph. In that moment, I was certain that whatever price he had accepted for his mother's life, he believed it had been worth it.

---

The police station was exactly as I expected—cold, impersonal, permeated with the smell of stale coffee and disinfectant. They processed me efficiently, taking my fingerprints and photos before settling me in an interrogation room.

I sat alone at the metal table for nearly an hour before a detective entered, carrying a thin folder. After introducing himself, he opened the folder and studied me with deliberate detachment.

"Ms. Taylor, you have no prior arrests or convictions," he noted, scanning the papers before him.

 "No criminal record whatsoever. Yet you were caught at a murder scene with the victim's blood on your hands. Care to explain?"

"As I told the arresting officer, Jamie was already dead when I arrived. I checked for a pulse, which is why I had blood on my hands."

"And why were you visiting her?"

I remained composed, meeting his gaze directly. "She had information related to a personal investigation I'm conducting."

"What kind of investigation?"

"A private one."

The detective leaned back in his chair, sighing. "Ms. Taylor, your evasiveness isn't helping your situation. We have a witness who claims he saw you kill his mother."

"A witness who happened to arrive at the perfect moment," I countered. "Have you considered I might have been framed?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Framed? By whom? Why?"

"That's precisely what I've been trying to determine."

The questioning continued for another hour, growing increasingly circular. Detective Morris was visibly frustrated by my unwillingness to provide more details, but I knew anything I said could be used against me, or worse, alert my adversary to how much I knew.

Finally, he closed the folder. "Based on the evidence and witness testimony, we're charging you with first-degree murder. You'll be held until arraignment."

I nodded, showing no reaction. "May I make a phone call?"

---

After being processed and changed into standard-issue prison attire, I was finally allowed my phone call. I dialed Peter's number, deliberately keeping my message brief.

"I'm in police custody," I said when he answered. "Come to the station."

I could hear the confusion in his voice through the line. "Boss? What happened? Are you alright?"
"Just come," I replied, then hung up.

Less than twenty minutes later, an officer escorted me to a small visitation room where Peter waited, his face etched with concern. As soon as the door closed behind us, he leaned forward, speaking in a hushed voice.

"Boss, we've been set up! They've been monitoring our every move, waiting for the perfect moment to strike!"

I gestured for him to lower his voice, then said, "If they want me behind bars, I'll play along for now. You'll handle things on the outside."

I kept my expression neutral, aware we might be under surveillance. "Investigate Jamie's son. Find out what they offered that was valuable enough for him to sacrifice his own mother."

Peter shook his head, incredulous. "I should have been with you. At least then we'd be facing this together."

I couldn't help but smile slightly at his loyalty. "Even if we were both arrested, they wouldn't keep us together. Have you ever heard of male and female prisoners sharing a cell?"

Peter's concern didn't diminish. "How can you joke at a time like this? We don't even know what they're planning!"

"Whatever it is," I said calmly but firmly, "I'll see it through."

Our time was limited, and soon an officer appeared to escort Peter out. As he left, the worried expression on his face had only intensified, but there was nothing more I could say to reassure him. Some battles had to be faced alone, and this, it seemed, was one of them.

---

Luke's POV

"Mr. Carter," James's unusually urgent tone immediately caught my attention. "Peter just called. Ms. Taylor has been arrested."

I nearly dropped the phone, my heart rate surging. The words echoed in my mind, difficult to process.

"Arrested? Why?" My own voice sounded foreign to me, too controlled when inside I was chaos.
"Murder, sir. She was found at the scene with the victim's blood on her hands."

My knuckles went white against the edge of the phone. A sickening fear washed over me, immediately followed by something hotter and sharper—pure, undiluted anger. Not at Tara, but at whoever had orchestrated this. My mind raced, immediately connecting the dots. This had to be related to our investigation. "Who was the victim?"

"A woman named Jamie. According to Peter, Ms. Taylor went there to inquire about Howard Harrison's ashes."

I clenched my jaw, anger building inside me. "This is no coincidence. Someone has been tracking her movements, waiting for the perfect moment to strike."

"Should I arrange for legal counsel, sir?"

"No need," I replied, already pushing my wheelchair toward the closet to change clothes. "I'll go there myself. But I want you to begin investigating Jamie's son immediately. Find out who he's been in contact with, whether he received any unusual payments, anything suspicious."

"Right away, sir."

After ending the call, I moved as quickly as possible, changing into more appropriate attire for a police station visit. My hands trembled slightly—not from physical weakness, but from anger.

First Finn's disappearance, and now this. Someone was systematically targeting everyone Tara cared about, including herself.

The wheelchair felt like a cage, my own body a prison too slow to respond to the urgency I felt inside. I wanted to run to her, to tear down the walls separating us with my bare hands if necessary. The sense of helplessness was almost as maddening as the anger.

I paused, catching my reflection in the mirror—the dark circles under my eyes, the tension in my jaw. For a moment, I recalled Tara's face the last time I saw her, that carefully constructed wall of indifference she maintained in my presence. Would she even want to see me?

The question flashed through my mind only to be immediately dismissed. It didn't matter. I would go to her regardless.

"Have the car ready for me," I called my driver. "We're going to the jail."