The Switch Read Online Free

staircase, and to room 307. He uses one of the two keycards, offering neither one to me, and opens the door, shuffling me in first. As the door closes behind us, he rests his head on the back of the door and pulls out his cell phone.
    I walk further into the air-conditioned room, my damp clothes sticking to my skin, and curse the entire situation. The kind officer thinks I’m in trouble, and well, I am but not in the way he thinks. I hear the clicking sound of his cellular phone shutting, and he takes two heavy breaths. I turn around from the modestly styled room and find his eyes on mine.
    “Why don’t you sit down, miss? I need to know what happened,” he says.
    I shift my eyes from his to the wall behind him. I’m a horrid liar , and I have no idea what tells I’m giving off right now. Officer Guilliot pushes off the door and walks past me, toward the small corner table by the window, and pulls out a chair, his hand indicating I’m to sit. I bite my lip and try to run through the best course of action.
    The truth is out for obvious reasons. A lie would work if I could make it a convincing one. Both are likely to fail miserably. So until I can figure out what I should tell the kind officer with the bulking frame, I think I shouldn’t tell him anything.
    His hand waves frantically at the chair, his brows drawn together as he studies me. I let out a heavy sigh and shrug my shoulders, stalk to the chair, and slump down into it. His body seems to relax, and he pulls out the chair next to mine and sits. He laces his fingers together, and he’s staring so hard at the finished wood of the table I think he might melt the polish right off.
    “My name is Officer Chase Guilliot. I’m with the New Orleans Police Department. You’re safe with me. I’m going to help you. What is your name?”
    I feel uncomfortable with the idea of telling him my name , so I go for a partial truth.
    “Shelby Connor .” It’s not a total lie. Connor is my mother’s maiden name. I say a little prayer that there’s not a Shelby Connor in the system, because there most certainly is a Shelby Brignac, and she doesn’t look so great on paper.
    “Shelby,” he says, reaching out and patting my arm. “Why was the man with the gun following you?”
    I shrug my shoulders and keep my eyes trained on my lap. Officer Guilliot urges me once more.
    “I don’t know,” I whisper. If I meet his eyes , he’s going to know for sure I’m lying. I can’t keep my foot steady, my eyes are jumping from one thing to another, a nervous smile has found its way to my lips, and my heart is beating a mile a minute. I’m so bad at this.
    “Shelby, I want to believe you. Despite being New Orleans , we don’t get many gunmen hunting down pretty girls in the middle of the Quarter for no good reason.”
    My head jerks up at his comment. Pretty? The last thing I feel right now is pretty. I shrug it off, assuming he’s only trying to create a sense of comfort and safety for me.
    “ I’ll ask again—why was the man with the gun following you?”
    I shrug my shoulders again.
    He lets out a harsh breath. “Okay, you don’t want to talk? I’m calling this in, and there’s going to be a whole mess of cops down here asking you the same questions.”
    “Wait!” I screech without further thought.
    He looks at me, waiting. I double over, let my head fall into my lap, and take several deep breaths. I’ve always been able to cry on command. It’s just a matter of getting into the right headspace.
    I think back to this time back in high school when I was experimenting with rebellion. I decided to alter my school uniform and make it a little more edgy , which meant I shortened it to about mid-thigh. I caught the attention of a few boys before the nuns found me and called my parents in to talk about my wardrobe. I giggled at the boys attention, and when one boy in particular cornered me in the vacant gymnasium after classes one day, I thought I’d hit the jackpot.