Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Three turns later, the same headlights remained fixed behind me. My shoulders tightened. I had to be paranoid. Two people could share the same route home without it meaning anything.
I took a right turn I didn’t need to take.
The car followed.
My pulse quickened. I checked the speedometer, making sure I didn’t go even a mile over the limit. My registration was current, my lights all worked, and I hadn’t had anything to drink. There shouldn’t be a reason for anyone to pull me over, but the whole vibe just screamed cops.
The headlights drew closer, close enough that I could now make out the silhouette of a police cruiser. Just like I thought. My mouth went dry. I’d had enough run-ins with police during my homeless months when I first came back to the states to develop a healthy wariness. They hadn’t exactly been friendly to teenage runaways, even ones who weren’t causing trouble.
I took another unnecessary turn, this one taking me farther from my apartment. The cruiser followed, maintaining its distance. Just close enough to let me know I was being watched and they were playing with me.
Then the red and blue lights flashed on, painting the wet pavement ahead of me in alternating crimson and cobalt. My heart slammed against my ribs. I pulled off into a gas station parking lot under the flood lights. I didn’t have any reason to think there was any danger, except the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I lowered the window but returned my hand to the wheel, making sure to keep my hands still and visible.
Because I liked keeping a low profile, I did my best to obey the law in all respects. I didn’t jaywalk. I didn’t drink if I expected to go anywhere other than where I was drinking. I’d never even smoked weed, for fuck’s sake. But my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and my throat felt tight with fear. I’d learned to listen to that internal warning.
The officer didn’t approach immediately. The waiting ratcheted up my anxiety until I felt my pulse throbbing in my fingertips where I gripped the steering wheel. Through my side mirror, I watched a man finally exit the cruiser. Tall, maybe in his fifties, with broad shoulders and a swaggering walk that spoke of absolute confidence and a healthy dose of arrogance. Just ducky.
“License and registration.” His voice was flat, professional, giving nothing away. I got a better look at him now. Sharp features, close-cropped gray hair, steel-colored eyes that assessed me with cold calculation.
“Can I ask why I’m being pulled over, Officer?” My voice came out steadier than I expected.
“Detective,” he corrected. “Detective Reeves. And you were swerving.” I hadn’t been swerving. We both knew it. But arguing would only make things worse.
“I’m sorry, Detective. The roads are slippery.” I reached slowly for my glove compartment. “My registration is in here, and my license is in my wallet.”
I retrieved the requested documents, leaving the glove box open. His gaze flicked to the potted sage on my passenger seat, then back to me as I handed over my license and registration.
“Been drinking, Ms. English?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
He studied my license. “Long way from town, aren’t you? I thought the local delivery apps had put out warnings about those warehouses.” My stomach dropped. He knew who I was and what I did for a living. This wasn’t a random stop.
“I’m paid to deliver groceries and sundries, sir. Company policy is that we take the next order on the list,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. It was the truth; we were supposed to pick up the next order on the list. Didn’t mean the rule was always enforced.
“To the Kiss of Death compound,” he stated. Not a question. Before I could respond, a second officer emerged from the cruiser. She looked several years younger than Detective Reeves. “This is Detective Olivia Mercer.”
Detective Mercer nodded at me curtly. Unlike her partner, she at least maintained the appearance of professionalism, though her gaze held a similar calculating gleam. She hung back slightly, standing at the passenger side of my car, her posture alert but not overtly threatening.
“You shouldn’t be in such a remote area as that warehouse graveyard. Especially in this weather.” He gestured to the drizzling rain.
“It’s my job, detective.” I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “I have to eat and make rent. The weather doesn’t change that.”
Reeves leaned in closer, resting his arm on my door. The smell of coffee and cigarettes wafted from him. “How long have you been delivering to the Kiss of Death compound?”
“A few weeks.” I kept my answers short, not volunteering information.
“Making friends there, are we?” The question came with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Or something more than friends, perhaps?” My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew Marcus’s past, but I had no idea what this detective’s interest was in me or the club. Besides, my first instinct with any kind of authority figure was always going to be to keep my mouth shut.