I pull out my phone and I have one percent battery life left. So I watch the video of Luke Duchanan freaking out until my phone dies.
And it’s the best damn thirty-seven seconds of my life.Chapter FiveI wake up to my cell mate staring at me.
Her feet are flat on the floor and we’re eye to eye.
This woman scares the shit out of me.
“You’re snoring.”
I hate when people snore. I know how annoying it can be. So I apologize. “I’m sorry. I’ll roll on my side.” I start to roll away from her, but she shakes her head.
“I got a better idea.”
“Really? Rolling on my side usually works. My grandma used to make my grandpa—“
“Stop breathing.”
I stare at her in confusion. Her stare tells me if I can’t stop breathing on my own, she can make it happen.
I draw in a breath and fill my cheeks with air. She nods in satisfaction and stomps back to her bunk. The springs groan beneath her weight when she shifts on her side so she can watch me.
Just before I lose consciousness, the door to our cell opens.
“You.” The cop points at me. “Let’s go.”
I untangle myself from the blanket and jump down. As I pass my cell mate who growls at me, probably because she can hear me breathing, I do something really stupid.
“Your breath smells like a fart,” I hiss, shooting her the finger. Before she can get out of her bunk, I’m safely out of the cell and the door is closed—trapping her inside. I smile because I’m a free woman and she can’t kill me.
“Sit.” The officer points to a metal folding chair that sits in the aisle next to his cubicle. I sit down as he pours a cup of coffee and hands it to me. He tosses a plastic spoon, a couple packets of sugar and some powdered creamer beside it.
I fix my coffee while he takes a seat and starts punching the keys on his keyboard with only two fingers. He looks bored. His suit is too small. Glasses smudged. Hair combed over a bald spot.
Leaning back in the chair, he crosses his arms behind his head and stares at me. “The guys who picked you up said you started a fire on someone’s porch.”
I nod and take a sip of my coffee.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
I give him an edited version of the truth—starting at the part where I arrived at Luke’s home. It takes me a while to tell the story because he can’t stop laughing. And he keeps interrupting me by repeating everything I tell him in the form of a question. By the time I’m finished, he’s fighting to hold in his laughter and I have the urge to punch him in the face.
“Look,” he says, once he can speak without smiling. “Since you were only picked up on a minor infraction, I’m gonna let you walk…if you can find someone to come pick you up.”
“Can’t I just leave on my own?”
He shakes his head and gives me a hard look. “I’m doing you a favor. Don’t push it.”
“What if I don’t have anyone to come get me?”
“Then I’m gonna have to book you. And feed you. And it’ll cost money. And I don’t want to do that.”
I wouldn’t mind being booked. I could serve my sentence, have some breakfast and use the time in solitary to figure out how in the hell I’m going to get home, since my flight left three hours ago. Problem is, I pissed off my cell mate. So now, either I find someone to come get me, or I die.
My eyes move to the front pocket of my coat. Part of my brain screams at me that it’s a bad idea. The other says this is better than death.
The officer drags his phone across the desk and sets it in front of me, then leaves—telling me he’ll be back in a few.
I pick up the receiver and punch the numbers in quickly while I still have the nerve. Someone answers on the first ring.
“Mr. Swagger’s office.” The lady speaks in one of those annoying high pitch tones only pretty people have.
“Hello, this is Penelope Hart. I’m a friend of Mr. Swaggers.” It just came out. I couldn’t stop it.
“How can I help you Miss Hart?” The woman sounds bored. I feel stupid. I’m probably not the first person to call his office and say I’m his “friend.”
“Um…Well…”
I can’t do this.
My shaky hands fumble with the receiver until I get it back in the cradle.
How could I be so stupid?
So reckless?
So…just…stupid?
Jake Swagger wouldn’t come get me. He hates me.
His loss.
If he had invited me to stay for dinner, he could’ve gotten to know the real me. I could’ve charmed him. Made him love me. The he would’ve forced me to get a restraining order against him, because men tend to cling to a woman like myself.