“Right.” The John doesn’t buy that for a second. He opens his door and steps out. He’s tall, cutting an imposing figure in a dress shirt, tie, and charcoal slacks. Propping a hand on the roof, he leans into my space. I shrink back instinctually. Something shifts in his gaze and he nods. “That’s what I thought.”
“About my age?”
“Miss, you’re under arrest for solicitation and prostitution.”
My stomach drops. What?! I blink, faking a confident laugh. “I bet you play that with all the girls. Listen, if you want to use restraints, that’s extra.” I’m on a roll now, creating a whole story. I mime rubbing my wrists. “The last time a guy used handcuffs on me, it chaffed like a bitch.”
He grants me an unimpressed look. “I’m not kidding. I don’t really want to handcuff you, but I will if you resist arrest. Get in the car.”
Another laugh leaves me, this one far less confident, tinged with dread. “If you’re a cop, where’s your badge?”
“Off duty.” He checks his watch, sighing like I’ve caused him a huge inconvenience. “And late for a steak dinner I’ve been looking forward to.”
“I want to see your badge.”
With a grumbled mutter, he fishes out his wallet and opens it, flashing me the badge. Darting a suspicious glance at him, I snatch it, bringing it close to inspect if it’s fake. It says Ridgeview Police Dept. across the top and Chief at the bottom, sending my stomach into panicked roiling.
“It’s real.” He takes it back, slipping the wallet in his pocket.
The fucking chief of police. Oh god, I’m screwed.
“I’m not going with you.” An uncomfortable tightness sits on my lungs. I stumble back a step, losing my balance when my heel catches a loose rock in the road. “I need, ah—!”
He catches me before I fall with big, sturdy hands. Before I can get away, he gently pins my arms behind my back and guides me into the car.
“Wait, no, please,” I ramble as he deposits me on the leather seat.
The officer blocks me in, leaning against the roof with a sigh. “Look, we’re going to make it quick and easy, okay? You’re a little older than my daughter, and I hate having to arrest the younger ones. I won’t cuff you, but in exchange you’re going to cooperate. Deal?”
A boulder-sized lump gets stuck in my throat when I try to swallow down the panic. “Will I go to jail?”
The cop doesn’t answer. He frowns and shuts the car door, getting in the front seat.
As we drive toward the station, I chew on my nails. I failed. Hot tears slide down my cheeks.
I’m finally out of tricks. This time there’s no smooth getaway.
Forty-Two
Blair
The light in the Ridgeview police station is too bright, making it impossible to hide from my failed plan. I caught a quick glimpse of myself in a mirror when the police chief brought me in. My stomach plummeted at the way I looked—exposed, destitute, desperate.
This is what I get for selling my soul.
A night in a holding cell by myself, too cold, tired, and out of options.
One of my cuticles bleeds from chewing on the nail. I keep picking at it. The sting reminds me I’m here and alive while time seems to tick by slowly and at a rapid rate, all at once. I have no way to tell what time it is. Like a casino, there’s no window and no clock.
Let the good times roll…
Except all it does is leave me with my bleak thoughts.
Devlin would call it psychological by design, a tactic to let the criminals stew in the cage until they were ready to crack under pressure.
Scoffing, I curl up on the hard bench, tucking my bony knees to my chest. I lean my forehead against them, thumping my head with my eyes screwed tight. It doesn’t change my surroundings when I open my eyes.
The concrete wall and iron bars with chipped white paint close in from all sides, distilling a sense of no escape. There isn’t a plastic spoon in sight.