Page 22 of Hide and Keep

“For the right amount, you can get anyone to do anything you want.”

“Not anyone.”

“You.” Obviously.

“I’m not like that.”

“If you say so.” I divert my attention out the passenger window because I’m obsessed with that lip, too, and staring at it isn’t doing me any good.

Sucking on it probably would though.

“I meant don’t they need special equipment?”

“We have it all.”

“Must be nice.”

“It must,” I whisper. My mom…suffered. I’m sure there was a diagnosis for what exactly was wrong—it just wasn’t shared with me—but to me, it seemed like depression. When she had her good moments, she was amazing. Really fun. They just never lasted that long. And in between those, when she refused to leave the manor, my father still expected her to look good. Even in her own home, around her own family. So, he put a salon in our house and called in professionals.

Presentation, presentation, presentation.

Blue and red lights appear in the mirror a second before the siren sounds.

I fight to keep my expression neutral as I glance at Crue.

He lifts his hand to look at his speed. “What the fuck? I’m not even speeding.”

“Maybe your tags are expired.”

That earns me a scathing side-eye.

“They’re not.”

As he’s pulling over, he tells me to open the glove box.

“Is that where you keep your gun?”

“I don’t carry a gun.”

“Why? Isn’t that what bodyguards do? Carry weapons?”

“I don’t know. Just grab my registration and insurance.”

How doesn’t he know that? It’s his job.

I slide the contents around. “They’re not in here.”

He rips his gaze off his rearview. “What do you mean? That’s where they always are.”

I shrug. “It’s your car. You can look for yourself.”

He does, only to get the same results.

Where could they possibly be?

“Did you take them?”

I half-scoff, half-laugh. “And do what with them?”

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