Page 100 of Space Oddities

“Jesus, Holt. Spit it out.”

“Trish is in jail.”

“What?” I shoot off the bed, hand out to grab the clothes nearest to me.

“As part of police procedure, even after the stripper told the cops that the girls were just defending them, they ran everyone’s licenses.”

“Fuck.” I stumble stepping into my jeans. I don’t even bother changing the T-shirt I slept in.

“So I’m guessing you knew that Trish had a warrant out for her arrest?”

“Yeah. I knew.” I throw everything into my duffle— wet swim trunks, favorite suit, toothbrush. “Where’s Trish now?”

“At the League City Police Department in a holding cell, apparently awaiting extradition back to Georgia.”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

“Rose has her lawyer on the way over.” Holt snorts. “He’s gotten Rose out of plenty of scrapes, I’m sure he can help Trish.” He pauses while I shove my feet into my sneakers. “Though Rose never committed a felony.”

Sighing, I give up trying to protect Trish’s secret. “She didn’t commit a felony. She was falsely accused.”

He absorbs that information. “Anything you know, we should tell the lawyers.”

Shouldering my duffle, I grab my laptop bag in my other hand and bring Holt up to date as I hustle out of the room and toward the elevators.

“Dang. That’s messed up,” Holt says when I’m done. “Though it explains a lot.”

“Yeah, Trish isn’t half as sneaky as she thinks she is.” Only a lone concierge is manning the front desk as I enter the lobby. “I’m going to send you two numbers in a minute. One is Gary Ranos, the private detective, and the other is the lawyer and ex-boyfriend, Chad Mitchell. Make sure that Rose’s lawyer calls them.” I jog outside to the curb, thankful when I see a few taxis out, catering to the party crowd.

“You got it.”

Across the night sky, still dark even with the overhead traffic lights, the red beacon of a plane shoots across. I click off the call and yank open the door of the taxi before it even comes to a complete stop.

“Where to?” the cabbie asks.

“Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.”

I have a flight to catch.

Twenty-Five

Environmental Support

Trish

Jail cells are cold.

Rubbing my hands up and down my arms doesn’t diminish the goosebumps spread across my body.

The open-toed platform shoes don’t help.

Out of my sight, something heavy clanks against metal, and more goosebumps pop up. Maybe it isn’t the cold making me cold. I shiver. Maybe it’s fear.

Despite being a wanted felon, I never so much as got a parking ticket. Jail was always something I was running from, but I never let my mind wander to actually beinginit.

It’s scary. And I’m smart enough to know that this is just a holding cell in League City’s police department. Felons don’t stay here for long.

The beep and trill of a police officer’s walkie-talkie echo down the hall.

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