Page 143 of The Oscar Escape
“Letting Raz know we’re ready to go.”
“Why would you need to let Sebastian’s dad know we’re ready?” She checked the clock on the dash. “How can he get us to Red Rocks in twenty-three minutes? Don’t get me wrong. I love him, but he’s a retired boxer. I doubt he has the power to change every red light to green.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, kiddo. He’s a retired boxer who, many moons ago, nearly got arrested for lewd behavior,” Landon replied, still as cool as a cucumber as he placed his cell on the console between them.
She parted her lips, ready to tell the man to forget Erasmus Cress and the vibrator incident they still laughed about to this day, and—please, for the love of God—stomp on the gas, when a cacophony of sirens blared.
Aria twisted in her seat as police cars swarmed the cemetery drive.
She gasped. “Is this about the delivery truck? I didn’t think Mr. Baker was going to report me.”
A squad car pulled up beside them. The siren ceased, but the blue and red lights continued to flash.
The tinted passenger seat window lowered.
Former Heavyweight Champion and British Beefcake Erasmus Cress flashed a wide grin from inside the cruiser. “Heartthrob,” he called in his rolling British accent with a sly smirk as he nodded to her uncle.
“Beefcake,” her uncle replied, mirroring the boxer’s expression.
Holy hell!Her uncle must have alerted the nanny love match crew.
Raz’s grin widened. “Aria, love, so good to see you. I understand you need to get to your concert venue.”
This was getting weirder by the second—but she’d go with it.
“I do. Why are you in a police car?”
“I’m friends with the former chief. I called in a favor. You’re about to blow every traffic light in the city.”
This was it. This was the moment everything changed. She could do it, couldn’t she? She had it in her, right?
She looked at her uncle.
“What is it, Aria?” he asked, worry etched on his face.
That little voice in her head was at it again. Dammit!Was this her eat-worms alter ego pushing too far? Would Oscar even care about what she was about to do?
Just as a wave of uncertainty threatened to wash away her resolve, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
The officer in the driver’s seat leaned forward and held the radio in front of his mouth. “Ten twenty-three.”
Ten twenty-three?
She climbed over her uncle. “Officer, why did you rattle off those numbers?”
“Ten twenty-three?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “It’s cop code. Ten twenty-three means I’ve arrived on scene.”
“Ten twenty-three,” she repeated, her voice rising an awestruck octave.
Damn, she needed to hear that. She turned her eat-worms energy on that little voice in the back of her head and allowed her take-no-prisoners passion to surge through her veins.
From the appearance of the delivery truck to the encounter with the wine-spritzer widows to her talk with her uncle to the officer calling in a random police code that meant everything to her, she got the message loud and clear. Hell, she’d written the lyrics.
Believe in who you are. Know yourself. Know your heart.
