Page 17 of The Cauldronball Run
J.J.glanced at her, struck by the observation."You sound surprised."
"I guess I expected criminals to be more...I don't know, criminal?Menacing?Less like a supernatural support group with transportation issues."
"We're not exactly the Mafia, sweetheart.Just folks who decided to make some quick cash doing something we're good at."The endearment slipped out before he could stop it, and he felt heat creep up his neck."Though I gotta admit, the trolls are in it purely for the joy of driving really fast and crashing into things."
As if summoned by his words, the enormous monster truck roared past them in the left lane, horn blaring a tune that sounded suspiciously like "Sweet Caroline."Through the massive windows, J.J.could see two trolls waving enthusiastically and singing along at the top of their considerable lungs.
"Bah!Bah!Bah!"drifted through their closed windows.
"They seem happy," Farrah observed, watching the monster truck weave between lanes while leaving a trail of confetti.
"They're always happy.It's genetically impossible for trolls to be depressed.Something about their brain chemistry."J.J.watched them disappear around a curve, still blaring Neil Diamond.
The radio crackled with increasingly chaotic chatter as teams reported their positions, mechanical failures, and various mishaps.J.J.relaxed into the rhythm of long-distance driving.The mile markers counted down.The CB banter ranged from helpful to completely insane, and the steady hum of the engine he'd built with his own hands filled him with pride.
What was new, what was the feeling he had between contentment and arousal, having Farrah next to him.
"Can I ask you something?"Farrah said.
"Shoot."
"Were you ever going to tell me the truth, if I hadn’t figured it out?"
J.J.considered lying, then decided he'd done enough of that already.The woman had agreed to become a criminal with him; she deserved honesty."I was hoping I wouldn't have to.I figured maybe you'd go along with whatever story I told you, collect your paycheck, and never ask questions that would force me to admit I was desperate enough to recruit someone for illegal activity through Craigslist."
"Are you sorry I made you tell me?"
J.J.shifted in his seat, hyperaware of how close she was in the confined space, how her knee was almost touching his thigh."No.I need a real partner, not just someone to babysit a mannequin and pretend everything was legitimate."
"A real partner for what?"
Before J.J.could answer—and he was still trying to figure out whether he meant "criminal activity" or "everything"—red and blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror like Christmas decorations from hell.
His stomach dropped."Shit.Real police."
Farrah twisted to look back, her hair brushing against his shoulder and sending his concentration into complete meltdown."How fast were we going?"
"Eighty-five in a sixty-five zone."J.J.started to pull over, then had a thought that was either brilliant or completely insane."I should have had the sirens on."
"Too late now,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to pull over and we’re about to see how good our cover story is."
The state trooper who approached their window looked like he'd been sent by central casting.Square jaw, mirrored sunglasses, and the kind of by-the-book attitude that made J.J.wonder if the pole up his ass was part of the uniform.
"License and registration," the trooper said in a voice that suggested he'd never told a joke in his life."You folks in a hurry?"
"Medical transport," J.J.said, handing over his credentials and praying the cop wasn’t speciesist against orcs."We've got a patient with time-sensitive needs."
The trooper examined J.J.'s EMT license and the ambulance registration with the thoroughness of someone looking for any excuse to make arrests."What kind of patient requires this speed?"
"Banshee with vocal cord trauma," Farrah said, leaning across the center console.Her hand brushed J.J.'s arm as she reached for the medical charts, and the contact sent electricity shooting through him at exactly the wrong moment.He had to concentrate on not shivering, not reacting, not doing anything that would give away how much her touch affected him."She requires ground transport to a specialist facility in Los Angeles.Altitude changes could cause permanent vocal cord damage or worse."
Do not think about how her fingers feel against your skin.Do not think about how she smells like lavender and stubbornness.Think about not getting a ticket.
J.J.caught the faintest shimmer around Farrah's fingers as she handed over the paperwork—so subtle he might have imagined it if he hadn't known she was a witch.The trooper's skeptical expression softened slightly as he took the charts, his suspicious squint relaxing."Mind if I take a look at this patient?"
J.J.'s heart hammered so hard he was surprised it wasn't audible in the next county."Patient confidentiality requires—"
