Page 55 of Dangerous Pursuit
I open my mouth to speak just as the officer steps to his vehicle and opens the back door and holds it for Liam.
The world officially stops making sense and I'm reduced to a shivering mess, to a sub-human level, useless, futile, a mere stone statue as I watch Liam's face twist into a fake, reassuring smile. "I'll be back in no time. And please call Sawyer." An angry tear rolls down my cheek as Liam ducks down and squeezes into the too small backseat of the police car. "Tell him I'll be playing hooky tonight."
And before he can say anything else, the officer slams the door shut, his colleague already waiting in the passenger seat.
Liam winks at me from behind the glass and gives me another reassuring nod.
Unable to respond in any way, I collapse inside, hating the officers, the thugs, the entire world. And most of all, myself, for suggesting this stupid stroll, for dragging Liam around, for ducking behind that stupid car, for calling 911. For everything.
The engine coughs and I put both hands on my head, pulling on my hair, making it as painful as I can, to distract myself from the image of the police car currently driving away, getting smaller and smaller, and most of all, from the fact that I'm the one who's put Liam inside it.
Chapter Eighteen
Liam
THERE WERE MANY things I was bracing myself for during the twenty minutes I've been stuck, staring at the back of the officers' heads as I took what I expect to be the most expensive carpool of my life, but this? This is some fresh flavor of torture and I'mnothere for it.
My knee bounces up and down as I sit on a tiny, uncomfortable chair at the police station, next to the officer's desk. The same officer, who for the past two hours had been busy shuffling papers, answering phone calls and filling out forms, milling around and seemingly doing everything in his power to cross as many of today's items off his to-do list as he can. Anything except talking to me, leaving me to drown in the stew of my own racing thoughts. And that? That is the most effective of tortures.
I must have recounted my side—the side— of events five times during the drive to the station, but the officers paid me no mind, all the while assuring me I'm just detained and not actually under arrest.For now.
And it's the for now part that's been twisting me in knots, making my insides burn twice as much as my body.
Out of all the things I could possibly get charged with, battery is the words there is. It might as well be a sentence—no club owner will ever hire a bouncer with a record, and even though I've longed kissed my military career goodbye, the fact that now I'm facing the possibility of neverbeing able toenlist again, even if I wanted to makes me feel like I'm about to lose whatever freedom I might have possessed up till this moment. They may as well lock me up.
I put my elbows on my bouncing knees and run my palms over my head.
The man who introduced himself as officer Stevens is clicking away on his keyboard, paying me no mind. I know better not to open my damn mouth, straining my psyche to produce even a drop of patience. The clock ticking audibly above the door on the opposite wall openly mocks me and the fluorescent lights flicker periodically, the white and beige and blue interior seeming cold and artificial.
I run a mental checklist of CCTV cameras in and around the area where three human scum jumped us when there's a soft knock on the door under the clock before it cracks open and—
I'm almost on my feet when a mop of shaggy blond hair appears in the crack before I remember I'm supposed to stay put and not cause any trouble.
The wild bounce of my knee grows even wilder as I watch Xander enter the room. He doesn't look at me once, his eyes shooting straight to Stevens. "Good evening, officer," Xander says, his tone polite and steady, the exact opposite of what it was when I last saw him. He's changed his clothes, wearing black jeans and a formal, gray coat, and it's only the one strand of hair smudged with mud, semi-stuck to his head that lets me know that Xander's put together exterior is just for show andhe's fighting a whole different fight entirely. He waits for Stevens to pivot around in his chair to face him before he continues, "Officer Bailey said I could take a minute of your time." After Stevens doesn't respond immediately, he adds, "About the fight earlier. I may have some information."
What the fuck is he doing?
For a second Stevens looks as confused as I feel, but he's quick to recover. "Very well," he says with a curt nod.
My ass lifts about two inches off the chair before I remember I've checked my free will at the door. Fortunately, no one notices and all I can do is sit my ass back down, and with my mouth agape I stare at the back of Xander's head as the officer leads him to a small, single door in the far corner of the room where they both disappear to discuss God knows what.
Every part of me itches to run to that door and put my ear against it, but even if I were willing to disobey the officer's orders to stay put and wait, there are three other policemen milling around in various nooks and crannies of the open space or whatever you call a space that is in fact open, but located a few walls away from a jail cell.
My knees resume their bounce, and I scratch the top of my head before burying my face in my palms.
Why the fuck is Xander here, anyway? What does he think he can help me with, and, more importantly, what is he willing to do to achieve it?
The clock informs me it's almost ten—nearly two hours since my shift started. Remembering no one ever confiscated my phone, I fish it out of my pocket. A crack that wasn't there this afternoon is running from the top corner all the way to the bottom. I set my jaw, my hatred for the three dumb fucks bubbling within me anew.
The lack of missed phone calls lets me know Xander did, in fact, contact Sawyer and my replacement has been arranged. I check my email, my Instagram feed, my email again and what the fuck is taking so long?
I hook my feet around the legs of the chair to physically restrain myself from walking up to that goddamned door and getting properly arrested.
Leaning back, I fold my arms over my chest and pivot around for exactly twelve minutes, my eyes glued to the clock on the opposite wall, my mind scanning through every possible outcome I can think of. But no matter which angle I look at, my thoughts always drift to Xander, and the officer, and whatever is happening on the other side of that door. I'm trying, I'm really trying not to imagine that maybe, just maybe, Xander has decided to use his charm, the same charm he used to get me wrapped around his finger, hitting on the officer, flirting, or…worse. I hate myself for even going there, but my brain is relentless, torturing me, trying to convince me I saw things I'm not sure I saw.
Did he really check Xander out, back there in the alley, before they even talked? No, that'd be stupid. It was chaos out there. Surely no sane person would take time in the middle of the action to satisfy their curiosity. But what about later, when he had wished Xander a pleasant evening as he was stuffing me into the backseat of his car? What about now when he decided listening to whatever Xander has to say is somehow important enough to drop whatever he was doing and attend to the conversation right away?
Did Xander notice these things? Is that why he's here right now? Using and abusing himself to help me, to—
