Cops & Robbers

Chapter Ten (Revised)

Ben wasn’t home when I arrived at his house 25 minutes later. It occurred to me that I probably should’ve called him before I arrived at his house, but there wasn’t much I could do now that I was already here. 

Natasha had called me four times since I had hurriedly left the house. Alex had called a couple of times during that time as well, though I suspected it was at Natasha’s behest.

“Uh, hey Adrienne. It’s Alex. You probably knew that though, huh? Um…” He sighed into the phone and I imagined him massaging the tension out of his neck. Tasha urgently whispered things I couldn’t quite make out and after she fell quiet he continued. “You never told me where you were headed... We called Daniel and he said he hadn’t heard from you. Call me back? We can fix this. So yeah. Call me back.” It clicked over to the automated voicemail system that informed me if I pressed seven it would erase the message and I selected nine it would save it. I immediately pressed seven and checked the time. Seven forty-five.

I thought about calling Ben to tell him I was waiting at his house, but ultimately decided against it. Wherever he was at and whatever he was doing was more important than unloading my stuff. It wasn’t like I couldn’t just relax in my truck until he got home, especially since I planned to impose for however long it took for things to blow over.

A massive yawn overtook my body as I tried to stretch my stiff muscles in the small confines of Old Faithful. After a second glance at the clock that announced that only two minutes had passed since I last looked at it, I decided a nap was in order. If Ben got home before I woke up, knowing him, he’d have no qualms about waking me up. Locking my doors, I slid the seat as far back as it would go, curled up into a ball, and closed my eyes.

I’m not sure when sleep found me, but I know exactly when it left me. Approximately forty-five minutes, perhaps even less by the time I bothered to check the clock, had elapsed when I felt it. It was probably my sense of smell that alerted me to the presence in my car. Cologne. Body heat and the space the mass seemed to consume came in at a close second.

I tried to inch my fingers toward the small knife I usually kept on my person without drawing unwanted attention from my guest. Emphasis on ‘tried’.

“It’s not there you know,” his deep, but familiar voice informed me.

With my attempt at subterfuge failed, my eyes snapped open and I quickly sat up so I could assess the enemy. At least I thought he was the enemy. He had yet to make a single aggressive move against me, except when I had pulled the knife on him. Even then he had only disarmed me, so I wasn’t really sure what he was.

“How’d you know?” I asked.

“About the knife?” He shrugged. “You fooled me by your appearance once and you know what they say, if you fool me once, shame on me. If you fool me twice, I’m an idiot for not realizing you’re trying to kill me.” His eyes roamed my body judgmentally. The attraction in them, or rather the lack thereof intrigued me and I wondered what angle he was playing at.

“Isn’t it, ‘Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me?’,” I replied drily.

“Mine’s better,” he stated so simply it was obvious he expected me to automatically agree with him.

His arrogance fueled me to challenge him. “Better? Hardly. Though I will concede that it is more relevant to our situation.”

He chuckled and I was deliberating why when he said, “Would you not agree that relevant is better?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his question was clearly rhetorical. “Like I said, mine’s better.”

His logic was egotistical and flawed, but somehow difficult to argue against. He had a point. Vincent one, Adrienne zero.