I don't need any more motivation to flee the scene, or any more pride to hold me back. I hadn't thought about what that guy or the rest of his crew might be packing and now I'm going to pay for it. I can hear them bounding after me when I make it out the door. I see a side street behind the bar and hope I'll be able to disappear behind it. My legs take me to the alleyway and I silently thank God that it isn't a dead end. I come to the end of it, still listening to the shouts of men. The roar of a bike engine breaks the sounds of the suburbs and my heart begins to pound. If they have bikes, they'll catch up to me in no time.
I push myself forward, running as fast as I can through the windy back streets of wherever I am until I see something that might be my escape. There's a gap in a fence that probably leads to someone's backyard. If I hide in there until they're gone, I'll be safe.
Glancing back, I find no one watching me so I duck between the corrugated iron fence and into a small but completely trashed yard. I have a bad feeling in my stomach about this. When I hear the bikes round the corner, I know I have no choice so I bend down behind a broken child's stroller and stay as still as I possibly can.
Moments later, the ripping roar of the bike engines zoom past and shake the wooden boards of the fence. They're shouting to each other, but it dies out as they get to the end of the street and drive away. I count to ten in my head and step under the gap in the fence and back into the alley.
The second I emerge from the safety of the trashy backyard, I'm hit from the side and sent sprawling on the sidewalk. My heart practically flies into my throat as I expect to turn around and find Tubby and his crew back for a little fun, but I can't flip over because the attacker is on me, bending my arms behind my back. I hear the familiar clink of handcuffs and my wrists are secured. That's when I realize I'm being arrested.
"Hey, what the fu-"
"Don't," growls a male voice.
I am hauled to my feet and marched toward a police vehicle parked at the end of the alley. I try to spin myself and get a look at the cop who has arrested me, no doubt for trespassing or something lame like that, but he won't let me turn around. It takes all my self-control not to yell at the guy. He's probably one of the old, smelly officers with no consideration for the youth of this generation that I always seem to get stuck with. This is turning out to be one of the shittest days I've had in a long time.
We get to the car and he leans forward to open the door. I catch a glimpse of his figure in the tinted window and out of the corner of my eye. He's young, dark haired and tanned. Clearly a gym addict or something of the sort. I am so taken aback that I forget to duck when I step into the back of the car. Luckily his hand is on my head. It hits the top of the car when I fail to enter correctly and I hear him groan.
"Sorry," I say and glance back at him. He sort of pauses and I can see the surprise in his hazel-brown eyes at my apology. There is a moment of frozen silence between us as he tries to figure out whether he's nabbed the right girl. I take that moment to admire how good looking he is. He isn't the kind of hot that melts your insides or makes you stare until you walk into a pole, but he is very handsome. Especially in a uniform. He looks ... a lot like me, in some ways. Mature, trying to escape from a bad past, smart about living in a world hard to handle. Something about this guy intrigues me. Is it possible to get all that from a fleeting glance?
The sound of a car horn makes us both jump and I am shoved a little more roughly than I'm used to onto the backseat. This time I remember to duck. He slams the door behind.
I adjust myself awkwardly and watch him stalk around the car, sliding into the passenger's seat. There's another policeman in the driver's seat and as soon as the young cop has closed his door, we turn onto the main road.
There is a sheet of plastic glass between the front of the car and I. I can't hear them talking but I know they are. I can see their mouths moving. I watch the driver speak in the rear vision mirror. He's much older than the other cop. His bottle-brush moustache must be seriously itchy and his eyes are hidden by aviators. He drives like a maniac. I play corners with myself, unable to strap in because I'm restrained and there are no seatbelts in the back. I used to wonder why that is, but then I realized it's because the police don't give a shit about us crims in the back. As far as they're concerned, there's no need to worry about the safety of their perps. They won't care if I break my neck on the way to the precinct.
That gets me thinking about why in hell I'm in the back of one of these again for the second time this week. Alice is going to kill me. We just had the 'no more getting arrested' discussion and although I managed to convince her I'd try my best, this will be the last straw. And I didn't do anything wrong ... intentionally! So I punched a guy in the face and hid in someone's backyard. I shouldn't be getting arrested for that, it was self-defence! Maybe I won't even need to call Alice. They should be arresting Tubby and his crew, not me. They're the ones with the guns. And sexual harassment. Hey, at least I'm safe from them in this very smelly police car. I'm pretty sure there's a vomit stain on the back of the driver's seat.
I watch the buildings fly past, no longer able to look at the young cop in front of me. I feel like if I so much as glance fleetingly at him, he'll turn around and catch me. Like he has eyes on the back of his head. But it's just cropped, chocolate hair I can see.
After what seems like forever, we enter the part of the city I know like the back of my hand. I start to get nervous when we take East 29th Street and pull into my favorite place in the world: the Downtown precinct. I should have known. Is it the only police station in the whole city, or is this just a nasty coincidence?
The officer parks out the back and I wait as they each climb out of the car. I stare at my knees and hear the right door open. Yes.
"Watch your head this time," he tells me and I allow myself a smile as I get out of the car. I've done it enough times to not look like an idiot. Again.
He takes me by the arm and we march to the front of the station. I don't know where the other officer went, and I don't really give a shit. A million thoughts are trying to burst into my mind and confuse me, but I'm surprisingly calm. All I can really concentrate on is the hand clamped around my arm, just below my shoulder. Even through my sweater I can feel his warmth. Maybe that's what's making me so calm. His touch.
It suddenly occurs to me how soft I'm being right now. Am I going insane? Since when has a guy – especially a guy who tackled me to the ground and handcuffed my wrists together – ever made me feel so ... relaxed? I'm about to be put back in the cell I was only just released from for a crime I haven't committed. Where is my rebelliousness? Where is the tough, smartass Jessica Knight everyone expects to see? I suddenly feel exposed, like I'm naked in front of an audience full of people in a very bad dream. I shake away the melting feeling in my stomach - or somewhere near there - and wrench myself away from the cop.
"I'm capable of walking by myself thank you," I say with extra sass in my tone.
He frowns at me. He looks so much younger than I thought, younger than any policeman I've ever known. Probably even close to my age. Are they allowed to be officers this young?
"As capable as you are of not hitting your head on the car roof?"
I snort. I guess I'll never live that down. "Yes," I reply lamely.
He opens the door to the station and forces me inside.
And then the strangest thing happens. Usually the officer escorting me checks me over, signs me in, asks for the key at the desk and chucks me straight in my cell. I've become so accustomed to it that I actually try to approach the counter.
"We're going this way." He swings me around and we head toward an interrogation room.
That's when it hits me. I haven't been in one of these since the first couple of times I was brought in. But that was back when they didn't know what I'd done. When they needed information from me.
When I was being questioned. The only reason I can think of as to why I am being 'interrogated' is the one thing I haven't thought of since I sat down at the bar.
The assassination.
Christ on a stick, they know. How do they know? I don't see any other reasonable explanation as to why I am even here, let alone being led into a room with only two chairs and a table.
To make the situation even more confusing, as soon as the cop sits me down in the creaky, metal chair, he stalks back out the door and closes it behind him.
"Hey-" I leave my mouth open subconsciously and watch through the dark window as he steps up to the front desk and talks to Brian, the receptionist and part-time officer.
Okay, what the fuck is going on? I haven't sweat so much in this station since my very first arrest. There's no way they could have wind of my involvement with the Maryland Mafia, because there is no involvement. Not yet, anyway. And not ever, I hope.
After a really long conversation with Brian, the cop stalks back into the room and closes the door. The pleated shades jingle against the window. I shift in my chair, unable to hide my anxiety. Still, I find courage to look him in the eye as I mentally invent excuses in my head, tying to prepare for whatever he throws at me. But whether he is eighteen or twenty-six, he still has a gun in his holster and I'm not going to say anything nasty.
The silence suffocates me. I drop my gaze and notice he's wearing a badge with the name 'Bronson' printed on it. Either that's his first or his last name. I'm going to go with last name, since Bronson is a disgusting first name ... no offense to any Bronsons.
After a century, he moves slowly from the edge of the desk to stand behind me. I sense him bending down and bite my lip, wishing I had eyes on the back of my head like he does. Oh wait, he doesn't have eyes on the back of -
Click. The handcuffs fall from my wrists. I pull my arms slowly back to my lap and freeze.
"I suppose you're wondering why we brought you in?" His voice is close to the top of my head as he looks down at me, a perfect poker face staring into my soul like that of a child's doll.
Alright. Here it comes, I think. He's going to butter me up by making me comfortable before he unleashes the verdict. He swings the cuffs around his index finger. They are painfully loud, probably because of the deafening silence in the room.
I swallow. "Something like that."
Bronson hardly shifts. "What do you know about Robbie Mulland?"
"Uh ... who?"
"Robbie Mulland, the big dick of a guy who chased you on his bike?"
"I've never seen him before in my life. He threatened me and tried to get in my pants, I defended myself. Why? Who is he?"
Bronson crosses his arms and ignores my question. "Do you know anything about a man named Carlos VonTesse?"
"No."
"And why were you at The Stumble Inn this morning?"
I can't help it. I laugh. "That was the name of the bar?"
He doesn't crack a smile.
I shrug. "I was having a bad day."
He frowns. "So you decided to make it better by getting into a bar fight?"
"I promise you, it wasn't intentional. Wrong place, wrong time."
"Okay." He nods for a few seconds, then says, "you're free to go."
I wait for him to tell me he's joking and ask me some more stupid questions, like whether I've been in contact with the Maryland Mafia or if I've assassinated anyone lately, but he simply glances at the door and then back at me.
"You're serious?"
He sits back down on the desk. "Yeah."
"Okay." I stand and make my way carefully around him. My hand is on the handle of the door when -
"Wait."
Shit. I slowly turn, praying he isn't going to ask what I expect him to. When I face him, he is still scarily stoic. He takes two steps to my side, his body so close I have to press myself against the door to keep some distance between us. He smells like vanilla and prison.
"I have one more question."
I swallow.
"Would you like to join me at a party tonight?"
I couldn't have been more surprised if he'd asked me to help him hack NASA. "Wh ... what?"
"A party," he smirks. "You know, with other people and alcohol and stuff?"
Is he joking? Because if he is, I'm totally not in the mood to laugh. My morning has already been hell enough, now I'm being toyed with by the new, attractive cop. Where is the Sarge? He's behind this. I know it.
"Very funny. Are you asking me out?"
It's his turn to look confused. "It was just a casual invitation ... but if you don't want to-"
"Why didn't you just ask me that instead of jumping me and locking me in the back of a police car?" I yank up the sleeve of my hoodie and show him my elbow. "I'm severely grazed because of you."
He sighs and sits down. "I know, I think I overdramatized back there. I'm sorry. Most people here treat me like a trainee even though I have a badge." He taps the shiny medal over his left bicep. "I wanted to show my partner I take my job seriously even around attractive women."
I scoff. Good line.
"We also thought you might know something about Robbie, so he told me to bring you in. It saves you the trouble of hiding his gang. Trust me, walking around a neighbourhood like that was a stupid idea in the first place, especially for someone like you."
"Someone like me?"
He chuckles. I can't help but wonder if he actually does know me. I've never seen him around the precinct before – and I'm around here a lot – but if he is a police officer, he'd have access to my file, my information, my history ...
"So did you want to ... or not?"
I stare unashamedly. Why would a perfectly decent guy like him want to ask out a lowly criminal like me? We're complete opposites, and if anyone sees me with him in public I'll never hear the end of it. He's good looking, I'll give him that, and somewhat well-off and gutsy. He's everything I'm not.
I guess that's why I'm so curious to see how it turns out.
"Sure. Okay."
He smiles widely, showing perfect teeth. "Awesome. What's your cell number?"
"Uh ... I don't have one."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, okay well this is where the party is." He tears a piece of paper from his notebook and scribbles down an address. "I'll meet you there at seven?"
"Yeah. Sounds great."
I return his smile but the sensible voice in my mind begs me to think about this carefully. Dating a cop? Am I insane? What if he finds out about the Mafia, or all the other shit I've done?
Then there's another voice. A voice that pats me on the back for doing something risky, for finally going to a party for the first time in God knows how long and for picking a guy who is smart and sensible and will keep me safe. For being a half-regular girl again.
He holds out his hand. "I'm Nick, by the way."
I don't hesitate to shake it and feel relief wash through me. Nick. Nice name. "I'm Jess."
He smiles again. "Yeah ... I know."