Still stunned, I forced my feet into action and hurried to her side. "You okay?" I asked.
A little blue Honda burned rubber out of the parking lot. Matt rolled down the driver's window and shouted something that sounded like "Stupid fuckin' bitches" before driving out of sight.
"Why did you do that?" Ariana asked, regaining my attention. Giant tears rolled down her cheeks.
I stared at her, at a complete loss for words. She couldn't possibly believe Matt's blowup was my fault. Regardless, I helped her up and back into the smoke cloud that still occupied her living room. My head felt weird--contact-high weird--and I groaned, because it seemed like an unfair complication when I really needed to think.
Ariana groaned. "I'm gonna be sick."
We made it as far as the kitchen sink, and then I held her hair back while she barfed. My fuzzy brain struggled to process what was happening. The apartment now smelled like vomit and marijuana, something was clearly wrong with my little sister, and her boyfriend had just gotten pissed and bailed because she was sick?
When Ariana stopped puking, I practically carried her through the small apartment until I found the bedroom. Shivers racked her body, so I helped her into bed and piled every blanket I could find on top of her. I put a giant bowl beside the bed before cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. Ariana threw up again, so I dumped her barf bowl and returned it to the side of her bed. With each passing minute she looked worse, and I felt too fuzzy to help her. Frustrated, I sprayed half a can of air freshener into the living room, trying to overpower the pot-cloud and hopefully prevent myself from getting contact higher.
Jet-lagged and exhausted, I knew if I sat down, I'd pass out and Ariana would be on her own, so I drifted around the apartment, cleaning between trips to check on my sister. I was finishing up the dishes when a knock sounded on the door. Hoping it was Matt, returning to redeem himself and prove he wasn't the biggest loser on the planet, I hurried to answer. Two cops in SWAT uniforms greeted me.
I panicked and closed the door in their faces.
Then I sniffed the air. Flowers and marijuana. No doubt Ariana was coming down from something much worse than pot. Awesome. I'd been in Vegas for less than twenty-four hours, and was probably going to jail for drugs.
Another knock on the door.
My dad had been a state trooper, and I'd grown up surrounded by cops. Even wanted to be one so badly I went to school for criminal justice. I could handle this. I just had to play it cool. Opening the door, I smiled up at them.
"Sorry, I had to put on a bra."
Yep, that was playing it cool, all right.
It was all I could think of, but it seemed to work. Their scowls disappeared, revealing two hot men in uniform, both with olive skin and dark features. Kind of like the nice guys in the pizzeria. Wait. The more I looked at them the more I was certain of it.
"Markie?" the shorter body-builder-type cop asked.
"Bones?" I asked.
"Yeah." He stared at me. They both did. No doubt they smelled the smoke, and were preparing to cuff me and read me my rights.
I looked up at the taller, much hotter cop. "And... I'm sorry. I can't remember your name."
He blinked.
Bones chuckled.
And I felt like an idiot.
"Angel," the hotter cop replied.
"Right, Angel. You're SWAT?" I shook my head at my own stupidity and went with a not-so-obvious question. "Of course you are. What are you two doing here?"
"We're looking for a suspect," Bones said. "A man, about five-eight, brown hair, medium build, goes by the name of Matthew Deter."
"Matt? You're looking for Matt?"
"Yes. Is he here?" Bones asked.
"No. He took off a while ago. He's a suspect? To what crime?"
"That's confidential," Bones replied.
"How do you know Ma-- the suspect?" Angel asked. "You said you were in town to see family. Are you a relative?"
