“Lincoln Way and Welch.”
“I’m on patrol. I’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up before I can even thank him.
Leaning back against the glass, I’m tempted to call Tayler, but I can’t. Not at this time of night, and not yet. She still hasn’t made a move to contact me. In all the years we’ve been friends, this is the longest we’ve gone without speaking.
Without another thought, I open my FaceChat app and hit Cooke’s number. For some reason, I feel close enough to him to tell him my current woes. He’ll make me feel better. He’ll say all the right things. Maybe Patsy’s right and Cooke has a crush on me. That would certainly cheer me up. What if he jumped on the first plane out of England and made it here by tomorrow to save the day?
Oh my God, Quinn.What the hell are you thinking?He’s not a superhero, and he certainly doesn’t have a crush on you.
He’s my friend, at least. Thinking of him as more than that is fairy-tale land, a fantasy.
His phone rings several times, and I worry I called too early. It’s after eight in the morning there, but it’s Sunday in England. Maybe he’s sleeping in or at breakfast or church.
Just then, the screen comes to life. “Cooke?” I say frantically. I’m blubbering more like it. My nose is all runny, and I sound hoarse.
“Allo?” says someone who is definitelynotCooke. Hell, they aren’t even male.
I stare at the screen, shocked by the sight before me. She’s gorgeous and perfect. Just Cooke’s type.There goes my fairy-tale land.Why does that bother me so much? It shouldn’t. We’rejustfriends, after all.
“You there?” she asks in a perfect English accent.
“Cooke.” It’s all I can choke out between sobs. This day has sucked beyond belief. Hell, my entire life keeps getting worse and worse.
“Oh, dear. You’re upset. You want Cooke?” asks the woman. When she says something like “Cooke, bruv…” that’s all I need to hear. I hang up. She called him “bruv.” I’m sure that’s just a term of endearment for them.
When I hear sirens, I know it’s for me. I look down at the phone and turn it off in case he tries to call back. I need to cut my losses. Facing Cooke now is not the answer, especially if he has company. He isn’t going to want me to interrupt him now.
As the police SUV pulls up, I step out from beneath the safety of the awning.
“You’re soaked,” Officer Golden says as he climbs out. “Here.” He jogs around the SUV, opening the passenger door. Get in.”
Without a word, I slide into the car. The next thing I know, I’ve got a blanket wrapped around me, and he turns the heat up in the car. I watch through the window as Officer Golden walks around what’s left of my only mode of transportation. At least he’s got on rain gear so his uniform won’t get soaked.
I’ll have to take the bus now. Everything gets more complicated without my scooter like getting to class and to work.
As I do my best to get myself under control, I watch as Officer Golden gets pummeled by the rain as he takes photos of the wreckage. After that, he begins to pick up the pieces to place them in the back of the SUV. I open the door to help him, but he waves me off. The main part of the scooter has to be heavy, but he’s able to roll it—drag it, really—to the back of the police car. He must be strong to be able to lift the carcass into the back of the SUV. When everything’s picked up, he hops back into the car. I hand him the blanket, and at first, he waves that off too, but he finally takes it to wipe off his face and hands.
When he finally speaks, his words shock me. “Your tires were slit.”
“What?”
“Someone slit your tires.”
“Why?”
“And it appears they may have run over it. More than once.”
I swallow. “Who would do that, Officer?” My poor scooter.
“Call me Gage.”
“Gage Golden?”
He shrugs. “All my siblings have G names. So… have you seen Kara lately?” he asks quietly.
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
