“No, sir. Not at all.”
He studied my license. “Long way from town, aren’t you? I thought the local delivery apps had put out warnings about those warehouses.” My stomach dropped. He knew who I was and what I did for a living. This wasn’t a random stop.
“I’m paid to deliver groceries and sundries, sir. Company policy is that we take the next order on the list,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. It was the truth; we were supposed to pick up the next order on the list. Didn’t mean the rule was always enforced.
“To the Kiss of Death compound,” he stated. Not a question. Before I could respond, a second officer emerged from the cruiser. She looked several years younger than Detective Reeves. “This is Detective Olivia Mercer.”
Detective Mercer nodded at me curtly. Unlike her partner, she at least maintained the appearance of professionalism, though her gaze held a similar calculating gleam. She hung back slightly, standing at the passenger side of my car, her posture alert but not overtly threatening.
“You shouldn’t be in such a remote area as that warehouse graveyard. Especially in this weather.” He gestured to the drizzling rain.
“It’s my job, detective.” I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “I have to eat and make rent. The weather doesn’t change that.”
Reeves leaned in closer, resting his arm on my door. The smell of coffee and cigarettes wafted from him. “How long have you been delivering to the Kiss of Death compound?”
“A few weeks.” I kept my answers short, not volunteering information.
“Making friends there, are we?” The question came with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Or something more than friends, perhaps?” My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew Marcus’s past, but I had no idea what this detective’s interest was in me or the club. Besides, my first instinct with any kind of authority figure was always going to be to keep my mouth shut.
“I deliver groceries,” I repeated. “That’s all. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”
“You ran a stop sign back there,” Reeves said suddenly, changing tactics. “At the intersection of Warehouse Row and River Street.”
I hadn’t run any stop signs. There wasn’t even a stop sign at that intersection. “I thought I swerved, sir.” Inwardly I winced. Not the time for snark. Not the time at all.
His expression hardened. “Are you calling me a liar, Ms. English?”
“No, I --”
“Step out of the vehicle, please.” It wasn’t really a request.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet,” he said, the threat unmistakable. “But we need to search your vehicle. Detective Mercer, would you assist Ms. English while I take a look?”
“You don’t have a warrant,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
“Probable cause,” Reeves replied smoothly. “I believe youmight be transporting contraband for your gang friends.”
My fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached. I knew my rights, but I also knew that arguing with cops rarely ended well for people like me. Slowly, I released the wheel with one hand and opened my door. The last thing I wanted to do was give this guy an excuse to manhandle me. Or worse.
Detective Mercer stepped forward, maintaining a polite distance. “Just stand over here, please,” she said, gesturing to a spot by the gas pump.
Rain misted down on my already damp clothes as I watched Reeves begin his search. He started with the passenger seat, picking up the potted sage plant.
“What’s this?” he asked, turning it in his hands.
“It’s sage,” I replied. “An herb. For cooking.”
“Where’d you get it?”
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. The truth would only reinforce his suspicions about my connection to Marcus. A lie might be worse if he somehow knew the answer already. “It was a gift,” I finally said.
“From who?” He set the plant down carelessly, almost tipping it over.
“A friend.”
“A friend at the Kiss of Death compound?” He didn’t wait for my answer before moving to the back seat and then the trunk.
