“If you don’t like getting your fingers dirty, you’d hate this job,” I finally answer. I chance a look to see how she’ll respond.
She doesn’t actually flutter her lashes, but they lift slowly enough to have the same feminine effect by the time our gazes lock. “I might surprise you.”
My guts twist in a warning that I know as instinctive. I’m being lured into danger. The word “siren” comes to mind, and I wish I meant the kind attached to my patrol car.
“I don’t know.” I extend her bare ring finger and roll it along the glass. “Your skin is too soft for manual labor.”
I didn’t mean that to come out as a compliment, but by the way the pulse in her wrist throbs harder under my touch, she must have taken it that way. I’m thankful everyone else in the room is too busy joking around with Officer Harris to notice Gemma and me noticing each other. I’ve never appreciated that guy’s jokes more.
Time to get my head back in the game. I have twenty-four more people to fingerprint.
I finish and submit the prints. I could step away from her, but I need to stay near the computer. “All right, guys. I’ve put a rush on Gemma’s background check. In a moment, we’ll know if she’s robbed any banks or has a history of grand theft auto.”
Gemma’s head drops back in laughter, and I enjoy the tinkling sound almost as much as the way her silky hair slides over her shoulders. The rest of the group seems to enjoy her merriment as well, because they smile in our direction. It’s actually kind of nice that I’m getting the laughs instead of Harris for a change.
“Is grand theft auto bad?” the Harley rider quips.
Another round of chuckles circles the room.
Gemma grins again, and I can’t help considering the laid-back attitude that makes her seem authentic and unpretentious. Maybe I’d like it if she surprised me the way she’d suggested.
The computer chimes that her results are ready. Harris explains more about the system as I click to open her file. Her name flashes red, and the sight might as well have been a punch to the gut. My insides spasm. This was not the kind of surprise I’d been expecting. This is kryptonite hidden in a lead box.
Gemma Bennett has a warrant out for her arrest.
CHAPTER THREE
GEMMA
If you can’t be a hero, you can at least be funny while being a chicken.
—INAMAYGASKIN
I’m still tingling from the lieutenant’s touch, and I’m thrilled Charlie shoved me to the front of the class, forcing me to volunteer for the fingerprinting. Maybe Karson feels our connection too, finally. He seems to be thawing a little with his curious glances and the gentle but authoritative way he rolled my fingers across the glass. Not to mention, he called my skin soft.
He could have backed away when he finished the fingerprints, but he’s still right beside me, smelling like cinnamon and inciting flashbacks to Big Red gum commercials. He jerks straighter, giving me the impression he can somehow read my thoughts. I may have done some acting in the past, but I tend to be embarrassingly transparent in real life.
Only he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the computer monitor.
I follow his gaze. There’s a bunch of information on the computer screen I can’t decipher. He’s run my prints, so it must be about me.
Perhaps he discovered my parking tickets from college. I kept forgetting to pay them and ended up getting a boot on my tire. Is that going to keep me from taking this class? Or worse, from going out on a date with him? I get that he has to be careful about who he associates with, but it’s not as if I’m a criminal or anything.
“There’s a warrant out for your arrest.” His tone is low, and I strain to make out the words.
Yikes. I guess he’s not looking at my info after all. I glance around to see who he’s talking to. Probably the scary-looking biker. Except the biker is on the other side of the room with Officer Harris. In fact, there’s nobody else within hearing range.
I frown at Karson in confusion.
His narrowed eyes are accusing me. As though I tricked him somehow. As though I’m the one with a warrant out for my arrest.
“What?” I squeak. Surely I heard him wrong. “I paid my parking tickets.”
“Wait right here.” He crosses the room toward the other law enforcement officer, leaving me alone with my overactive imagination.
I gape after him. Had I accidentally committed a crime I don’t remember? Maybe I did it while sleepwalking. Maybe I was hypnotized or had temporary amnesia. I hope I wasn’t an assassin in my forgotten life, like Jason Bourne.
I test the memory of my childhood and relief floods me when images pop into my head. I picture my mom, dad, sister, and a betta fish that only lived one week but still holds a place in my heart. I told all my troubles to Mr. Bubbles. Though I don’t think I’ve ever been in this much trouble before.
