“No,” I whimper. “Let me go, get off me, no!” Cold sweat trickles down my spine, and my heart takes up an alarming rhythm. My chest heaves, struggling for air.
The last thing he said to me that night surfaces, an intimate whisper, like he’s right next to me.You may have nothing now, girl, but it won’t always be that way. No one will ever love a freak like you. Butyouwill love someone. And when you do, you’ll see my face. It’ll be the last thing you ever see before I take what you love most away for good.
“Valentine,” I whimper. She’s small, defenseless. She never hurt anyone. And I won’t—I won’t let him?—
Another voice penetrates the darkness. Gone is the icy reserve I associate with it. Instead, it’s tight with anger. “She doesn’t like you touching her. Back off, man.”
“You back off, Frost,” says the first voice. “Let me do my job.”
“Yourjobis harassing innocent women who use the wordsget off me?” the owner of the second voice snarls. “Is your body cam on right now, Cooper? Because I happen to have a very good lawyer, and I’m sure she’d have a field day with whatever the hell is going on here.”
“You’re not the only one who has a good lawyer.” It comes out as a growl.
Maybe their argument should unnerve me. But it has the opposite effect: The more they bicker, the more the here-and-now world settles into place, and the more that awful memory retreats. The cold sweat crawling down my spine evaporates, as does the weight on my chest. I blink, and the darkness falls away to reveal two sets of blue eyes fixed on me: one crystalline as a Norwegian fjord, the other dark as a smudge of rich cobalt on canvas.
Oh, right. The wreck. Did I…pass out?
I must’ve, becausehisvoice is gone. I still smell fire, but now I can see the source: the oak tree across the street, sizzling fromthe lightning strike. There are hands on my shoulders, all right, but they don’t belong tohim.
I’m not in front of a ramshackle house, holding a match in my hand and facing down a monster. Instead, I’m sitting in a car in the middle of Orchard Street, soaked to the bone. Two very pissed-off-looking men—Donovan Frost and Hot Cop Summer, now in uniform—stare down at me. It’s discomfiting, like being the subject of an experiment I didn’t agree to participate in, and I avert my eyes, looking somewhere, anywhere, but at them.
The rain has, mercifully, slowed to a trickle. From my perch in the passenger seat, I can make out the crumpled front end of Donovan’s Prius. The Camaro isn’t looking so great, either, though Officer Asshat has moved it to the side of the road.
His hands still grip my shoulders, and Donovan gives them a pointed glare.
“She’s awake,” he snaps. “So now you can let go.”
Holy bananas. Donovan Frost, of all people, isdefendingme.
Maybe he’s not a total bastard, after all.
Hot Cop Summer relinquishes my shoulders. But he’s still glaring, like it’s somehow my fault he lost control of his souped-up muscle car and slammed into us.
I want to call him on his attitude, but I force myself to be polite. The last thing I need is to get dragged down to the station twice in one day. “Nice to see you again, Officer,” I say, blinking up at him. “At least you’re not on top of me this time.”
Oooookay, that came out wrong.
Two sets of blue eyes narrow dangerously. “You two know each other?” Donovan says, just as Cooper bites out, “You threw yourself at me!”
Okay, so that didn’t come out so well, either.
I rub my forehead, trying to figure out a way to explain that doesn’t paint me in the worst light imaginable to my new co-worker. But because God hates me, before I can saya word, D’Andre pedals up to us on the bright-blue bike he rides everywhere,sanshelmet. “Everyone all right?” he says, sounding gleeful at the chance to be first on the scene.
“We’re fine,” Cooper says, clenching his jaw. “Looks worse than it is. Just a fender bender. Keep going, before you cause another one.”
“You and Rune aren’t having the best day.” D’Andre’s hand dips into his pocket, doubtless going for his phone in an effort to surreptitiously record the whole thing.
“Yes, I know,” Cooper says, at the same time Donovan mutters, “No shit.”
Cooper rolls his eyes skyward. “Get your hand out of your pocket and go home, please, D’Andre. Or wherever you were going to begin with.”
“To get a green smoothie,” D’Andre supplies, pedaling closer and peering between the three of us, as if for clues. “I always get one after yoga. I could bring you one, if you?—”
Cooper takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. He looks like he’s counting to ten. “I. Do. Not. Need. A Smoothie.”
“Too bad,” D’Andre says, shrugging. “The choco-strawberry-boonana might sweeten you up a bit.” And off he pedals, down the rain-spattered street, giving me and Donovan a cheerful wave over his shoulder as he goes.
“Put on a damn helmet!” Cooper yells at his back. Predictably, D’Andre ignores him.
