“Oh, that.”Shit.“I’m staying at a different hotel tonight.”
He looks from the suitcase to me, skeptical. “Which one?”
“The one ... by the water?” Another question I don’t mean to ask.
“The HarbourView?”
“Yes,” I lie. “The HarbourView. The one I was at last night—the not HarbourView—was, you know, dated. And the bed was bad.” That, at least, is not a lie. The futon is the worst. “And with my clients paying, I figured why not splurge. And so, I just want?—”
The sound of tires crunching on the dirt road kills my shit attempt at a lie. Flashing lights strobe across Nash’s face. The cops are here.
The cops!
The car parks, a uniformed man emerges, and I’m going to faint.
The.
Cops.
Are.
Here.
“The hell you getting me wrapped up in, Sunny?” the man asks with a chuckle and hitch of his belt.
The hand with the stolen ring turns to a fist filled with excess pocket fabric while my free hand wraps around my own throat.
“This ain’t me, Leroy,” Sunny defends. “Nash and his crazy-ass wife.” She hands the man an unopened box of food while he, Nash, and Cap exchange pleasantries and introductions.
“What-what’s happening?” My voice is trembling. “Are you ...” My eyes dart around. “Taking us to jail?”
At this, they all laugh.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Nash says, hands on his hips. “But your plan is shit, Rue.”
My jaw drops. “It is not.”
Another round of laughter that I don’t join in on.
“It is. And”—he points to the man in uniform—“Leroy here is Sunny’s cousin and works security for the city. He’s going to unlock the gate, answer the call when the sensors trigger, and give us time to look in the tree.”
If I wasn’t engaged and Nash wasn’t Nash and I wasn’t trying to fix my life or hide a stolen ring that was stuck on my finger, I’d kiss him square on the mouth.
Leroy gives me a stern-faced look as he opens his container of food. “You snap a branch and I’ll shoot ya.”
Cap makes a grim grunt.
At my wide eyes, they all laugh ... again.Bastards.
“Ha. Ha,” I say dryly. “Glad everyone thinks my fear of prison is so funny.”
“We’d take you to the jail on Leeds Avenue before prison,” Leroy corrects, tossing a key to Nash who makes quick work of undoing the padlocks on the gate.
I grab the flashlights with one hand and give them both to Nash. My palm is too sweaty to hold on to anything.
“Ready?” he asks.
A nervous laugh puffs out of me. “Not even close.”
