Then he’s out of the car, crossing the parking lot on bowlegs, his thumbs tucked inside his pockets. I groan.
It’s not a bad idea to let Riven handle this part. He’s trained to pass anywhere unnoticed, and I’m better equipped to make scenes than mitigate them. It’s the right call, but it means I’m stuck waiting. And I hate waiting.
What can I do to fill the time?
The onions.I’ll find the damn smell. I don’t know if they’re sprouting from the musty, suspicious carpet in the back, or if there’s a half-eaten bag of chips wedged between the seats, but eradicating the odor will make me feel better. Probably.
I crawl between the seats and gingerly poke around.
The floor is littered with trash, and I encounter everything from empty aluminum cans to a spilled, cardboard box of screws. There are no onions. If anything, the smell is fainter back here, and since I’m not willing to put my bare hands on anything, my search is a complete bust.
I squeeze my thighs to pullmyself back to the front seat, and someone knocks on my window—fuck! I yank myself upright and peer through the glass.
There’s a blue uniform held together by straining buttons.Human cops. Shit.
I crank the window down and offer the man in front my most winning smile.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” He sucks in his stomach. “We got word of a possible broken-down vehicle.” The officer behind him peers down at me over the top of his sunglasses. He’s wiry, a couple of decades younger than his partner, and a stiff breeze could blow him over.
“You’re so sweet.” I do my best Imani imitation, but it only seems to make them nervous. Shit. If I don’t figure this out, I could end up in handcuffs, and I do not have time for that. “I’m not broken down, just a little down on my luck.”
Kill me now.I sound like a dumbass, but they look worried for me instead of about me now, and that’s something.
The big one takes off his sunglasses. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “Do you have a place to stay?”
My smile tightens, but I hold it together ruthlessly. “I’m only passing through.” There. That wasn’t a lie. Maybe they’ll lose interest. Last I checked, driving wasn’t a crime, although the stolen car is another matter entirely.
“Why the hurry?” The thin one isn’t looking at me anymore; his eyes are narrowed on the rust-bucket-on-wheels polluting his pristine mountain town.Fuck, fuck, fuck.If he runs the plates or asks for my ID, I’ll have toknock him out.
Movement catches my eye.
Riven, still wearing his old man disguise, rounds the corner, carrying a can of gas.Okay.As long as he plays along, I can work with this. I raise my voice—not enough to freak the humans out—but enough to make sure he hears me. “I’ve got a job lined up,” I gush. “I was so excited that I didn’t realizehow low I was getting on gas. My boyfriend went to get some. He’ll be back soon.”
Riven pauses, and I see the familiar blur of static.
He chooses a face I know as well as my own.
“There he is.” I giggle and point. “Thanks, babe, I was starting to worry.”
Riven, wearing Ciprian’s face, offers the officers a friendly smile. “Thanks for checking on my girl, but I can take it from here.”
“Doesn’t seem like it to me.” The wiry cop sneers at the car, looking Riven up and down and muttering, “A girl like her could do better.”
“Carlton,” the other officer snaps. “That’s none of our business. Congrats on the new job, ma’am. Do yourself a favor and keep an eye on that big red E on the dash—we wouldn’t want you breaking down somewhere less friendly.”
My smile wavers. “Of course. We’ll be careful.”
The officer tips his hat and ambles away. Carlton is slower to follow, and when he does, he glances over his shoulder half a dozen times before disappearing around the corner.
“Do you know how to fill?—”
“Yes,” Riven whispers.
“Hurry.”
“Yep.” He pours gas in the tank, a muscle in his cheek working as the mocking glug-glug of the fuel punctuates the slow progress. Once he’s done, I pop the trunk, and he tosses the gas can in the back before climbing in on the passenger side. “They’ll come back,” he says.
“We’ll be long gone.” I crank the engine, wincing as a noxious cloud of smoke surrounds the car. Forcing myself not to stomp on the gas, I ease out of the parking lot.
