I can’t hear Rich’s reply on the other end of the line, but the creases on Cruz’s forehead smooth out. “If you say so. I have Delilah with me. We’ll see you soon.”
He hangs up the phone and I scramble to my feet, darting across the room to where my suitcase is. “What’s going on?” I ask as I shove my legs into a clean pair of shorts.
“I don’t really know. He didn’t say much, just that this was a good thing and that he would walk me through everything that’s happening when we get there.” His face twists in confusion, and I pause with my arms through the sleeves of my shirt.
“What?” He can’t hide this from me. I know him too well at this point.
Cruz shakes his head like he might blow off the question. “I’m not sure if it’s a big deal, but it felt like it might be.” He pauses to pull his own shirt over his head and I do the same, not wanting to hold us up. “He told me to pull around the back and suggested I throw on a hoodie and baseball cap, just in case. It was very cryptic.”
“Oh, okay. Does he think there’s going to be reporters there taking pictures, or is he just being paranoid?” I muse, thinking about the scenes we’ve encountered leaving the stadium or events together in the past.
“He’s pretty even-tempered. I’ve never known him to blow things out of proportion.” Cruz tosses me a hoodie from his suitcase. “Grab your sunglasses.”
“Cruz. It’s dark. I think that might be overkill,” I start, but he levels me with a look that tells me this isn’t a fight I’m going to win.
“There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you be subjected to whatever it is that he’s trying to protect me from. Sunglasses, please.” His jaw is set, but the last word is a gentle plea, and I try to ignore the way his protective streak makes my knees go weak. Talk about an inopportune time for my lady bits to get all tingly from the way he wants to keep me safe.
“Yes, sir,” I mumble under my breath as I grab them from the table. Cruz catches my wrist and pulls me against his chest.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear that.” His arms band around me, holding me tight like I’m the only thing tethering him to the earth right now. “I’m going to make you repeat that again later under very different circumstances.”
“Okay,” I say around a swallow. “Right now, we need to get you answers.”
“One second.” His breathing is shallow as he fights to keep his emotions in check. “Just give me a second to hold you.”
“Whatever you need,” I tell him, returning the hug and resting my head against his pecs. I can feel the rhythm of his heart hammering under my ear, but the longer he holds me, the more it fades until it’s nothing more than a mellow thumping.
“Okay, I’m ready,” he finally says, but he keeps me right up against his chest for another minute before his chest falls with a ragged exhale.
The ride to the police station is short. Cruz does as Rich tells him and uses a back way into the lot and building. For good reason—there are reporters pulling in when we drive past the front entrance and loop around.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask no one, looking at Cruz, who looks just as dazed as I feel.
He parks in a dark spot hidden from the view of the street. “Wait there.” Before I can protest, he’s getting out of the car and running around to my side. When he opens the door, I slide out only for him to immediately tuck me under his arm, using his body to shield me from view should anyone come around.
The door opens as we approach and we are ushered inside by a gruff-looking guy with salt and pepper hair. I would guess he’s in his late forties, but he’s obviously taken good care of himself with enough muscle to rival Cruz, or any of the Bandits, for that matter.
“Rich, what the fuck?” There’s no hostility in Cruz’s voice. It is, however, full of trepidation.
“You must be Delilah. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances,” Rich says, ignoring Cruz’s question. I nod, too bewildered to do much more. “Come on, I have a room for us. Detective Flores will be there to help fill in the blanks from their side of the investigation.”
Rich leads us through a maze of hallways before opening a door to a small conference room. “Grab a seat and I’ll go get the detective.”
Cruz drops into one of the worn chairs, clutching my hand in his lap between both his big ones as his heel taps nervously on the floor.
“Hey, look at me.” His head turns to find me and I cradle his face with my other hand. “I’m here, okay? We’ve got this, whatever it is. You’re not alone, not now. Never again.”
He leans into my touch just as the door to the room opens and Rich steps in, followed by another man.
“This is Detective Mateo Flores. I’ve been working closely with him and my friend at the Miami precinct today.”
“Nice to meet you both. We have a lot to talk about, so let’s just jump right in,” the detective says, dropping into a seat across from us.
“As you know, I turned everything over to the police in Miami yesterday,” Rich explains it’s not particularly helpful information and I can see Cruz’s jaw tick with frustration.
“They reached out to me today to do what we call an agency assist. Typically, things don’t move this fast, especially with multiple agencies involved. But Rich hit a gold mine,” he explains as Rich opens the folder that he brought in with him.
“Miami is still waiting on a few pieces of evidence to come back from the lab, but they had enough between the phone and the bottle of GHB that we were able to request that St. Louis help with the arrest.”
