Page 88 of Entangled

“Gian, those details put you in jail for five fucking months last time!”

“Yeah, not so loud, Cara. And it was a little more than one gun last time, but it doesn’t make this look very fucking good on me at the moment.”

She frowned. “But you were the one who … who …”

“Came in and saved the day?”

“I mean, yeah!”

Gian sighed. “Just relax. You don’t need to be worrying so much that you worry my son right out. All right? Also, there’s a couple of EMTs here, so have you been checked over yet?”

“I’m fine,” Cara said, huffing.

She might have thought so.

Gian needed to be sure.

“Officer, could you have this woman checked—”

“Gian, stop it!”

He ignored Cara, and nodded toward her when the officer grinned. “I mean, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m not going anywhere, really.”

“I’ll escort her over, Mr. Guzzi.”

“You ass,” Cara muttered under her breath to Gian.

“Just get checked, love. And the baby—his heartbeat and whatnot. I’ll still be here, where the hell am I going to go?”

Cara’s narrowed gaze didn’t relent, but the officer was quick to urge her toward a waiting ambulance, fifty feet down the street. Gian took the second he had alone to breathe, and get whatever story he needed to tell straight in his brain. Not that it was going to help him on the legal side of things.

All too soon, the officer was back, without Cara.

“Well, Mr. Guzzi, it’s time to head down to the station.”

Gian looked in the direction Cara had gone. “Could I at least wait for an update on her?”

“She seems fine, and the EMT got an earful when he was a little rough-handed checking the baby.”

“Oh, is that so?”

He couldn’t even try to hide his rage, or the way his tone edged dangerously.

The cop eyed Gian, amused. “You killed one man tonight. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not when it comes to her.”

“Let’s go, Guzzi.”

Gian rested his head against the cinderblock wall of the jail cell, thankful he was alone for the moment. He’d been shoved into the cell with a half of a dozen other detainees, but throughout the evening and into the morning, the others had been moved elsewhere, or released once they’d slept their drunken stupors away.

He reached for his pocket to pull out his phone, and cursed under his breath, realizing he didn’t have it on him. Everything—from his phone to his keys, and the bit of change alongside his wallet—had been taken from him.

This was not where Gian wanted to be.

Not again.

“You’re looking mighty comfortable.”