“I’ll be in the car whenever you’re ready.”
“Stop!” I called. “Stop right there!”
He didn’t.
“You— This—” I was spluttering again. “This is illegal! You’re committing a crime!”
“Which one?” He sounded unconcerned.
Shit.Which one?Good question. I wasn’t a legal expert — despite the embarrassing volume ofLaw & Orderepisodes I’d consumed in my lifetime. I had no idea which law he was currently breaking. Thus, I latched on to the first charge that popped into my head.
“It’s police brutality!”
He laughed — full onlaughed— at that. “Brutality? Really?”
Damn and blast.
“Then, it’s policecoercion!”
“Coercion implies a threat,” he countered breezily, without so much as breaking stride. “Have you been threatened?”
Well... no. Not exactly.
But...
“Unlawful search and seizure!” I cried with a lightning bolt of recollection, thankful that all my hours clocked with Benson and Stabler paid off at last. “A police officer needs probable cause to confiscate possessions without a warrant!”
He kept right on walking. “Good thing I’m off the clock.”
This!
Freaking!
Guy!
“Fine!” I called after him as he reached his SUV. “But I’m pretty sure it will still be considered kidnapping, on or off the clock!”
Pausing with his grip on the door handle, he glanced back at me and grinned. The sight of that grin made my stomach somersault all over again.
“Maybe you should report it to the station,” he suggested. “There’s a local detective on the force who’d be more than willing to help you sort it out. Handsome. Great hair. Fantastic taste in women. You didn’t get it from me, but I hear he can easily be bribed with a beef burrito from the food truck on Canal Street.”
With that, he got into his SUV and shut the door… leaving me alone with my clunker, a dead cellphone, and very few choices. After about twenty seconds — during which I contemplated a variety of ways I might commit homicide against a member of law enforcement without being caught and thrown in the slammer for the rest of my life — I dragged my heels over to my car, shut the hood with a slam, retrieved the battered shoebox from beneath my passenger seat, pulled on my gloves, and shoved my useless phone into my back pocket.
Detective Hightower had the good grace not to look smug as I climbed up into his SUV. But his eyes were doing that crinkly thing again as he spun the wheel, pulled away from the curb, and drove me down the block to The Sea Witch.
Chapter Five
I’m just saying… there’s a reason the worst week of the month is called MEN-struation, not WOMEN-struation.
- Imogen Warner, linguistic expert
The Sea Witch was not a five-star hotel. It wasn’t a hotel at all. The annoyingly persistent Caden Hightower had called it an inn, but it was really more of a bed and breakfast.
Once a grand estate overlooking the sea, the B&B was now a mere echo of its former glory. Beneath the intricate Victorian architecture, it was rather rundown — chipping paint and a sagging front porch that did not seem entirely structurally sound. The old mansion had numerous additions that were obviously not part of the original construction, all of which appeared to have been tacked on at different time periods, with little consideration of overall aesthetic cohesiveness. The result was a strange Frankenstein of a place, its ornate, gothic central structure supplemented by an oddly modern wing on the left side, an in-ground pool at the rear surrounded by chain link, and an angular mid-century sunroom sagging beside the parking lot.
I’d stayed worse places. (Occasionally)
I’d also stayed better. (Even more occasionally.)