Relief washes over me, though it’s tempered by exhaustion. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I glance at the security guard. “Would you mind calling me when you see the truck pull in?”
She nods. “I’ll keep an eye out for it.”
CHAPTER 68
THE LAST THING I EXPECTED TO SEE WERE PINK HANDCUFFS
MARGAUX
Iwalk to the store, counting on the limited funds I just realized I can access through Apple Pay. Hopefully, it’s enough to buy a portable phone charger and a Gatorade because my throat feels like sandpaper.
The humidity clings to me, relentless even in December. Sunset Cay may as well be in a perpetual summer.
As I make my way down the uneven sidewalk, a few cars honk. One driver pulls over, rolling his window down with an oily smirk as he looks me up and down. “Need a ride?” he asks.
“No, thank you,” I say, forcing a polite tone and picking up my pace.
Inside the CVS, the air conditioning hits like a blessing. I let myself wander aimlessly through the aisles, taking my time. It’s not just a store—today it feels like a refuge. Shelves of neatly arranged products seem to promise normalcy, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.
I’m just about to purchase a portable charger when my phone buzzes in my hand.
Relief washes over me when I see it’s the security guard.
“He just got back,” she whispers, her voice conspiratorial, as if we’re in the middle of a covert operation. “I didn’t let him know you were here.”
“Thank you,” I say, already heading for the door.
“And,” she adds with a hint of amusement, “I wouldn’t let him park the truck in the garage. Told him, ‘I know you don’t have a license,’ so he had to have someone else do it for him.”
I can’t help but chuckle. It’s a small thing—and I know she’s technically following procedure—but her act feels like solidarity in a sea of indifference. Right now, I’ll take any bit of support I can get. A minor inconvenience like this is the absolute least that Timmy deserves.
On my way back, I call the non-emergency police line and request another escort. Waiting in the parking garage feels endless, but eventually, a police car cruises in.
The officer driving rolls down her window. She’s stunning, with blonde hair, impeccable makeup, and bright pink lipstick. “You here for the escort?” she asks.
“Yes,” I nod, trying not to gawk.
She parks and steps out, revealing her tall frame and arms covered in intricate tattoos. As she leads me to the apartment, I notice the pair of pale pink handcuffs that hang off her utility belt. I blink, half-convinced I’ve stepped into some surreal fever dream.
This can’t be real. None of this is real.
She catches my expression and raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. “Why are we here?” she asks, her tone professional but not unkind.
I take a deep breath. “My fiancé made up a story, accused me of domestic abuse, and got me locked up. There’s a stay-away order now, and I need to pick up some essentials.”
“Got it,” she says, nodding.
We wait by the front door to the apartment, and soon enough, Timmy appears from the direction of the parking structure. He looks startled when he sees us.
The officer takes the lead. “Margaux is here to pick up her things. Don’t talk to each other.”
“Oh, okay,” Timmy mumbles, suddenly meek. Then his tone shifts. “Ooh, I know you,” he says, his voice gaining that pervy tone that makes my skin crawl.
It seems to have the same effect on the officer, because she frowns at him, quirking a brow. “What do you mean?”
“When I was locked up last time, you were in the station. I remember you,” he says, grinning.
She looks unimpressed, and doesn’t respond.