“They’re part of an ongoing investigation.” Shrugging made his jowls shake. “Sorry, ma’am. Until someone decides they’re clean, you can’t have them back.”
Bristling, she took a deep breath . . . and then she just rubbed between her eyes. “Fine.”
She took that well. I changed my opinion the second she faced me. Every bit of rage she’d muted for the clerk, she was pointedly stabbing at me with it. “Jail was kind to you,” I said with a half smile. “You didn’t even get any pen-cap tattoos. Or are they just hidden somewhere sweet?”
Sammy adjusted her dress as she turned pink. “I didn’t want to see your face again. But now that you’re here . . . I’ve got some things to say.”
Pushing off the bench, I stuck my hands in my pockets and wandered closer. We stood in a way that seemed casual, but I was intentionally blocking the one exit out of the station. She had things to say? So did I. “Sammy, listen. I’m sorry as hell about what happened this morning. It was all a misunderstanding.”
She looked me up and down. “Everything the detective said to me, was it a lie?”
My smile cracked just a hair. “I don’t know what he said. I wasn’t in there.”
“But you do know.” Her head tilted, sending a cascade of disheveled hair down her elegant neck. “It’s in your face. You’re too comfortable in here. This isn’t your first time getting arrested.”
Ah, shit. “Sammy, whatever Detective Office Space said back there, it doesn’t matter. That’s why you’re walking out, and why I’m walking out.” Leaning closer, I took a quick, short breath. Even with sticky sweat on her, Sammy smelled intoxicating. “Give me a chance.”
“I’ve got something else I’d love to give you,” she grumbled. “You’re lucky my father raised me so well.” Her hand fisted at her side, clenching and releasing over and over.
“Are you thinking about punching me? Careful, I love tough women.” I couldn’t stop my grin. “So your dad taught you manners, huh? Is he also the one to thank for your good looks, or is that your mom? Either way, I’d definitely like to shake his hand.”
Sammy’s eyebrow twitched. “Get out of my way.”
Turning sideways, I motioned with my arms. “Sweetheart, you’ve got all the right in the world to walk out of here. But I think you’ll want to listen to what I—hey!”
She’d lowered her chin and passed me by so fast that the air stirred the fringes of my hair. Weren’t people supposed to let you finish a sentence? “Just hold up!” I followed her out into the early afternoon. “Sammy, hear me out! I’m trying to explain what went wrong back there!”
Pulling up short, she whirled on me. “What went wrong was me letting myself get mixed up with you.”
I knew not to do it, but . . . sometimes, I don’t know why I do the things I do. I was a secret to even myself. “Think about what a story it’ll make for our kids.”
The edges of her eyes filled with fine lines: steel swords aiming right at me. “You’re such a jackass.” Shit! Why couldn’t I resist making stupid jokes? “Sammy, wait!” Laughing to ease the mood, I followed her as she walked along the chain-link fence with her phone in hand. The front of the police station was quiet, cars shining in their parked spots. “Seriously, I’m sorry. Let me explain myself. I’m not a bad guy, honestly.”
“You really want to explain what happened?” Without facing away from her darkened phone, she glanced at me. “Why did Francesca’s wedding get raided?”
“Because some asswipe or asswipes, plural, are jealous of my family. You saw my estate, is that so far-fetched?”
She gave me a blank look. “I got dragged into a jail cell and humiliated, and you want me to believe it’s because some random person or persons,” she pulled the word out, “are jealous? Nope. Wrong answer.”
“Come on,” I said, tracking after her toward the road. “Where are you going now?”
Waving her phone, she tapped at it. “I’m getting a taxi back to my car. They said they towed it nearby.”
I was getting ready to think of another way to keep this startling woman from exiting my life completely. As I watched her expression fall, her fingers poking frantically at her phone, I found one. “It’s dead, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t get to charge it last night because . . .” Blushing, she eyed me, then her phone again.
Because you were fucking me until you passed out. I didn’t say it, she was pissed enough at me. “Let me give you a ride.”
“How? Didn’t they tow your motorcycle, too?”
“My brother brought it here, so I could leave when I was ready.” Jerking my thumb, I indicated the stretch of sidewalk up the street. My bike was shining under the orange sun.
Sammy looked from me to her phone, then back again. Finally, she cupped her cheeks and gave a dramatic groan so loud that the police officer sitting by the front doors sat up like she’d pointed a gun at him. She bent over, head between her knees.
“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching for her.
Before I made contact, Sammy unfurled so quick that her back cracked, her hair finally flying free of the last of the woven wedding design. “Fuck me!” She laughed at the sky. “Can things really never go my way?”
“They can at least go to the impound lot,” I said. Sammy studied me, looking me over like I was some demonic creature she’d unearthed. I did my best to smile reassuringly.
Eyeing my bike, she next looked down at her purse. Carefully, she wove the strap through the loops of the high heels, giving them a place to hang. “Okay. I’ll let you give me a ride.”
A surprisingly airy flutter swam from my toes to my throat. It forced my voice to come out lighter than usual. “Then let’s get out of here.”
She held me like I was the only thing keeping her on the planet. It was a grip reserved for lovers or, in her case, people who had never been on a motorcycle before.
I didn’t have a spare helmet, so I’d forced her to wear mine while I went without. My father would have praised me while my mother would have cracked me upside my temple for choosing someone’s safety over my own.
But she wasn’t here.
And Sammy was.
I mean that. Sammy was here, right here in the moment. Fear is the perfect divider for separating you from your fucked-up thoughts. When you think you might die, clarity shows through better than black clouds on a red sky.
Riding my bike didn’t scare me, though, so unlike her . . . I wasn’t free. My skull rampaged with the hoofbeats of my thoughts. Is helping her all right? Does this make any sense? Will Hawthorne care that I’m not at the club yet? Will my father? And Francesca . . . how is she holding up? Shouldn’t I be spending time with her instead?
Twins have connections deeper than blood.