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She swiveled around when she heard us come in with a welcoming smile stretched across her face. “Well, this must be our trespasser.”
“Yup,” he said.
“She looks dangerous.” The woman was all grins.
Hot Cop chuckled. So low that I felt it vibrate across my flesh. “Knife wielder and all, this one.”
Did they think this was a joke?
But then I guessed not because he was punching in another code and a larger door was popping open. One that led into a short hallway with two holding cells on each side.
All of them were empty, but not for long because he opened the first one, the metal bars sliding open.
Sweat suddenly slicked my skin.
“In you go.”
Shivers raced, and nausea rolled in my stomach. “I thought you were just bringing me in to ask me some questions?”
“Oh, we’re going to have some of those. Now have a seat.”
My fight or flight finally kicked in, and I had to ignore the sudden vision of pummeling the guy in the stomach so I could race out the door while he was doubled over.
Bad idea, Savannah.
Hitting that slab of rock-hard abs would likely only break a wrist.
I shuffled to the bench that hung low on the wall. I’d watched enough movies and shows to know it was often used for a bed, and I cringed at the thought of being stuck in here for too long. Warily, I sat down, shoving my hands under my thighs to keep them from trembling while the giant of a man stood in the doorway just staring at me.
God, did he have to be so stupid hot?
It was distracting.
Disorienting.
I just needed to cooperate. Answer his dumb questions and get out of here. Pay a fine or whatever was required. Because I had far more important things to do than being behind bars.
He ambled forward, shoulders so wide he nearly took up the entire cell.
Eyes that dripped with honey washed over me, his aura so thick I thought I could taste it. Potent and powerful and somehow comforting.
Do not let this guy fool you, Savannah.
He angled his head, and his words scraped through the tense air. “I’m going to need to see your ID.”
ID.
Right.
I fumbled into my purse for my wallet and dug out my license.
He looked at it for a long minute before that gaze was back on my face. “It’s nice to meet you, Savannah Ward. I’m Ezra. Ezra Patterson.”
Then he stood and walked out, leaving me sitting in an open cell, having no idea what the hell to make of him.
THREE
EZRA
I ran her ID through the system.
Savannah Iliana Ward from Houston, Texas.
Twenty-five years old.
Blue eyes.
Yeah, already noted.
I tried to skim over height and weight since that seemed like a blatant invasion of privacy, but I’d noted all on my own that she was so tiny she could probably fit in the palm of my hand.
The only thing that mattered was she had no warrants or record.
She was clear.
Relief churned through my guts, thankful I didn’t have a reason to hold her or lock her up.
A tiny bolt of guilt zapped me considering I could have run her information out in the field. It didn’t last long. If I had and sent her on her way, she would have disappeared. Gone in the fiery blaze of her personality.
The thing was, I’d learned to trust my gut, and I was sure I wasn’t mistaken that she was in some sort of trouble, and that gnawing wouldn’t allow me to cut her loose to face whatever it was on her own.
If she was sleeping in her car, she was doing it for a reason.
Out of necessity or fear. Out of hiding or surviving.
Didn’t know which, but I knew it was something.
The woman was cut in this sassy ferocity that promised she was a fighter.
A survivor.
And maybe…maybe she needed a hand. A break. A bit of help to see her through her struggle to wherever she was going.
I wasn’t so sure that she was going to be all that keen on sharing that information, though, and I had a hunch she would be resistant to accepting a hand.
A little hellcat ready to claw her own way out of whatever situation she was in.
My heart panged in a beat of determination.
I wanted to show her we didn’t have to always do everything on our own. Show her there were people we could rely on and not everyone was out to take.
Maybe I only wanted to prove it to myself. Make amends for the times I’d fallen short. Maybe I was looking for a way to bury the guilt. Cover the bad with some form of good.
I didn’t know. The only thing I was sure of was I wanted to be there for her in some way.
With a sigh, I pushed from my desk, grabbed Savannah’s driver’s license, and headed from my office and back into the main room where Pamela was brewing a fresh pot of coffee.
