When I pull into the front of my apartment building, I swing my eyes to Regan. She has her hand curled around the door handle, preparing to exit.
“No.” I yank her back into her seat. “I don’t know how Kristin will react to me confronting her, so you’re not coming in with me.”
Any rebuttal Regan is planning to give is pushed aside for a groan when I unlatch my handcuffs from my waist and loop one around her shuddering wrist before securing the other end to my steering wheel.
“Are you kidding me?! You can’t detain me! I’m not a criminal!” Regan’s volume intensifies with each word she speaks, ensuring I can hear her as I race through the rickety gate at the front of my apartment building. “Alex! Come back!”
Although I hate degrading her like this, I’m grateful for my stubbornness when I enter my apartment. Dane must have told Kristin about my trick of hiding things inside frosting tins because she doesn’t just have Regan’s cracked cell phone in her hand, she also has her gun.
Thirty-Nine
Regan
“Alex!”
The number of times I’ve screamed his name the past ten minutes has left my throat raw and scratchy. I can’t believe he did this. I’m not some defenseless woman in need of saving. I can take care of myself.And him.
God—if Kristin can organize a hit on her husband, who’s to say what she’ll do to Alex when he confronts her? I know Alex can take care of himself, but he’s not from wealth, so he has no clue how insane money makes people. If they think they’re losing it, they’ll do anything to keep it, anything at all.They’ll even kill for it.
I scream Alex’s name another three times before I slump into my seat, defeated. When tears threaten to spill, I bite the inside of my cheek.Now is not the time for crying. I’m stronger than this.
As anger overtakes my panic, a brilliant idea rolls through my mind. I send my thanks to the yoga gods when an awkward stretch helps me secure a piece of the shattered metal Alex left discarded on the floor after demolishing his phone in a fit of rage. It takes me jabbing the metal shard into the handcuffs’ hole three times before it submits to my silent pleas. I’m shaking uncontrollably, my body shutting down with both exhaustion and panic.
Considering the circumstances, I should be ashamed to admit this isn’t the first time I’ve broken out of a set of cuffs, but I’m not. If I wasn’t someone known for sexual exploration, Alex’s cuffs wouldn’t be popping off my wrist with a quick jab, jiggle, pop routine.
Yes! Now I need to arm myself.
I search in all the standard holes most uncover cops hide their spare gun: the glove compartment, under the seat, and the sun visor. My search comes up empty. Recalling Alex’s comment about hiding valuable items in plain sight, I scan his car for the second time. He has a gym bag full of sweaty clothes dumped in the back seat, some old newspapers under my feet, and an empty box of Belvita sandwich biscuits.
You’d think my first thought would be the gym bag or the newspapers, but they’re not obvious enough, so I head straight for the empty biscuit box.Bingo.
My heart rate climbs astronomically when a gun similar to the one Alex taught me to fire drops into my lap. Its safety is on, but dread still thickens my veins. I learned a lot that day at the range. My most valuable lesson: I’m not a fan of guns.
With that in mind, I take a few seconds to calm my nerves.Maybe Kristin will come willingly, and I won’t need to rush in and save Alex?
Not even two seconds after my stupid thought, my bones jump out of my skin when a cell phone ringing zooms into my ears. It takes me searching Alex’s car two times before I realize the noise is coming from me. It’s my phone. Because the caller’s number is unknown, it doesn’t have a customized ringtone like I use for family and friends.
Although now is not the time for chit-chat, my intuition demands I take this call. It’s never proven me wrong before, so with a slide of my finger, I press my cell against my ear. “Hello.”
“Regan?”
Not immediately recognizing the man’s voice, I nod.
He must hear my nonverbal reply. “Is Alex with you?”
“No, he’s in his apartment—with Kristin.” Usually, my weak voice would piss me off, but I’m too filled with panic to let it bother me today. “Is that you, Brandon?”
“He’s with Kristin?” he queries, ignoring my question.
I nod again. “I think?”
“You think or you know?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. He cuffed me in his car.” Suddenly, a bolt of lightning clears some of the fog in my head. “Why does it bother you if he’s with Kristin?”
“Because he didn’t let me finish.” His reply proves he is Brandon. “Kristin didn’t just organize the hit on Dane. She killed him, Regan. She was brought in for questioning this afternoon.”
Dread floods me, but I’m hopeful. “Is she still under arrest?”
