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“What?”
“For the police to have a place like this. If someone is working for them and they’re being followed, then they can’t go into a police station. But someone visiting a run-down trailer in the middle of a hundred run-down trailers? It’s a good cover.”
“We also have houses in middle-class neighborhoods and a mansion in a fancier place. We chose this place because it’s closer to where you’re going.” Detective Barlow strolls in and, like always, he’s in a white button-down shirt. “How are you doing, Violet?”
“I’m good.” If good means on the verge of puking. “So how does this wiretapping thing work? What happens if they pat me down? Should I have worn something bulkier so they don’t see the wires and stuff?”
The good detective comes close to smiling and that unnerves me. This man is not the type who smiles. He rubs his knuckles against his jaw. “Did you bring what I asked?”
Yes, and I don’t like the idea of this being in anyone else’s hands beside me and my mother’s. I reach into my pocket and extract Dad’s watch. It’s old-school. A Rolex my grandfather gave my dad the day I was born. Gramps told my dad that he had become a real man that day—bringing a child into the world.
The detective reaches for it and I curl my fingers around it, then bring it to my chest. “What are you doing?”
“We have a professional in the next room who is going to open the watch and insert a mini voice recorder. Once we’re done, my guy will take out the recorder and return the watch to exactly how it is now.”
“I already lost this watch once and it broke my mom’s heart. She’s keeping it in the curio cabinet. Do you know what that means? It’s precious to her.” It means it’s her world.
“You wore this watch when you were kidnapped. They won’t question it being on you again. I put another piece of jewelry on you or a button that doesn’t quite match or anything else, they might jump to the right conclusion. This watch will give me the audio recording I need and will keep you safe.”
Handing him Dad’s watch. It’s like he asked me to cut off my leg.
“You’ll get it back,” he says.
I better or he’ll never be able to father children. With way more effort than it should take, I place Dad’s watch in the palm of his hand. The detective holds it with an air of reverence and that one slight gesture makes me feel slightly less like slitting my wrists.
I’m like a jack-in-the-box that has been sprung and I jump to my feet to pace the small room. Hands in my pockets, hands out of my pockets. Nausea in my stomach, knots in my throat. Vision clear, then fuzzy.
Hands on my hips and I’m spun into something very hard and very warm, and when I glance up, I’m met by the most beautiful dark eyes. “I’ve got you, Violet.”
I melt. Every inch of me a puddle on the floor. His hold on my hips tightens, and as if I weigh nothing, he sits me on the cleared-off section of the desk. The mischievous grin on his face is ghostly mirrored on mine as he settles between my legs.
“We’re in a police station,” I say.
“Police trailer,” he corrects. “We already kissed in the police station. Just seems wrong to not kiss here, too.”
My heart aches as I drink him in. Chevy. Broad-shouldered, a waterfall of muscle, dark hair, dark eyes, perfection and beauty and every cell within my body calls out to him. A sharp pang of regret causes me to close my eyes.
“Violet,” he murmurs. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head that I don’t want to answer, but then fingers roughened by years of hard work raise my chin.
“Tell me.”
My mouth dries out and I swallow to help. “I regret not making love to you the other night.”
He tilts his head in understanding. “You weren’t ready and that’s okay. We’ll know when it’s the right time.”
I suck in my lower lip as the ends of my mouth bend down and tears prick my eyes. “What if that was the only time we had?” What if I mess this up and don’t make it out alive?
His body stiffens and he cups my face with both of his hands. “It’s not. We are going to have plenty of time. Do you hear me? We’re going to get through this. Next month, this will start to become a fleeting memory and I’ll have to actually fill out a college application.”
I laugh, but don’t know why. Maybe because that sounds so normal and normal seems so obscure. I place my hands on his chest, lightly fisting his shirt and bringing him closer. “Tell me that after this is all over, we’re going to have the most boring and normal life ever.”
Chevy brushes his fingers along my side, and where there had been lots of fear and anxiety in my blood, there are now warm fuzzies.
“I promise—we are going to be so fucking bored.”
My lips edge up at the idea that he’s playing along. “I want normal. I want high school parties where people sing bad karaoke. I want pie at midnight at the diner. I want to make out under the bleachers during basketball games.”
