Dex noticed anyway. His gaze sharpened, and the air shifted between us. Not safer. Not kinder. Just hotter.
I could see exactly how bad an idea he would be if we’d met anywhere else. A bar with sticky floors. A tattoo convention after midnight. A gas station in the middle of nowhere where he held the door and I looked too long at the ink on his forearm.
Anywhere else, I might’ve leaned into that voice.
Here, he had cuffs on my wrists and Crystal’s name in his pocket.
The thought cleared my head.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“County route first. Then North Fork decides handoff.”
“North Fork Bail Bonds decides what happens to me?”
“The court already decided what happens when you skip. North Fork posted the bond.”
“That paperwork has everything figured out, then.”
Dex studied me for a beat. “Paperwork usually has less attitude.”
“Paperwork doesn’t sweat through a tank top on a mountain road.”
His gaze didn’t drop.
That was also irritating.
I knew when men looked. I knew how to use it. I knew the tiny pause between noticing skin and pretending not to. Dex kept his eyes on my face with the kind of discipline that made the rest of him worse.
Then his attention moved to the right shoulder where the overshirt had slipped and the anchor-and-compass piece showed more clearly.
He reached out, not touching me, just catching the shirt fabric and pulling it higher over my shoulder.
“File said left ankle and right shoulder,” he said.
My pulse kicked.
“Sounds like your file enjoys gossip.”
“It enjoys identifiers.”
“And here I thought my charm made me memorable.”
“It does,” Dex said.
The answer was too simple.
I looked at him.
He looked back.
No smile this time. Nothing I could use except the fact that my breath had snagged and he’d heard it.
Then he opened the passenger door of his pickup. “Get in.”
“I’m not riding shotgun while cuffed behind my back.”
“You won’t be.”
