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“Can’t I just go to the bank? Do you take cash?”
“No.”
“Certified check?”
“That’s a check, correct?”
I laced my fingers at the back of my head so I wouldn’t reach through and strangle her. “You don’t make it easy.”
“Easiest way to avoid this situation is to not get arrested, sir.”
“I’ll let him know for next time.”
She lifted tired eyes from the paperwork she was stamping with some ridiculously official-looking seal. The chomp sound as it slammed through the papers made my head throb. Wasn’t everything done by computer these days?
I took the pamphlets and sat down. Three of them looked sketchy as hell and the fourth looked more like an advertisement for a daycare.
All my instincts said to call Lila. She was our manager and equipped to handle this crap. The only cops I’d ever encountered were at a bar when I was buying them a drink. And okay, maybe Army cops when we were too rowdy on base, but that was more like a drunk tank and a smack on the back of the head in the morning kind of deal.
Many smacks via Noah in those days.
“Noah.” I propped my elbows on my knees and groaned. We were going to get so much shit for this. In fact, I wasn’t sure how they didn’t know yet. Zane’s detail should have been following him around.
As it was, I shouldn’t have left Teagan alone at my place. Not that anyone could get past the security in my building.
With all this bullshit, I’d end up with a bodyguard up my ass again. I wasn’t even sure where Cole had been last night when we’d left the club, but if we’d gotten a one-night reprieve, I doubted it would be happening again.
“What a clusterfuck.” I dug out my phone and winced at the text I’d missed.
Lila checking in on Teagan.
Wrong bandmate in trouble, ma’am.
I sighed and called RoseHill Bail. An hour later, I’d practically sold a kidney, but the paperwork was rolling. Once I’d gotten past Bail Matron Betty and her inch-high stack of forms to sign, they finally brought me back to the holding cell. I still had to go to the bail bond place, but luckily, it was right across from the precinct.
There were many locks and many security checks. Finally, I followed the officer down a long corridor to a room. No bars in sight. I probably shouldn’t be disappointed, but it looked more like a depressing waiting room than a jail. It was just a windowless concrete box. The steel door had a skinny window.
Zane was prowling the small space like a pissed off cat. I definitely couldn’t compare him to another more impressive animal because he looked like he’d been dragged behind a car.
He spotted me and stopped in his tracks. “What took you so long?”
“Good to see you too, Z.”
“I’m sorry, man. I’m just going crazy.” He jammed his fingers into the already spiked bedhead situation he called hair. There was a wide stripe of black along one cheek, and was that eyeliner? Or a shiner? His usual black jeans had some sort of substance on them I didn’t really want to identify. It was an unhealthy baby puke color mixed with brown chunks.
Oh, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
The officer pointed to a room with a dingy metal table bolted to the floor. “Sir, please go into that room so I can bring in the prisoner.”
“Prisoner?” Zane’s voice was shrill.
I went inside and sat down. He brought in Zane, his hands cuffed in front of him.
“Is that really necessary?”
The cop didn’t answer me. Instead, he just hooked him to the table with a parting, “No touching.” Then he went to stand by the door.
“Sorry, bud. Kisses later.”
