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“God! She scratched me!” the blond shrieked, cupping the side of her face. “Should I go to the hospital? Get a damn rabies shot or something?”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Ms. Tanner,” the officer replied. Once again, his tone resonated with double-meaning. Less concerned and more…mocking? “Though, if you want, I can call ahead to the hospital to let them know you’ll be coming in.”
“Thanks,” the blond muttered as she flashed Loren a glare that could melt steel. Then she entered her car and took off.
The officer waited until that pink vehicle finally turned the corner before returning his attention to Loren. Tense with anticipation, she braced for a scolding.
Care to explain?It was what her father said when she did something wrong. Before she could respond, he always followed up the question with a blow. A kick. A punch.
Instead, the officer inspected her with an intensity presumably reserved for only the most dangerous criminals. He started with her head, roving his gaze down her body, almost as if searching for something.For any weakness,a part of her suspected.
“You could be in a lot of trouble, Ms. Connors,” he said finally. His voice was no less booming, reducing her to a cowering puddle. It wasn’t only his tone causing such a reaction.
From her position on the ground, he seemed massive, undeniably handsome—but in her world, beauty meant danger.
He had a face that could have been chiseled from stone, with stern cheekbones, pink lips, and a smattering of black stubble along his jaw—a jaw currently set in a firm line.
“Especially if Naomi Tanner does decide to press those charges,” he continued. “Her father is the head of the city council.”
Loren felt her bottom lip tremble. Then, hot and fast, more tears spilled down her cheeks. All she could do was brace her blood-stained fingers against the muddy earth and try to keep her composure.
Sobbing would help nothing. Neither would begging, but both impulses were all she seemed capable of at the moment.
“I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I mean I…I didn’t…I just.” She was rambling. After years without carrying on a full conversation, even forming a coherent sentence took effort. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”
“Here.”
In the space of a second, the officer cleared the distance between them, holding her backpack by its filthy strap. He was trying to be helpful; she could tell that much. He had no idea that the sight of him, towering above, reminded her of someone else.
“I’m sorry!” She threw herself face-forward into the icy muck, hands over her head to ward off the blow she knew was coming. Instead of the threat of physical violence, the only sound she heard was…
Thunk.Peeking through a fringe of hair, she realized the noise was that of her math book being dropped into her bag by the officer. He did the same with her scattered pencils and notebook. Then he extended a calloused hand in her direction.
“Can you stand up?” Once again, what sounded like a harmless question resonated in her bones far differently.
Stand up.Her limbs lurched into motion before her brain processed the action. As she inspected herself from the neck down, she couldn’t suppress a groan at the sight of her clothes. Her tights were caked in mud. So was the bottom of her sweater.
If she went to school like this, they’d send her home. Or worse, call her father. Either prospect was so terrifying she didn’t hear the officer speak until he shouted.
“Loren, did you hear me?”
She jumped, too shaken to wonder just how he knew her name. Though…as she eyed the planes of that strong face, she realized that she knewhim.
Officer McGoven.That asshole McGoven,according to her father. The very same officer who came by whenever he and his drinking buddies got too rowdy and alarmed the neighbors.
He had never seenher,of course. She would watch him through her bedroom window and wonder how one man could possess so much patience.
Never once did he raise his voice, even when her father and his cohorts would threaten violence. He seemed unshakable, someone worthy to carry a badge—a rare quality in her opinion.
From far away, she’d gotten a good idea of his bulk, but up close, he was downright intimidating. She’d never met anyone with eyes like his. They gleamed silver in contrast to his dark hair, which looked slicked back as if by a lazy hand. Tanned skin the exact shade of pure honey softened the effect somewhat, keeping him from seeming frightening. Just stern. She wondered at his heritage—Native American, mixed with a bit of European to explain the eye color?
It was the same guess she figured most people made whenever they looked at her, with her dark hair, pale skin, and wide hazel eyes.
“If you would like to get a change of clothes, I can give you a ride to school,” he offered. “It looks like you missed the bus.”
Oh no.Loren realized it must have passed by during the scuffle with Naomi, and her heart sank. His offer aside, walking was her only choice. She loathed deceiving an officer, but she rationalized it the way she always did—lying wasn’t a sin if survival was on the line.
“I…I don’t have any clean clothes,” she told him. “And it’s laundry day. I’ll be fine on my own.” As the words left her mouth, the man gave her an odd look that made her stomach flip. Like he knew she was lying. Regardless, for once in her life, she couldn’t seem to shut up. “Our washing machine is broken, too. My father hasn’t gone to the laundry mat yet. I’ll be fine once I get to school—”
