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“I’m going to the gas station to pick up something to eat. You want anything, or are you calling it a night?”
That voice.
I recognized that voice. It was a deeper version of the voice that had broken my young heart.
Oh, Lord.
My sharp intake of breath was loud enough that I could feel both men staring at me. I turned my head back to the detective. I’d like to think he noticed the shift because of his job and not because I made it obvious. The detective cocked his head as he observed me.
This was not happening. The precinct really needed to invest in good ventilation because the quality of air in this room sucked. I couldn’t breathe.
Oh, my God. Was I having a heart attack?
I was going to die here, and everyone would think I was a prostitute.
“Ma’am,” the detective said, but I couldn’t focus enough to answer him.
I didn’t know when I started to gasp for air, but I did.
“Is she okay?” Clark—the love of my life—Carson asked.
Judging by the tone of his voice, he had abandoned his post by the threshold and had gotten closer. I had spent years of my life observing—not stalking—this man, so I knew he liked to spend his time at the precinct.
How the hell did I forget that?
I must have buried that and all information on Clark deep in the abyss of my mind.
The sound of the door closing proved my theory right. This was not happening. I could not be here. Was there some type of magic that could make me disappear? Was Wisconsin prone to earthquakes? And if yes, could one come and have the earth swallow me?
“I’m not a prostitute,” I wheezed, because it had to be stated.
“Okay,” Clark spoke.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
“What the hell is going on, Dex?” Clark asked.
I didn’t dare look up, but I could see his profile going toward the detective. Detective Dex sounded funny, and this was not the time to find something like that funny, yet I snorted. I could feel his eyes on me, and I felt my cheeks heat up.
Yep, I was having some sort of stroke. Well, if I was dying, it was “do or die” time, and it had been established I was a “go big or go home” kind of girl. I dared a peek up, and damn, it was him.
His hair was cut a bit shorter at the bottom with the top a tad longer, and maybe it had been styled earlier, but now it looked like he had run his hands through his hair a little too much. His eyebrows were thick, but not overly bushy, and his face was no longer clean-shaven. A trimmed beard adorned it—and oh, my God, did it do wonders for his face. His nose was a bit crooked, but it didn’t take away from the fact that Clark Carson had grown into his looks.
Next to his brother, Jake, Clark often got overlooked, but to me, he had always stood out. It was safe to say he did not remember me at all, and for some reason, that stung.
“Ma’am, the sooner you start to cooperate, the sooner we can get this sorted,” the detective said, bringing my attention back to him.
“I’m not a whore,” I squeaked.
I could feel the detective’s eyes on me, but I didn’t dare look up. We had been going over this for the past five minutes.
“I think you’ve made yourself clear on that,” he told me with an amused tone. “Let’s proceed.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“What’s your name?” The detective asked, and my heart dropped.
