Scorched

“Whatever I have to to keep you and Emmy safe.”

“But you can’t just kill him!” she protested. “He’s innocent.”

“Trinity, no offense, but aren’t you on the run from the law? What do you think Mr. Innocent will do when he discovers we’re not exactly the poster children for innocence ourselves?”

Trinity’s face fell, knowing he was right. There was no way the cop was going to just let them go once he checked the license and registration. There was sure to be an APB on them from the diner incident, and maybe a stolen car report to boot. And she didn’t even want to think about the penalties that might be involved in basically assaulting two Homeland Security agents…

But she couldn’t just let Caleb kill him.

Think! she berated herself as she slowed down and guided the truck to the shoulder of the road. The policeman pulled in behind her, stopping about twenty feet back. There has to be another way.

Caleb fingered his gun.

“Put it in the glove box!” she hissed, pointing to the dashboard compartment, a plan forming in her mind. A trick she’d seen her mother do, back when she still had command of her senses. “And follow my lead, okay?”

Caleb hesitated. “I don’t know…”

The police car door opened.

“Just please, do it!” she begged.

“Fine.” Caleb stuffed the gun in the glove box. “We’ll do it your way. But if things start to go wrong, I’m going to shoot.” He dropped the egg between his legs and shielded it with his jacket.

Relieved, Trinity placed her hands on the steering wheel, in the proper ten and two position, just as she’d been instructed in driver’s ed, her heart beating a mile a minute and her palms damp with sweat. From her mirror, she watched the policeman get out of his car and amble toward them.

“He doesn’t have his gun drawn,” she said quietly. “That means he doesn’t know the truck is stolen.”

Yet.

Caleb reached into his pocket and slid a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes, hiding the ugly bruise she’d given him. A moment later, the officer knocked on her window and she rolled it down, looking up at him with her best blinding smile.

“What seems to be the trouble, Officer?” she asked brightly, trying to conceal the tremble in her voice.

“Ma’am, do you know you’re driving with a taillight out?” the officer asked. He was young—maybe a year out of the academy—tall, and well-built.

“Is it?” she cried, feigning surprise. Inside, she cursed Caleb for picking such a hunk of junk as their getaway vehicle. “I had no idea. This is my uncle’s truck. He never fixes anything.” She considered batting her eyelashes at the cop but decided it would be overkill.

Believe me! she begged. Please believe me!

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Caleb shoot her a startled look, though she had no idea why. A shimmer of nausea fluttered in her stomach. She prayed he’d keep his promise to stay quiet.

The policeman’s frown lifted. “I have an uncle just like that,” he told her, shaking his head. “His guest toilet’s been out of service for ten years if it was a day. He’s always going on about fixin’ it. But it never seems to happen.”

“That must be really fun at Christmas,” she joked, giving him a forced laugh. She realized her hands were shaking and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “Speaking of, Merry Christmas!”

Walk away, walk away, she pleaded silently. Please walk away.

Her stomach lurched so forcefully she almost threw up right on the cop. With effort, she forced the smile back on her face. What was going on with her?

Keep it together, Trin. Just a little longer.

What are you doing? Caleb hissed in her head. It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t speaking out loud. Like Connor back at the barn. Another part of the gift?

Shut up, she tried to send back, feeling a little ridiculous at her first attempt at mental telepathy. To the cop, she added, “I can’t believe they make you work on a holiday!”

The cop glanced at his watch. “Actually I worked the nightshift,” he told her. “I’m off in a few minutes.”

“Going home to the family?”

Go home, go home, go home.

Pain stabbed at her forehead. Her vision swam. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out. What was wrong with her? This was so not going to help her case with the cop.

Thankfully, he seemed oblivious to her sudden distress. He reached into his pocket for his wallet. “My boy’s one year old,” he boasted, handing Trinity a picture of a chubby-faced cherub that looked a lot like his dad. “First Christmas!”

“Aww,” she managed to choke out. “He’s so cute.”

She handed the photo back, the sick feeling intensifying. If she screwed this up, that adorable baby boy would have to grow up without a father—just as she had.

She had to make this work. Somehow. Some way.

She lowered her eyes demurely. It was time to go in for the kill. “I don’t suppose we could just forget the taillight—in the name of Christmas and all? I’d promise to get it fixed the second we get home.”

The officer’s smile faded. “Now you know I’m supposed to at least run your plates, ma’am. It’s protocol. I could get in trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to get in trouble!” Trin protested. Damn it. “I just want you to be able to get home to your baby!” This time, she did bat her eyelashes, desperate for something to work.

The officer stiffened. She’d gone too far. “Why don’t you just give me your license and registration? We’ll get it done fast.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes, realizing she’d failed. Epically failed. Slowly, she reached for the glove box, her heart filled with despair. In a moment it would all be over. The cop would see Caleb’s gun. He’d reach for his own…

Caleb’s fingers grabbed her hand. He turned to her slowly, his expression unreadable from behind the sunglasses. “Allow me,” he said in a low voice, reaching for the glove box.

Trinity forced herself to nod. A trickle of sweat dripped down her back.

Please walk away, please walk away… she silently begged the officer one more time as sharp pain stabbed at her skull like knives. For your son’s sake, just please walk the hell away!

The glove box started to creak open…

“You know what?” the officer interjected, his face breaking out into a big smile. “You’re right. Who wants to give out a ticket on Christmas?”

Caleb pulled his hand away.

“Thank you!” Trinity cried, relief coming in a flood. “Thank you so much!”

“Merry Christmas,” the officer said, giving her a small wave. “And get that taillight fixed.”

And with that, he turned back to his car. A moment later, he was pulling off the shoulder and passing them on the road, leaving their lives forever. Trinity waited for him to disappear over the horizon, then stumbled out of the pickup truck, falling to her knees and vomiting on the side of the road, clutching her head in agony.

Caleb followed her out of the truck, clapping his hands slowly. “Wow, you really are Fire Kissed, aren’t you?” he remarked, sounding impressed.

She looked over at him blearily, her stomach still roiling. “What are you talking about?” she asked, annoyed that he looked so pleased when she felt so terrible. “I just sweet talked him a little, something I learned from my mother.”

“Trust me, no amount of sweet talk was going to make him drive away,” Caleb insisted. “You pushed him —harder than I’ve ever seen anyone do. Which is probably why you feel like hell. Using the gift can kick the fleck out of you, especially without proper training.”