At this point I cared less about Clark finding me and cutting off my windpipe with a piece of rope than I did what kind of underwear I was wearing. A thong, of course. The rip, as far as I could surmise, was about three inches long and showed a good portion of my left butt cheek.
So much for my $180 pair of jeans. It’d take me months to save enough to buy another pair. Too bad patches weren’t still in style.
“All right,” I said loud enough for anyone in the house to hear. “If anyone is here, you better come out and face me. I’m not in the mood to come find you.”
Nothing. Fine. Maybe that meant there was no one there. Maybe it meant someone was waiting to strangle me. Either way, my jeans were beyond repair.
I stomped from the small living room into the adjoining kitchen. On the table was an ashtray with several half-smoked joints and a moldy can of Spaghetti-O’s with a fork sticking out the top.
My nose wrinkled with the smell. Nothing here.
I moved up the stairs that led to two bedrooms. One had a deflated air mattress and the other only had a futon with a saggy mattress. There were no clothes in the closets, no toothbrushes in the bathroom. Clark hadn’t been here in a while.
My heartbeat went from a stampeding herd of buffalo to a dull thump. It was a dead end.
I made my way back down the steps.
A door squeaked open.
The stampeding herd was back. I grabbed the first thing I saw—the can of Spaghetti-O’s—and held it up as a weapon. My mind drifted to the can of pepper spray sitting quietly in its holster in the trunk of my car. Great place for it.
The front door was completely open now—the sun streaming in through the living room to the kitchen—as I hid behind the wall separating the two rooms with the can raised high above my head.
Footsteps.
Slow, calculated.
He knew I was in here.
When the footsteps were just outside the opening to the kitchen I launched myself from behind the wall and threw the can where I expected there to be a head.
It made contact with the side of the man’s face, spilling its vile contents all over his . . . uniform. Shit.
“Ma’am, you are under arrest.” He grabbed my wrist.
“Under arrest?” I jerked my arm away. “For what?”
“Trespassing.” The officer, likely the same age as my father, cuffed my hands behind my back as moldy Spaghetti-O’s shook from his uniform and onto my hoodie. First the jeans, now the hoodie. Could this day get any worse?
The answer was yes.
When the officer walked me out to his squad car, a very amused-looking Luke leaned against the hood with another officer.
They were both struggling not to laugh.
“How did you know I was here?” I demanded.
“Did you not think we’d have surveillance outside one of the suspect’s houses?”
Of course they would.
“That little dance of yours, though. What exactly were you celebrating? Getting inside through an already open window?” Luke teased.
“I wasn’t celebrating.” My temper flared. “I ripped my favorite jeans.”
The two sets of eyes instantly traveled down my body. I turned and caught the older officer staring at the hole and nodding.
“Ahem?” I threw him the evil eye. “And now I have moldy Spaghetti-O’s on my favorite hoodie.”
“What about me?” The older officer asked. “At least you didn’t get whacked in the side of the head.”
Luke and his cackling buddy doubled over in laughter, shaking the patrol car underneath them.
I’d had enough. “Just take me in.”
“We’re not taking you anywhere.” Luke grinned.
“Can you take off the cuffs then?”
He nodded, and the officer holding my hands behind my back unlocked my cuffs. I rolled my shoulders and rubbed my wrists.
“I thought I told you not to do anything that could put you in harm’s way,” Luke said, his voice only slightly more serious. He wasn’t wearing a uniform like the other two. Instead, he wore jeans that hugged him in all the right places and a navy polo that looked like it might rip out in the arms if he flexed just right.
I shrugged. “I had a couple of days off.”
He ran a hand through his brown hair. “Why are you so stubborn? Do I have to keep you with me at all times to keep you safe?”
My first thought was that I wasn’t a china doll. My second was that it wouldn’t be so bad to hang out with him all the time.
“I’m gonna go in and take a look around.” The officer next to Luke stood to his full height and walked inside while his partner cleaned the moldy goo from his chest.
“There’s nothing in there,” I shouted after him. The empty closets came to mind. “Other than a few half-smoked joints.”
He didn’t listen and Luke shook his head at the ground. After a few minutes of silence, the officer walked back out holding a note in his gloved hand.
“Look what I found in the freezer next to a bottle of vodka.”
He held it out for Luke and me to read.
Ella, if you find this before I find you, I’ll be in the mountains. Don’t drink the booze. Come find me.
Love, Clark.
“And there was a business card with it.” He handed Luke the card. “Looks like a motel.”
“What’re you doing the rest of the day?” Luke asked me.
“Really?” Excitement welling in my chest.
“Only so I can keep my eye on you.”
“Let’s go to the mountains.”
“Feel better?” Luke asked when I’d changed into a pair of cheap jeans we picked up at Wal-Mart.
I removed my hoodie to reveal a plain white tank top. “Much. So what’s the plan?”
“Well, I figure we can take a trip up to this motel and see what we find. Maybe we’ll
