“Right,” Keene said. “But you’ve been having those migraines and having issues. It’s not like you could’ve noticed when you’ve had your face in a toilet bowl.”
“Migraines?” I asked, my belly twisting at the thought. Sienna got migraines from time to time. Though hers usually happened once every couple of months or so. To the point where she’d had to go to the hospital for pain meds a time or two. But for someone to have it a lot…torturous.
“Migraines,” Keene confirmed. “Bad ones, too. Ones that put her on her ass for half a day. She had one last night. So truly, she shouldn’t have even been out there practicing because sometimes her balance can be affected for a day or two.” He paused. “Speaking of, anyone want a donut?”
“Oh, me!” at least four of the sisters said. But they’d all said it at the same time, so I couldn’t decipher how many I’d heard.
The donut box was passed backward, and the smell of bakery food filled the air.
“Yum,” one of the sisters said. “These are amazing.”
“They are,” Simi confirmed. “And I can hold them down. Imagine that!”
I looked back to see her inhaling a pink-iced donut with red sprinkles on it.
Just the sight of her licking her lips free of icing, glaze, and sprinkles was enough to make my dick hard.
While her brother was in the front seat, and five of her sisters were in the back…
“You want one?” Keene asked, interrupting my new fantasy of iced glazed donuts and his sister.
I looked at the donuts, studying them.
“Jesus Christ, just take one,” Val grumbled.
I looked back at her. “Maybe you should have another to get rid of that mood.”
There was complete silence in the car. Then uncontrollable laughter.
I picked up a pink-iced one that matched Simi’s and groaned when I bit into it.
“It wasn’t me trying to decide what to eat,” I admitted. “It was me trying to decide if I should eat it because I have blood sugar issues.”
“You do?” Simi asked from the back.
“I’m a type one diabetic. From the moment I could walk, I had blood sugar issues. It wasn’t until the last five years or so when I got my pump that automatically injects me with my insulin that I’ve been able to live a somewhat normal life.”
“How’d you get into the military with that?” Keene asked.
“Lied my ass off, aced scores, had a drill sergeant that knew me, covered for me, and brought me my drugs, and ultimately lied and schemed my way through everything. Then made myself too important to get rid of when they found out that I was fucked up,” I admitted, licking the icing free of my fingers. “I eventually quit because of all the hassle they were giving me for my ‘lying.’ Plus, there were other things…”
Someone started to whisper in the back, Val maybe, and I turned just as I was licking my fingers clean.
Simi was watching me, her eyes slightly dazed.
I grinned at her and finished licking clean my last finger, then got out of the van.
I dropped to the ground and eyed the van.
I hadn’t paid much attention to it earlier, but now I was more than paying attention. The van was one of those Mercedes Sprinter vans. Though that was the last thing I could say about it being “normal.”
On the side of it, in big, bold letters, was “Singh Circus.”
On the underside of the letters were several of the sisters flying through the air without any harnesses or anything.
There were the cats and the snake. And even a clown.
“This is an amazing wrap,” I found myself saying as I opened the back door.
“It cost a whack, too,” Keene said as he, too, got out.
“It looks like it does,” I said as I waited for a certain someone to make her way out.
I offered my hands to each of the sisters, and they all accepted except for Val.
Then my favorite one popped out, and before I could offer her my hand, she launched herself at me.
I laughed and caught her, pulling her close into my body before letting her slide down it deliciously slow.
She smiled up at me, then sighed and pulled away.
“As much as I’d like to stay here forever,” she muttered darkly. “We need to go get this shit over with.”
Sadly, I agreed.
We all walked into the station, and the first thing I noticed was the lack of anyone anywhere. Like, not a receptionist, not a deputy, not a janitor. Not the goddamn sheriff who ordered us to be here.
“Hello?” I called out.
Keene stepped around the counter to look down the back hallway, again seeing no one.
“Hello?” Val called out. “For the love of God, someone better be here, or I’ll leave!”
There was a flushing of a toilet, then Bright came out of the bathroom without washing his hands.
“Gross,” Simi muttered.
“Are you going to wash those hands, sir?” Val asked. “Or are you going to infect us with your feces?”
Bright blinked. “There aren’t any towels in there.”
Val raised a brow at him, but it was the one I thought was Zip who said, “You do realize that your hands can dry on their own, right?”
“Whatever,” he grumbled and walked back into the bathroom.
Then he came back out with a towel.
The lying fuck.
“Everyone in the cells. I’ll come get you one at a time to get your story,” Bright said.
“I think the fuck not,” I barked. The way this had all been handled was sketchy. “You take our statements, and unless we’re under arrest, there’s no need for cells.”
“I think I know what does and doesn’t need to be done. I am the officer of the law. You’re what…a chef?” he scoffed.
The way he sneered at the thought that just because I was a chef, I wasn’t “more” made me want to snort.
I held it in check, though, and barely caught the way his eyes glinted, as if he was trying to provoke me just to get a reaction.
“He’s Navy,” Simi pointed out. “And he hasn’t always been a chef, Sheriff Bright.”
I caught her by wrapping one hand around her hip and pulling her into me.
She grumbled something under her breath just as Bright asked, “Are you two together?”
Neither one of us hesitated to say “yes.”
“How long?” he asked. “Long enough for y’all to lie to an officer of the law, saying you were with each other when you weren’t?”
Keene sighed. “Do you have a superior?”
I nearly didn’t catch the snort in time again.
“No,” Bright barked, then turned to me.
“It’s just funny that you show up right when a dead body does,” the sheriff suggested.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’ve been on the road for the last twelve hours. I stopped in Texas last night, got up this morning, and kept driving. I’d like to point out that it takes a solid eight hours in a passenger vehicle to get from where I was to where I am now. You can add another ten hours for the trucks and trailers.”
“Well, then I’ll just have to call and confirm these alibis,” he sneered. “Who wants to go first?”