“And therein lies the problem.” Nodding to the window where a stone-faced cop waits for me, Northrup withdraws my purse from under his arm and hands it to me.
“How did you, um, get here?”
“Took an Uber.”
“And your car?”
“Impound lot. We’ll go there next.”
I do some fast mental math and figure that after the recent apartment deposit and wardrobe spending spree, I have about four hundred dollars available on my credit card. Beyond that, I’m in deep trouble. “How much will it cost to get it out?”
“No idea. I guess we’ll find out.”
Swallowing hard, I step up to the window, hoping Northrup isn’t zeroing in on the tear in my hose. Almost as if I gave him the idea, I can feel the heat of his gaze on me and wonder if he is having the same puzzling reaction to me. Then I decide I do not want to know the answer to that question.
“Sign here,” the cop says gruffly.
My signature is as wobbly as the rest of me after my hour in jail.
“That’s three hundred twenty dollars.”
I gasp. “For driving without a license?”
“And swerving out of your lane.”
“But I swerved to avoid hitting another car that swerved into my lane!”
The cop looks up at me, his mouth falling open. “Carmen?”
My eyes dart to his name badge. PAULSON. Oh dear God. He was Tony’s sergeant during his first year on the job.
“What the heck are you doing here? Hey, you guys, it’s D’Alessandro’s wife, Carmen.”
A couple of other officers I don’t recognize come over to the window to say hello, each of them asking me how I am and what I’m doing here.
Before I can respond to the barrage of questions, Paulson rips up the paperwork. “You should’ve said something. You’re free to go, sweetheart.”
“Oh, um, thank you.” The gesture and the reason for it bring tears to my eyes that I can’t deal with right now. I force myself to hold it together, to not let the grief overtake me. Not when I have too many other things to contend with, such as the doctor standing behind me who turns me on just by breathing.
“Your friend, Dr. Northrup, assured us it was all a big misunderstanding.”
“Did he, now?”
“I did,” Jason says from behind me. “She had permission to use my car.”
“I can’t do anything for you at the impound lot, though,” the sergeant says. “That’s out of my hands.”
“Not to worry,” Jason tells the kind sergeant. “We’ll take care of it. Come on, Carmen. Let’s get going.”
“It’s real good to see you, Carmen. I think about you and . . . Well, I think of you often. I hope you’re doing all right.”
“Thank you. I’m doing okay. Today being a notable exception.”
“Glad to hear it.” The sergeant gives me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t be a stranger, you hear?”
“Well, I hope I don’t see you again in this capacity.”
Paulson laughs. “If you ever get arrested again, tell us who you are. We take care of our own.”
“Good to know.” I was so freaked out by being arrested, it never occurred to me to tell them who I am. Tony and I weren’t married long enough for me to get around to changing my name, which was why the intake officers didn’t recognize me. That and the fact they were probably in high school when Tony died. “Thanks again.”
“No problem. Impound lot is two blocks that way.” He points to the left.
“We’ll find it.”
Once again, Jason takes hold of my elbow to guide me out of the police station.
I tell myself to shake him off, to tell him off, to let him know I’m perfectly capable of walking without his assistance. But the minute I step out of the frigidly air-conditioned station into the warm sunshine, I begin to tremble again as the reality of my time in jail sinks in.
“You’re fine.”
I latch on to his soothing tone despite my resolve to keep my distance from the temptation he represents. As he runs a comforting hand over my back, I tell myself it’s of no consequence to me that he immediately tuned in to my distress and said just what I needed to hear.
“It’s over. No big deal.”
“Sure. No big deal. And when my mother calls tonight to see how my first day went, should I mention my stint in jail?”
“You might want to leave that part out. You could tell her you went joyriding in a Porsche on company time. That’s exciting.”
I scowl up at him and find him looking down at me with a warm, friendly expression and the potent grin that makes me want to climb all over him. Our eyes meet and hold as a zing of awareness passes between us like an electrical current, confirming he feels it, too. Doubly fabulous and all the more reason to keep my distance.
Over my body’s strenuous objections, I move away from him. “I can walk on my own.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Thank you, I will.”
“Someday you’ll laugh about all this, you know.”
“I highly doubt it. Giordinos don’t get arrested. They don’t get handcuffed and fingerprinted and photographed. They don’t get searched and tossed in a cell.”
“They searched you?”
I can’t bear to relive the humiliation of it. “Yes.”
“Strip-searched?”
“Just about. They made me remove my outer garments to ensure I wasn’t concealing any weapons.” Single most humiliating moment of my life.
“Huh.”
“What does that mean? Huh?”
“I’m getting a visual of you in sensible white cotton underwear, and it’s rather . . . appealing.”
I whirl on him, prepared to punch him or at least smack the smug grin off his face, but his grin isn’t smug. It’s not smug at all. It’s rather tortured, and when I venture a glance below the belt of his black dress pants, smug isn’t at all the word that comes to mind. Impressive is more like it. Very, very impressive and very, very aroused. Over the thought of me in my underwear. Oh God.
“I do not wear sensible white cotton underwear,” I spit at him, furious at myself for letting my eyes venture down there. For reasons I’ll ponder later when I’m far, far away from him, it’s important he know that my underwear is neither white nor cotton.
“All the more interesting.” He runs a finger over my cheek, the caress sending a torrent of heat and light and energy to every corner of my body.
Stunned and totally unnerved by my reaction to him, I take a step back. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing—”
He drops his hand. “No game. The last thing I need right now is any kind of romantic entanglements.”
“Good. We have that in common. So don’t touch me again.”
“I apologize.”
We walk the two blocks in uneasy silence that he breaks right before we reach the gates to the impound lot. “What was that about back there? Why did he tear up your ticket?”
“I . . . um . . . I used to know someone with the department.” The most important someone in my life, someone I loved and lost in the worst way imaginable. A shudder of agony goes through me, transporting me right back to the darkest days of my life. Grief is funny that way. It can come at you out of nowhere, smacking you in the face with memories so painful they can still take your breath away five years later.