Page 103 of Holding On To Good

Finally, the blonde slowly—like glacially, would-rather-have-every-strand-of-golden-hair-plucked-from-her-head-than-see-who-just-gave-her-a-cheerful-greeting slowly—opened her eyes.

Only to have them widen when she took in Verity from the top of her ponytail to her Mount Laurel High Varsity Volleyball sweatshirt, to her cutoffs and finally, her flip-flops.

The blonde laid a hand over her stomach. Swallowed carefully. “How old are you?” she asked, her voice low and husky.

Verity frowned. Not exactly the response she’d been expecting, but she could roll with it.

If only to see where on earth the blonde was going with it.

And because it gave Miles the chance to close the distance between them.

Not that the blonde noticed. She was too busy staring at Verity in a combination of horror, fierceness and protectiveness that was just plain weird.

“I’m seventeen.”

The blonde flinched and went so white, looked so sick, Verity took a quick step back.

She so did not want puke anywhere near her.

But the blonde didn’t seem to get the meaning of personal space because she took a cautious step forward, expression softer. Compassionate, yet nonjudgmental.

Neat trick, that.

“You don’t have to be here,” she said gently, either not realizing or caring that Miles stood only a few feet away, watching them intently.

“Well, as much as I didn’t want to come, and as much as I hate what I’m about to do” — Verity shrugged— “I owe him.”

Though the blonde’s expression didn’t change, her light blue eyes flashed with an unholy, feral light. “Is that what Assistant Chief Jennings told you? That you owed him?”

“No, he—”

“Did he coerce you? Offer to get you out of trouble or reduce any charges against you in exchange for certain favors?”

“Wait. What?”

“If he touched you inappropriately—”

Verity’s head snapped back but the blonde would not quit.

“—or asked for any type of sexual satisfaction in return for those favors—”

“Oh. My. God.”

“—then he’s broken the law. But you,” the blonde said firmly, fervently, covering Verity’s hand on the handlebar with her free one. “You are not at fault. You did nothing wrong. Nothing.”

Okay, this was so messed up on so many levels, Verity could barely contain her fury. Yes, there were cops who took advantage of their badges but Miles was not one of them.

And if this woman spent the night with him, she should know that.

Verity yanked her hand free, pulling the bike back so hard and fast, she ran over her own foot. Drawing herself up to her full height, which was at least four inches taller than the blonde, she glared at her. “First off, all that stuff you said… ew. Just… ew, ew, ew. Secondly, how dare you?”

“You don’t have to be scared of him. I can help you. I can protect you.”

“How dare you,” Verity repeated, voice shaking, entire body vibrating with outrage and therefore, her bike was vibrating, too, the basket bouncing, pedals jiggling. “How dare you accuse him of doing something so sleazy? So disgusting and reprehensible? You don’t know him. You couldn’t possibly know him at all if you thought, even for one second, that he was some sort of predatory creep who took advantage of his position of power to sexually and otherwise abuse women. And you,” she continued, turning to Miles because he deserved some of the blame in this for bringing this horrible person home with him in the first place. “Your taste in women sucks.”

And once again, the blonde looked ready to puke.

As she should.

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