Page 41 of Smitten with the Single Dad

“There is,” Maude piped up before sliding the piece of paper across the counter to Wyatt.

Fischer gave her a glare. “Fine, come on back.”

His body swayed side to side like a duck’s as he made his way to a small room with four desks. A fluorescent light overhead flickered and the paint on all four walls was a putrid shade of green, reminding him of split pea soup. Wyatt fucking hated split pea soup. A small jail cell sat in the corner with a lonely wooden bench barely big enough for two asses.

With a big grunt, Fischer sat down at a desk. He didn’t offer them chairs, so Wyatt snagged one from what he assumed was Myla’s desk, based on how tidy it was in comparison to the other three. He held it out for Vica, then he grabbed one from Everett’s desk—he knew this because of the six fidget spinners stacked up next to his mug of pens. Everett had severe ADHD and could never sit still, let alone keep his hands from moving. The kid always had something to play with in his palm or pocket.

Wyatt handed Fischer the incident report paper once he was certain the idiot cop wouldn’t get mustard on it.

Fischer cleared his throat. “What time did this happen?”

“About nine o’clock,” Vica said. “A mile from the pub.”

“Why were you out on your own?”

“Because she feels like a caged animal and hasn’t been convicted of anything. She wanted to go for a walk to clear her head and get some air. Last time I checked, Officer Jenkins, not only is this a free country, but Ms. Vitale hasn’t been convicted of any crimes.” He glanced at Vica. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to answer for you.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I appreciate it. I am … I am still very shaken.”

He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Of course you are.”

“Please describe the incident again,” Officer Fischer said, just as a toiletflushed down a small hallway.

A moment later, Officer Jenkins came wandering out, giving Vica and Wyatt a curious look. “What’s going on here? Finally come to confess?”

“Excuse me?” Wyatt said. The only reason he wasn’t on his feet and getting into the cop’s face was because Vica’s grip on his hand tightened, keeping him in his seat and with her.

Duane smirked and wandered into the bullpen and over to his desk, taking a seat. “Just kidding around. Relax, McEvoy.”

Wyatt glared at the asshole cop before turning his attention back to the other asshole cop, then eventually settling his gaze on Vica. “Take all the time you need.”

Her smile was small, but she did a great job recounting the event just as she had done to Wyatt right after it happened, and Fischer when they first entered the station. She added the color and model of the car. A non-descript gray sedan. As well as the license plate.

“Don’t know the make of the car?” Jenkins asked.

“While I am familiar with all the popular brands, I could not see a logo on the back, no. Shouldn’t the license plate be enough?”

Fischer made a noise in his throat.

Vica and Wyatt exchanged confused expressions.

What the fuck was going on with this cop? Was he not taking this seriously? Would they shred the report the moment Vica and Wyatt left?

Noise at the back door pulled their attention and a moment later, Myla came in. Her expression was both surprise and curiosity.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Wyatt breathed, and not quietly.

Removing her sunglasses from her face and pushing them onto the top of her head, Myla glanced curiously between Fischer, Jenkins, Vica, and Wyatt. “Hey guys, what’s going on?”

“Vica was nearly run over today and we’re here giving a statement. She got the license plate and everything.”

“That’s great,” Myla said before she paused, blinked, and shook her head. “I mean, not that you were nearly run over today, but that you got the license plate.” She didn’t show any signs of being put out that Vica sat in her chair, but just grabbed a folding one from the corner and set it up at her desk. “I’ve got it from here, Duane. Why don’t you and Dan go do a drive? Just because it’s Monday doesn’t mean tourists aren’t doing stupid shit.”

It was easy to see by everyone that Fischer and Jenkins did not like being told what to do by not only a much younger police officer, but a woman to boot. Wyatt stowed his snicker.

They waited until the Boomer-Pigs left before Myla resumed conversation. She had Vica recount the event yet again. Myla followed up with some questions of her own before punching the license plate number into their database.

Ha! See?

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