Page 116 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

One blink, he stares at the empty space beside me, the passenger seat where Kai sat for days. Another blink, and the scary dude turns on his heels. And as fast and slick as he appeared, he vanished into the alley.

I breathe out, shoulders slumping in relief. My hand shakes as I lift it to rub my forehead. Sweat beads at my temples. The man’s departure has left a chill that seeps into my bones.

Pull yourself together, Marianne.

Six-twenty.

The engine quiets as I push down the brake pedal to take in the sight before me. Two police officers move on and about—four if I count the ones in the SUV back at 616—and two more in the patrol car with flashing lights.

Bright yellow tape surrounds a white townhouse. The metallic digits, six, three, and two, shine in the sunlight.

“It’s a hive,” I say loud enough for Kai to hear me. “Full of bees.”

Think, Marianne, think!

Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I put on my favorite podcast: Crimes and Punchlines. “Buzz, buzz, bitch.”

My fingers roll on the steering wheel from excitement. “Bonsaï, this is the role of a lifetime. Don’t let me down.”

An officer signals me to stop and roll down my window. Per the law, I don’t have to. But I do.

Please have children, mister. Or a batshit ex.

“Afternoon, Officer. I’m afraid I took a wrong turn,” I tell the middle-aged man, bending into the window.

Asshole. Get away from me.

“I’m looking for the Fun Zone,” I speak over the podcast, announcing the punchline of the day. “Can you tell me where it is, please? My GPS said 610 Bridge Lane, but technology and Mom brain don’t match.” I roll my eyes and suppress a giggle. “I wouldn’t want to be late for Liam’s birthday party. On an ecological point, I should’ve carpooled with the baby daddy, but, you know, there are reasons why we split.” A dry laugh. “Fred’s the one who made the reservation. I swear he wants to make me look bad—”

“…where every murder mystery comes with a twist of humor.”

“Can you lower the volume, miss?”

“Sure.” I twist the volume up, causing the officer to take a step back.

“And he tattooed the code on his back!”

“Sorry!” And I turn it back down. “Hey, what happened here?” I point to the townhouse. “Something gruesome?” My lips stretch despite myself, and I wiggle my eyebrows.

The police officer frowns, but I can’t see his eyes through his shades.

His scrutiny pulls a tentative “sorry” from my lips. Every crease in his face deepens as he inspects me, weighing my story. He glances to the back seat, sees Bonsaï playing his part, and stares back at me.

But then, the radio clipped to his chest crackles to life with a series of numbers.

With all my knowledge, I catch two things.

One: the Vancouver safehouse intruder is an armed and dangerous male.

Two: a police unit is pursuing him.

A burst of static follows.

The distraction works in my favor; the officer hesitates, his focus breaking for a heartbeat.

Come on, man.

“All right, ma’am.” He straightens and points down the street. “Fun Zone is two blocks down and to your left. On Birchland Street. You’ll see the sign.” He finally stands back, letting me pass.

---