Page 119 of Riordan's Revenge

Despite the officer’s words, all I’d done was break the speed limit and cause a fuss around town. Nothing was damaged. No one had been hurt. I should get away with a slap on the wrist.

Except for the knife.

Being caught with a blade carried a minimum sentence. It could be argued that I’d been the aggressor, chasing down another man with the intention of doing him harm. From the outside point of view, that’s exactly how it looked.

My hands formed fists at my sides.

What if their plan didn’t work? What if I never got to hold Cassie again? To kiss her?

Another thought rushed in. I was already in deep after stealing from the mayor’s house. As far as I knew, they’d only had a report of an unknown woman which they’d guessed at being skeleton crew from her mask. My name hadn’t been mentioned. That might’ve changed.

Maybe that’s what the cop had meant by the length of my rap sheet.

My palms sweated. Further voices sounded outside the cell, and I gritted my jaw.

“What took ye so long?” Struan snapped at someone unseen.

I rushed to the door and peered out.

In the stark corridor, he emerged from an opposite cell, glowering at a uniformed cop.

The officer said nothing, only jerked his thumb at the exit.

Struan passed my door and spotted me. He thumped on the thick metal. “You’re next, lover boy. Hold tight.”

He disappeared, and a few minutes later, with a beep of the keypad, my cell door clicked open.

The duty officer stood in the frame, his mouth twisted in a scowl. “Seems you’re free to go.”

I hid the effects of my speeding pulse and exited the narrow room. No way could it be this easy. We jogged up steps and through a couple more pass-coded doors until we emerged in the brightly lit reception area.

Through the front doors, I spotted Struan with two other men. Sinclair was one, and the other was an older man with grey hair and in a suit. A solicitor, perhaps.

I twisted back to the cop who was saying something to me.

He took a clear plastic bag of my possessions and set it on a tray, then deposited it on the countertop.

My bike keys. My jacket. The knife was missing, no surprise.

I avoided his gaze as I shrugged on my leathers and pocketed my keys. It felt like at any second the narrative would flip and I’d be right back in that cell.

I needed to get out of here like I’d never needed to escape a place before.

“Thanks,” I muttered then wheeled around.

From down another corridor, a man strolled, confident and smug like he owned the place, with two people who looked like plainclothes officers at his side.

The mayor of Deadwater.

I froze at the sight. In all my years in this city, I’d never been this close to my father. I’d once visited his house with the intent of challenging him, but he hadn’t been home. That was the nearest I’d come.

His gaze flicked over me then away.

Heat surged in my blood. He hadn’t even recognised me yet he’d dismissed my presence.

The trio stopped at the reception desk with one of the plainclothes officers leaning in to address the duty sergeant.

“Heard anything about my missing painting?” the mayor questioned.

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