Page 21 of Building What's Meant to Be

I’d love to take these high heels off, but going barefoot in here is probably about as smart as walking through airport security without socks on, which is to say it would be dumb. While the cell is relatively clean and not the kind from a movie set with a metal bowl encrusted with substances that ought to go to a crime lab, a filthy floor with rat droppings, and a wall emblazoned with scratch marks that denote the number of days the inmates have been inside, I don’t dare get too comfortable.

“What are my rights as an arrested person?” I ask.

The police officer stumps over, hiding a playful smile behind his mustache. “I read them to you earlier, but you have the right to remain silent.”

“Are you telling me to be quiet?”

“No, I’m just suggesting you can refrain from answering if Aiden over here pops the question.” He chuckles as if he overheard my fellow jailbird talking about us getting married and me being the future Mrs. Mayor.

Aiden’s smirk grows at Officer Henley’s comment.

When Officer Henley arrested me, he asked if I was under the influence of alcohol. I wonder if he submitted Aiden to the same line of questioning. Though he doesn’t seem drunk, he’s either slightly off-center or extremely confident. I’ve been around plenty of guys like him. All talk. No substance.

If we’d met in any other circumstance, I wouldn’t mind going on a date. But I imagine he’s just trying to make this detainment bearable. To be honest, I don’t blame him a bit.

But he did say I’m beautiful. I tuck the compliment away for now to spare myself disappointment when he sees the real me.

When our eyes first locked a little while ago, I pegged him as the Southern Agent from Malibu. But that’s way too small world—and I’m not talking about the Disneyworld ride. My thoughts are so muddled, stretched so thin from lack of sleep, and relative disorientation due to the current state of affairs, that I can’t be too sure of much other than my name.

My cell neighbor can’t be the guy from Malibu. The house crawled with investigators and countless people were in and out of the room at their headquarters building. In my memory, the night is already foggy, bleary, and it’s very unlikely a member of the FBI would be locked up with me in this little town in the middle of nowhere.

Also, I’m hungry and anything I say or do can be blamed on the doughnut not quite doing the trick. I wouldn’t say no to dinner with this guy—dressed in a well-tailored suit and expensive shoes. He looks like he knows how to shop and frequents the gym, focusing on bicep curls. I could go for some cheese curls. Stress makes me crave junk food. I could also go for French cuisine—they’re big into cheese. I daydream about my wedding—a French countryside theme in lavender and green? Parisian inspired with an abundance of flowers, lacy accents, and miniature Eiffel Tower centerpieces?

“Can you get married in jail?” I ask.

Officer Henley loops his thumbs through his belt. “That’s a good question. Don’t reckon I know for sure, but I believe so. I think you need special permission, but seeing as this isn’t officially jail and you’re merely detained, I suppose you won’t be here long enough for me to answer that.”

Excitement at being released flashes through me like the City of Light on a clear night.

He leans in slightly to add, “Now, just don’t go getting into any more trouble.”

“What about me? Am I free to go?” Aiden asks.

Officer Henley walks toward his desk, taking my hope with him. Maybe that was a tease and being the lone man here, heplays the joint role of good cop and bad cop. He drops into his chair with a creak and kicks his feet up on the desk, steepling his fingers as if thinking.

“Am I going to have to be on parole?” I ask, not exactly knowing how this arrest thing works other than what I’ve seen on TV.

“Seeing as I run the show around here, I’ve been contemplating your sentencing.” His tone is grave.

Aiden’s expression shifts like a camera lens adjusting focus. I don’t know quite what to make of it. Of him. He’s attractive and flirty, but he’s also here, which means he might be crazy or dangerous.

Then again, I’m behind bars too and no one would apply those two words to me. More like flakey and spoiled. I’m surprised at my rare moment of self-awareness and inner humility. I guess getting arrested will do that...along with the anti-pep talk from my brother.

Officer Henley claps his hands together, startling me from my thoughts. With surprising fluidity and speed, he bounces to his feet. “I got it.”

“You got what?” Aiden asks.

“Your punishment.” The keys rattle in his hands.

“You’re letting us go?” Hope lifts my voice.

“Of course.”

“Did you do this just to mess with me?” Aiden snaps both his fingers and points at the police officer. “Mae and Taylor put you up to this. It’s a prank. It would’ve been epic had you put Murder Doll in the backseat of the cruiser. Just saying.”

“Murder Doll?” I whisper.

Aiden gives a little shiver then waves his hand dismissively.

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