Page 85 of S.O.S. Billboard

Halleluiah. The man was finally staking his claim.

Billboard snarled at the men in blue, which had now grown to five officers. “I suggest the rest of you don’t try anything physical, or it will all be caught on phones. Delaney here,” he canted his head toward the cop who now looked a little green, “is going to regret his actions when our lawyer gets a hold of him.”

Yeah.O’Shea silently cheered. SOS must have an amaze-balls lawyer.

The group of officers, however, was not so spooked. They’d done nothing wrong except respond to a fellow officer’s call for assistance.

“On your feet, both of you,” the weapon-wielding cop ordered, but he wasn’t quite as wild with his gun as he’d been before.

O’Shea and Billboard both complied, rising slowly.

O’Shea snorted as they were marched toward the paddy-wagon.

It looked like—at least for the immediate future—she and Billboard were headed to jail.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Things could be worse.

Billboard was being led into a jail cell, but his temporary home was next to the one in which O’Shea was going to be kept. Only a few metal bars would be separating them. Not such a bad deal. And…score. There were no other prisoners being held at the moment, so they had the place to themselves.

The door slammed behind him, and he heard O’Shea’s close, too. That’s when he glanced over at her to tease, but saw something he’d never witnessed on her face before.

Pure panic.

“What is it, O’Shea?” Concern laced his voice as he headed right for the dividing bars between them, wrapping his fingers around the steel as if he could eradicate the barrier with his bare hands.

“O’Shea,” he prompted again. But it was like she hadn’t heard him. The fearless woman he knew was gone, and the one who’d taken her place had gone to the farthest corner of the cell and was crouched down, eyes unfocused, with her arms wrapped around her middle as she rocked.

“O’Shea,” he yelled, not caring if he was disturbing the officers outside the detention block. “Sweetheart. Look over here. It’s me. Billboard.” She didn’t turn to him, but remained locked in some kind of hell.

Dammit.He’d seen this behavior before, and he’d dealt with it himself. It was PTSD. There was no doubt in his mind.

There’d been a period in his life when…

No.Now was not the time to get distracted, revisiting his ghosts. He had to see if he could help O’Shea.

“O’Shea.” He lowered his voice, calling her again, but this time attempting to have it flow out of him like pure honey. “Everything’s okay. You’re not alone. We’re in this together. I’ve got you, no matter what. Now please, sweetheart, come over here and take my hand. We’ll wait for the good guys to get here, together.”

Her dead eyes turned to regard him as a shiver jolted her entire body.

“When can I come out?” she asked, her words reedy. It was a voice he’d never heard coming out of O’Shea before.

She sounded almost like…a little girl.

Shit.What kind of flashback was she having?

Billboard wanted immediate answers, but he patiently responded to her wobblily asked question. “We’ll be released as soon as Mizzay reems a few asses,” Billboard explained, wondering whether O’Shea was actually hearing him, and if she was, how much was getting through to her brain. “Remember? We were allowed one phone call, and we contacted Mizzay, our friend and the receptionist at SOS?”

There was no reply from O’Shea, but he hadn’t really expected one.

Billboard went on. “That woman was seriously headed for DEFCON 1 when we told her what had happened, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of spooks from some three-letter agency don’t storm this place with AK’s, ready for action.”

Billboard tried to keep his comments light and semi-ridiculous, maintaining a one-sided conversation, attempting to draw O’Shea out of whatever horror in which she’d become lost.

“Wouldn’t you like to move over closer to me?” Billboard finally urged after several minutes of talking about whatever popped into his head.

“She…she won’t like that.”

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