Page 8 of Wicked Sin

“Ms. Reid. Look at me.” The cop—the detective—is squatting in front of me, holding me up against the wall.

“Shouldn’t move an injured person,” I whisper. Oh, good. Words. Nice to be able to talk. Might pass out, but at least I can talk.

“You aren’t injured. You’re freaking out. Try to slow down your breathing.”

“What?”

He moves around me, his hand sliding over my shoulder and into the middle of my back. I focus on that. His hand. Warm. Alive.

We’re alive.

My car blew up. The tightness grows.

“Let it out. Exhale. More. Exhale. Slow it down.”

I shrug off his touch. “I’m fine.”

I’m not. But I can hear sirens now. Distant, but getting closer. Detective Vasquez mutters something that sounds like code, and I realize he’s on the phone.

“I need you to walk,” he says. Not code. I blink at him. “Up you get, princess.”

Oh. Me. I stumble to my feet and he takes me by the arm, leading me to the back of the building. My building, which I brought a car bomb to, apparently.

I’m the worst employee ever.

Oh, God. Hysterical laughing burbles up inside me, and then it’s sliding out in wild, choking sobs. Not laughter really at all. I stumble again, but then a cop car is there. A woman in a uniform runs toward us and takes my other arm. Detective Vasquez tells her something that I miss, and she lets go. He’s got me, apparently.

He opens the back door and guides me to the seat.

A seat in the back of an ordinary LAPD cop car.

People like me usually get to turn ourselves in with high-priced lawyers at our sides.

Not that I’ve ever had to do that, but I’m aware of the process.

I don’t care. My thighs are shaking.

The air conditioning feels good, and I close my eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. I hear it dully through the roar in my ears.

I nod as tears slide down my face.

5

Luke

It doesn’t take longfor the cavalry to arrive. Three cars, then two more. I task the next uniform I see to securing the perimeter, and then point at the third. “You.” I flash him my badge, then gesture to the first car. “Watch her. Flag me if she moves. The second the ambulance gets here, have her checked out for shock.”

Our chopper is circling overhead, and I press my phone to my ear again, eager to hear their radio feed. “Negative. No suspicious movement on Eagle Rock. I’ll circle back.” My phone beeps. Call waiting. It’s the captain. I switch lines and answer the call. “This is Vasquez.”

“This escalated quickly,” she says crisply in my ear. “Give me the quick report because you know the next call is going to be from the Secret Service for reasons neither of us properly understand.”

“You’ve got as much information as I do. Unexpected car bomb in our definitely-not-a-real-suspect’s vehicle. Detonated when Ms. Reid pressed her key fob to unlock the car. Uh…” I do the quick math in my head again. “Fifth push of the button. Something went wrong with the explosive, though. Maybe only partially detonated. Won’t know until the bomb squad gets here. Ms. Reid is unharmed but distressed. She’s secured in my car at the moment, and I’m doing a quick walkthrough before I hand off control of the scene and escort Ms. Reid to the hospital. Partly to have her looked at, and partly to get her into a secure location where I can question her without being obvious about it. She’s not particularly cooperative.”

“Did she deny the drug possession charge?”

“We didn’t get that far into the conversation.”

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