Page 113 of Fake for 7 days

"Cameron loved her?" Don was astonished.

"I don't think so." I shook my head. "She was good for his business. She had the right father. With her, he would have been successful. The fact that I then fucked her in his bed, just like he did with Maria, that actually hurt him."

"And now?" Don brought me back to the present.

"Now I want Isabella." After the mental excursion into the past, it suddenly became easy for me to stand by what was going on inside me. "I should have... I should have talked to her long ago. This was all a huge mistake."

Don nodded and slowed down. I knew this left turn all too well. It was so sharp that you couldn't take it at full speed. At that moment, red lights flashed in front of us. A police vehicle was parked in the middle of the road and the officer standing next to it was waving us to the side. Don followed the instruction.

I wanted to tell him to just keep driving. Straight to Manhattan, where Isabella was.

"Your papers, please, sir," the officer requested when Don had rolled down the window. This forced pause made me nervous. Would we have been stopped if I had been behind the wheel?

Don't be silly, Carter. Of course, the police checkpoint would have been here anyway. You'd probably even be in trouble then. You would have certainly been speeding, while Don stuck to the speed limit. You have every reason to be grateful to him.

Don rummaged around in the glove compartment and finally found the papers he was looking for. I stared out the window into the darkness. Isabella was out there somewhere. What would she say when she saw me again? Did she even want to see me again?

The thought made an unpleasant feeling spread in my stomach. She had to want to see me again. Nothing else could be allowed. No way.

"Now we'd like to ask you to take a breathalyzer test." The officer returned Don's papers and took a measuring device out of his pocket. "If everything's in order, you can continue on your way, otherwise we'll have to ask you to come to the station."

Had Don drunk his whiskey? I frantically tried to remember as the officer attached a tube to the device. In the presence of the police officer, I could hardly ask Don if he had had anything to drink. I carefully studied him from the side. He seemed quite relaxed. As the officer held out the device to him, Don leaned forward and blew into the tube.

Then we waited.

I hated waiting.

And now, when I wanted to get to Isabella, even more.

After what felt like an eternity, which in reality was probably only a few seconds, the officer read the result from the device and announced: "Zero alcohol. All clear. You can continue on your way, sir."

"Thank you, sir," Don replied and rolled the window back up.

"Finally!" I grumbled. "If this keeps up, it'll take forever to get to Manhattan."

"Take it easy. Isabella will still be there." Don nodded at me. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What's the worst that could happen? Anything. She could..." I shrugged.

"Why don't you just call her?" Don glanced at me briefly and then focused back on the road. The area was gradually becoming less rural. Even though it would still be a while before we reached Manhattan, we were visibly approaching the city.

"I don't know..." I grumbled. Thoughtfully, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I opened the directory with the numbers and searched for Isabella's name.

It was right at the top.

Isabella Abbott.

I had thrown Isabella out of my life, but I hadn't deleted the number. Had I secretly been hoping all along that Isabella would come back? That she would call me one more time?

Maybe.

Now I took a deep breath and pressed the green phone icon.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

An automated message.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

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