Page 38 of New Storm Rising
I wasn’t able to think of a suitably criminal reply before I was dragged off. Soon, we reached a steel lattice door behind which I could see a number of people I would not have expected in a prison cell. In fact, I would not have expected them anywhere outside a branch of the Bank of England. They were small, diminutive men dressed in nondescript tailcoats and bowler hats, and looked suspiciously familiar. Like…unfortunate-souls-worked-to-death-in-Mr-Ambrose’s-office familiar! Behind them was another group, men who were much more roughly dressed and would have looked right at home in a mine shaft, singing songs about gold and hacking at the walls with pickaxes.
The local law enforcement was bought off, Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s voice echoed in my mind.The mine workers, management staff and some stubborn locals thrown in prison.
“You there!” Grunting, the sheriff gestured to a young deputy who looked like he was still wet behind the ears. “Search him! We don’t want any weapons in there.”
“Y-yes, Sir! Straight away, Sir!” Rushing forward, the kid started patting me down, until he reached my stuffed socks region, and…
He blinked—then, eyes widening, gaped up at me.
I shrugged, lifting one eyebrow. “I’m big. Get over it.”
“Ehem. Well…err…please turn around, Sir, so I can reach the back of your legs.”
“Sure. Knock yourself out.”
I let the poor boy, who was obviously having a crisis of self-confidence, suffer through the rest of the search. Then the sheriff once again took over and, pulling open the door, shoved me into the cell. With a metal clang, the door slammed shut behind me.
Inside, my mind was still moving a mile a minute. Keeping up my expressionless façade as a hardened desperado was rather difficult as I gazed at the crowd of office staff and mine workers. They were allhis. All of them. I justknewit! Holy Moly…! Had all of this been on purpose? Sending me in here, giving me thatthing…
My hand flew to Uncle Bufford’s socks.
A moment later, I found myself being stared at by a few dozen men with one hand down my crotch.
“Um…” I cleared my throat. “I think I’ve got to go to the little desperado’s room.”
They exchanged looks. Then one of the men pointed at the window.
My eyes widened. What the heck? Did they honestly mean for me to…
Duh.
This was a prison cell exclusively filled with men.Of coursethey did. Oh, the joys of having an inbuilt hose!
Muttering and grumbling under my breath, I hurried over to the window. Luckily, a patrol had just passed by, and not a soul could be seen outside. Whistling, I pressed myself as close to the wall as I could, shielding myself from the view of the men at my back, and slipped a hand beneath the waistband of my trousers. When I pulled it out again, I was holding a box of matches and a stick of—
Holy Mother of Molies!
Not quite able to believe my eyes, I stared down at the thing in my hand.
Are you just happy to see me, a voice whispered at the back of my mind that sounded suspiciously like Amy, my BFFABE (best friend from a brothel ever),or is that a stick of dynamite in your trousers?
“That blasted son of a—!”
I swallowed the rest of my words, mentally cursing Mr Rikkard Ambrose to all seven hells and back!
Dynamite!
Actual, freaking dynamite! In my trousers!
Well, you did once tell him you loved having an explosive relationship…
Shut up, stupid inner voice! Shut up, shut up, shut up!
“Is everything all right?” a hesitant voice enquired from behind. “Don’t be embarrassed. I sometimes have, um…problems, too.”
I felt my face redden. “N-no! I don’t have problems! No problem at all!”
Damn and blast that busybody! Damn and blast Mr Rikkard Bloody Ambrose! I had to hurry! Shoving my hand down my trousers once again, I pulled out the last thing my sorry excuse for a husband had deposited there. Breathing in deeply, I stared down at the crumpled note in my hand.
