Page 87 of Lost Touch

“Yes,” Brian whispered, and nudged Clayton with his elbow. “Clay, come on, man.”

“Yeah,” Clayton choked out. “Okay.”

“And we’re all clear on what’s going to happen to you if you don’t do that in the next ten minutes?”

“Claws, liver, other internal organs, etcetera,” I put in helpfully—and probably way too cheerfully, but fuck it.

Drewlovedme. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, careful not to scratch me.

How could I help being a little chirpy?

“We’re clear,” Brian said.

“Good,” Drew replied. “I have better things to do with the rest of my day.”

And he turned his head and winked at me.

I smiled back.

God, I loved him so fucking much too. And I couldn’t wait to scream it to the ceiling.

***

Of course, the police ended up taking the rest of the day anyway.

Drew escorted Clayton and Brian to the station, since neither of us actually believed they’d go on their own. I thought they were more likely to lock themselves in a closet and keep pissing themselves than run, but either way.

One of the officers on duty happened to be an alpha werewolf. Drew pulled him aside and mentioned that the victim in the case was his mate, and the officer didn’t have any more questions about Drew’s involvement. Drew told me the officer quietly complimented him on his restraint, since Clayton and Brian came in with a few contusions rather than missing limbs.

And then they called me in, and I sat through hours of endless questions—with Drew at my side, since legally mates couldn’t be separated, it turned out.

Thank God for that, because without him right there next to me I might have broken down.

But instead, I stuck to the simplest story I possibly could: I’d lost my memory, I’d been kidnapped and assaulted, and eventually I’d escaped. Drew had found me by the side of the road and helped me.

We’d fallen in love and mated, and Drew had brought me here to look for my family and my missing past.

The end.

By the sidelong glances the detectives questioning me exchanged, they thought our story had more holes than Swiss cheese. They asked me the same things, phrased a little differently, over and over again.

But with Drew backing me up, I felt untouchable, my confidence soaring in a way it never could have without my mate holding my hand.

Mymate.

Every time I looked at him, or thought about him, I couldn’t help smiling. It probably made me seem even crazier to the detectives.

But whatever. I didn’t care. And Clayton and Brian, terrified into compliance by Drew’s last-minute spate of threats in the car, insisted they’d come in under no coercion whatsoever, and that as soon as I’d turned up alive they’d realized they had to obey their consciences and clear my name.

They got booked for a variety of charges and led away in handcuffs.

Drew and I were told very sternly that we had to be available for further questions and would be called as witnesses if Clayton and Brian went to trial rather than taking some kind of plea deal. The alpha officer popped out of his cubicle to whisper his congratulations on our mating, slap Drew on the shoulder, and leer at me.

And then we walked out into the late-afternoon spring sunshine, free and clear and hand in hand. The police station had a wide set of white steps leading down to the sidewalk. It almost felt like coming out of a church after getting married, and I had to choke down a hysterical burst of laughter at the thought.

Instead of heading to the car, Drew pulled me the other way, down the block and across the street to a little park on the corner. It didn’t have much, just a stretch of lawn and a few hedges and rose bushes, all of the latter blooming in California’s perpetual warm weather despite April being a little early.

Drew tugged me behind a bank of white climbing roses that were swarming with bees and flooding the air with sweetness.

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