Page 34 of Live Love Steal
“I’m going to lose my son,” I muttered. I set my phone on the dash. The screensaver was a picture of Noah. I’d taken him to the park, and he was hanging upside down from the top bar. With his hair hanging almost straight from his head, he looked like me. It was my favorite photo.
The screen went black, and the cop rapped on my window.
Isobel scrambled through her purse. I wanted to yell at her to stop, but instead slowly rolled down the window and waited to get shot.
I looked up, expecting to see the maw of his gun, but instead saw his laser glare on Isobel.
“I have my registration and insurance card in here somewhere…”
“Do you have your license?” He asked me.
I lifted my hands off the steering wheel, letting the left hand hover in place. “Back pocket, wallet.”
Isobel reached across me. “Here’s the insurance card and the registration.”
If he looked at the VIN number at the bottom corner of the window, I was screwed. We both were screwed. But the cop barely glanced at the papers she handed over.
“Did you know why I pulled you over?”
I shook my head, not willing to guess. They’d use that against you.
Isobel was staring at me. Since I had her attention, I shot her a glare that hopefully told her to shut the fuck up.
“Here.” I pulled my license out of its holder and returned my hands to the wheel.
The cop leaned in slightly. I mentally kicked myself for rolling the window down so far. He was probably looking at the steering column I hadn’t fixed on this car, because, dumbass that I was, I fixed Isobel’s car. The one we weren’t driving, and the one that actually matched her paperwork.
“Why is he driving your car?”
“I…” Isobel started.
And I noticed the alcohol on her breath. That would be another strike.
I spoke over anything she was going to say. “She’s had a few.” I’d had one drink. It was over an hour ago since I slammed the remnants of her drink, given that we’d hung around the club until I was sure to intercept Whoosh at the dealer’s. That wasn’t a neighborhood you wanted to linger in.
“Is that true?”
Isobel nodded. “It was only one, but they filled the glass too high and… fuck. It was a tumbler.”
“They?”
Here’s where she’d tell him about the club, the bikers who’d basically kidnapped her, and then forced her to drink, and I’d be screwed… or at least the club would be. I tried like hell for my thoughts to not show on my face.
“His asshole buddies. Bet me I couldn’t drink whiskey ‘cause I’m only just a little woman. It’s not against the law, you know.”
That did it. I winced. “Iz.”
“Don’t, ‘Iz’ me. I know. He’s a cop. Duh.”
I was a dead man. I took a chance to tilt my head to look at the cop. He frowned as he stared at my license. “David?”
“Yeah?”
“Does she drink often?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
That got his attention, and Isobel’s. “Jerk,” she muttered.
