Page 23 of The Piece You Stole

I instinctively release my hold on the blade as I turn because I’ve heard that male voice before.

And then I’m staring down the barrel of a gun. Black and so close to my face it’s making me go cross-eyed. My heart lurches so hard in my chest that at first, I think I’m having a heart attack. But I don’t grab my chest and go to my knees, so that can’t be what’s happening.

This must just be terror.

Tearing my gaze from the sight of those double barrels requires superhuman effort. The lightheadedness and sick feeling in the pit of my stomach isn’t exactly helping my ability to concentrate, much less think.

But I manage it.

Eventually.

I’ve never seen these two men’s faces before. But one glance at the gold badges clipped onto identical black belts tells me everything I need to know. That and the pervading fried onion and hotdog scents wafting toward me.

These were the cops from the hospital. The ones who wanted to question me about how and why Felix’s Porsche would take a spill into the river and kill him. The one with a head of thick curly blond hair—and who smells like he ate his way through a hotdog stand—stops pointing the gun at me and waves it in Nathan’s direction. “Back up. Now.”

I start breathing again.

How did they even find me?

Nathan doesn’t move for so long that I know he’s weighing up his odds of survival if he goes for the gun. The blond cop must think so, too, because his green eyes sharpen, and his finger presses down on the trigger.

Click.

I flinch, and I swear the contents of my stomach tries to crawl up my throat. Swallowing hard, I hope it’s enough to stop myself from spewing all over the cop and getting myself shot in the process.

Can I get out of the way fast enough?

Maybe, but doubtful.

Nathan is fast enough to dive into Rylan’s car and get clean away without so much as a scratch on him. Especially if he decided to use you as a human shield.

You just had to think it, didn’t you?I berate myself.

The underground parking level of Rylan’s apartment isn’t particularly cold, but I swear an arctic wind suddenly blows through it, chilling my skin and raising all the hair on the back of my neck.

“Nathan,” Rylan snaps out from inside the car.

Nathan takes a step away, and I breathe a little easier.

As he retreats closer to Rylan’s open car door, the other cop, the olive-skinned, short dark-haired man with mole-like brown eyes, wraps his hand around my right arm and wrenches me further away from Nathan.

I stumble—again for real this time—but I don’t have a chance to fall because the cop throws me face down over the hood of Rylan’s Lexus.

The hollow, metallic thump my head makes on impact creates an echo that seems to go on forever. I’m busy trying to think past my throbbing head, so it takes a while for the cop’s words to register.

“—the murder of Doctor Simon Trevor. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning.”

The cop seems determined to rip my shoulders right out of their joints as he yanks my hands back and pins my wrists to my spine. A familiar, cold weight snicks shut. Brutally efficient hands pat down my back, my ass, my thighs. A hard kick separates my legs, and I cry out as I headbutt the car hood even harder than before. Icy fingers steal up my inner thighs, making me shudder. What the cop expects to find under a dress as short and tight as mine, I have no clue.

Desperate to ease the pressure on my forehead, I tilt my head to the side. I instantly regret it.

My eyes clash with Rylan through the car window. He hasn’t moved from the back seat, and he still has his phone clamped to his ear. His lips are moving, so he must still be talking to his banker.

Rylan might not care, but Nathan is demanding to know what the fuck they think they’re doing. Must be pissed that he doesn’t get to have fun with me after all. He can’t be speaking to the dark-haired cop patting me down, because the cop manhandling me isn’t responding.

“Keep interfering—” the greasy cop interrupts him, “—we’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice. That’s if I don’t just shoot your fucking ass. Save myself the paperwork.Move.”

There’s just enough of a threat in his gravelly voice that makes me think he’ll do it.

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