Page 49 of Ms. Lead

Shut up, Bianca.

He nods, hands still on his hips. “May I see your license and registration, please?”

Shit. Is he serious? Could we be cited for this? This is a Mischief Motors car. What if it gets towed? How will I explain that to Normandy?

“Ma’am? License and registration?”

“Oh, sorry.” I have got to pull myself together. Why do people get so flustered around law enforcement? I open the console between Oliver and me and grab my documentation, handing it over to the officer.

“Hang tight,” he drawls, heading back to his cruiser.

I notice then that his red and blue lights are flashing, too, so we’re now a spectacle on top of everything else. I rack my brain, trying to remember if there’s some sort of law we’re breaking here on the side of the highway. I don’t think there is.

Oliver stares at me suspiciously. “You don’t have warrants for your arrest, do you?”

I stare back. “Only for that one murder.”

“One?”

“Yeah, it was a passenger who actually looked a lot like you. Asked a lot of nosey questions about things that were none of his business. Get my drift?” I deadpan, turning this into instant improv.

We stare for a moment longer and then burst into laughter.

“Shhh. Shit. Act cool. He’s coming back,” Oliver says hurriedly, all the while laughing. Acting like we’re about to be sent to detention or something.

I sit back straight, trying to suppress my laughter at the situation as the officer steps into view next to the car. He hands me back my license and registration.

“Right. Ms. Torino.” He is acting all business, but he’s still got that smirk of amusement. “You two are free to go, but next time you want to have a… conversation, you may want to exit the highway entirely. Do you get my meaning?”

I nod emphatically.

“I do. I absolutely do. It won’t happen again.” I’m about to cross my heart but somehow stop myself. At least I’m not laughing anymore.

“You two have a good rest of your afternoon. Safe travels.” The officer tips his brimmed hat at us and heads back to his vehicle.

I start driving again and carefully merge back into the flow of cars. About a mile down the road, when it looks like the coast is clear of any further law enforcement, we glance at each other briefly and start laughing again.

Maybe this trip is salvageable after all.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

OLIVER

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

We’re staying the weekend on a ranch owned by the Carmichaels just past the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. After a quick stop in a little town for dinner and to stock up on supplies, we arrive at the house. It’s so remote, the driveway isn’t really even a driveway, but a full-on road about a mile and a half long, so ‘secluded’ would be a good descriptor for where we’re spending the weekend.

I was also warned that the wildlife in the area is actually wild and not domesticated in any way, shape, or form. So that, too, has been duly noted.

After the make-out session on the side of the road was so rudely interrupted by law enforcement, the rest of our trip was much more comfortable than it was when we started. The air between Bianca and me seems to have been cleared for the most part.

We’re still avoiding the central question and the gigantic elephant in the room, ‘What happens to us once I leave?’ but I think that’s a good thing for now. If we’re going to enjoy our last days together, we need to stop any downward spiral before it starts.

My body's hyperawareness for Bianca’s has only grown after being in such tight quarters in the car for so many hours. Every nerve in my body is charged with a yearning to touch her, taste her, and consume every part of her being.

These feelings are not going away as we settle into the house. We both leave our bags in the great room, not committing yet to a shared bedroom, I guess. I wonder if she’s noticed that we’ve each done that or if I’m the only one paying attention to that sort of thing.

“So…” Bianca starts, suddenly awkward, shoving her hands into her jeans pockets. She’s beautiful when she’s bashful.

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