She flicked her wavy blond hair over her shoulder. "Your quitting wouldn't have something to do with our little misunderstanding, would it?"
Do ya' think? "Nah. It's just what I said."
"About the misunderstanding part, you misunderstood that, too." She hooked a finger in the chain around her neck, sawed it back and forth, bringing the charm up from between her breasts. "So much misunderstanding going on. I'm not saying anything bad happened, but if you go around shooting' your mouth off, people are going to think something did happen."
She kept on stroking that chain, the dangling charm swaying, the red circle with a black triangle in the middle a freaking hypnotizing eye magnet straight down to her—
He jerked his gaze away. Up to her face.
"My reputation will be a mess, Chris. Word gets around, doors will close for me. Word will get around about you, too. People will think you just got away with it, but that you're really a mule. A carrier."
He swallowed down fear and a hefty whiff of her perfume. How could he have ever thought she smelled good? "I didn't have any idea what was going on."
"If you go to the cops with what you think you saw, and say there was something bad going on, do you think they're going to believe you're innocent? They're going to think you're trying to save your skin."
She dropped the necklace back to rest against her tanned skin. "And if, just if, something big really was going on, don't you think the people you're dealing with might be smarter than you?"
Straightening from the car, she flattened a hand to his face and patted. "But guys who play nice don't get hurt."
Miranda stroked her fingers along his chin on her way past, leaving him standing alone by the car wondering how in the hell he ever could have thought Miranda Casale was hot. She was a freaking snake in Lyrca. His cheek itched where she'd touched him.
As his dad would say, he was in a crapload of trouble.
Chris jerked open the car door, double-checked the back seat to make sure it was empty and climbed behind the wheel.
Locked the doors really fast.
Part of him wanted to crawl away and hide. Okay, most of him wanted to do that, but he'd been hiding for a couple of weeks now. Instead of getting better, things were getting worse.
He felt like puking. But he wouldn't. He would be like his dad. This was the time to be a man.
He would have to come clean.
God, did Miranda really think he was stupid enough to believe nothing was going on? If there had been any doubts before, her little chat cinched it for him.
If he'd been a mule once—his stomach roiled—then they would use that as leverage to make him do other things. Maybe worse things.
Sweat popped on his forehead, feeding his zits. He would have to do something. He would have to talk to his dad after his flight.
Used to be he could talk to his mom easier, but his dad and even Mr. Haugen were both right about keeping women safe. A pregnant chick needed to be protected most of all. No question, his dad wouldn't want this dumped on her. His dad also wouldn't want her left at home alone with this kind of crap hanging over their heads.
The car accident.
Sweat iced. His stomach pitched. Chris scrambled for the handle, stumbling out of the car with half a second to spare before he lost his supper on the gravel.
Doubled over, gripping his knees, he gasped for clean air that didn't stink like Miranda's cologne, fried fish and a screwed-up life.
God. What a wuss. He dragged the tail of his T-shirt over his mouth and staggered back into the car.
He didn't have time to be sick. He needed to get home to his mom. And if he wanted to make it there without more pit stops to heave up his guts, he couldn't think about what might happen next.>"My advice, son? Go ahead and quit the job at the restaurant. Study your butt off for the exams. Then enjoy the hell out of that lifeguard job. I'm betting one of those bathing suits works her way over to your tower by the end of the first week."
He clapped his son on the back, and even though Chris only scrounged a half smile, their talk had gone well. Or at least better than any talk before.
The door into the house squeaked, opened. Rena stood silhouetted, wearing a maternity jumper.
Who the hell sucked all the air out of the garage? Because he damn well couldn't find any.
This baby was real, and getting closer to being born. A dumb-ass obvious thought, still the speed of time ticking away hadn't hit him until then.