“Oh God,” I murmur, and my mind is on the trumped-up arrest warrant for killing his brother that we all know is meant to get him in jail, where Waters will have him murdered. I tug on Adrian’s hand with all my force. “It’s a setup. Waters will have you murdered in jail. You have to go. Leave me here. I’ll cover for you. Go over the fence.”
“That’s exactly where we’re going,” he says, scooping me up in front of him and all but bulldozing me toward the fence, but it’s too late. The sirens are loud, right on top of us now. There’s not enough time for me to get over that fence, not without Adrian sacrificing himself. I won’t let him do that.
I rotate to face him, hands planted on his chest. “I have Walker with me. I’ll handle the police. Go! Go! Go!”
“Pri, damn it.” The first car halts near us and the minute that officer gets out of his vehicle, if he’s dirty, he could shoot Adrian and blame the warrant. They won’t so easily get away with killing me. Decision made, with all the speed and effort I can muster, I roll away from Adrian and run toward an officer.
Adrian curses, but I hear the slam of his foot on the metal of the car. I can almost see him in my mind’s eye, the torment in his handsome face as he vaults the fence and leaves me behind.
But I’m not tormented.
He’s gone. He’s alive and safe. I can breathe again.
***
ADRIAN
I land on the opposite side of the fence, directly in front of a dark warehouse. My fingers press to the grassy area left behind from when this area was a field not part of a cityscape, trees clustered around me, hiding what I feel from my line of sight: I’m being watched. I’m not alone.
I squat behind a wide, old tree trunk and listen to the dull hum of music lifting in the night air, muted voices, telling me the sound comes from a nearby bar. The sound of cars, a distant horn, more voices. And the barely-there snap of a twig.
Sixty seconds ago I thought Pri was better off here with me and I haven’t changed my mind.
A dirty cop is harder to kill than an asshole in the woods.
I shift and ease around the tree, just in time to catch a glimpse of movement by the building. A figure in all-black breaks for an industrial trashcan, followed by not one, but two more men. There’s another snap of a twig to my left. I decide Pri is better off on the other side of the fence, where Walker will protect her. Right now, I’m at least four against one.
Chapter Five
PRI
I’m panting as not one, but three, police officers surround me, the breathlessness I feel no doubt a mix of exertion and fear for Adrian. He’s over the fence, he’s safe, I tell myself again, but doubt creeps in. What if someone was waiting for him on the other side? What if the police follow him and find him?
“Ma’am, what is going on?” a short, dark-haired, slightly pudgy, cop demands, his hand on his weapon.
“I’m Pri Miller with the DA’s office,” I breathe out, not really sure what to tell them first. It’s a lot. So very much, in fact, and so I just do my best. I say it all. Who I am. Who Waters is. Why I have private security. How and why I was attacked tonight and by who. I spill it all out in about twenty seconds.
Footsteps clunk on the car behind us, the one by the fence, and I turn to find several officers piling over the fence. There are at least ten officers here, I realize in that moment, and alarm bells go off. Why are there so many officers? I rotate to face the three cops huddled around me.
My hand grips my purse, where my gun still sits beyond the zipper, and at this point, I fear I might need it all over again. Not all of these men are not dirty. “Isn’t this response a little extreme?”
“We’re just doing our jobs,” one of the officers explains.
“Exactly.” A tall, muscular man, another uniform, steps into the circle. His hair is dark, his skin sunbaked. There’s an edge to him, a threatening undertone to his presence and he’s only spoken one word. “We have a restaurant full of people to protect and you are the Assistant DA on a high-profile case, worthy of a big response,” he adds and eyes my purse. “Is the weapon you used to shoot your ex-boyfriend in that purse?”
My ex-boyfriend.
That phrase does not sit well. This cop knows it, too. He’s an asshole and it’s intentional.
Still, I simply state, “It is.”
Asshole cop motions to another officer, who holds out a bag toward me. “The entire purse please,” the officer requests.