Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)

I look left and right over the rail of the balcony, but the street below is empty of cars.

“You going to call them?” she asks loud enough to wake up the whole building.

“Yes,” I say, hoping it will shut her up.

“I don’t appreciate being woken up at the crack of dawn by cops banging down my door.”

“Sorry about that.” Before she can complain more, I shut the door and lock it.

Leaning against the wood, I drop my bag on the small table in the entrance and cover my mouth with a hand. The jacket I’m still wearing smells of tobacco and leather. The sting between my legs is an accusing reminder of what I’ve done. But what floors me most is the soft promise that tailed me like an ominous shadow and followed me inside my safe haven.

I wiggle my shoulders, letting the jacket fall to the floor as if the leather isn’t butter-soft and warm against my skin. It takes me a moment to gather myself.

Just go through the motions, Cas.

In times of doubt or duress, I stick to the routine. It helps me cope. When I’m steadier, I take off my heels, pick up the jacket, and look around the apartment for a hiding place.

No, I can’t keep it here. I’ll have to dump the jacket somewhere later. For now, I leave it in a heap on the sofa. I can’t believe Ian took the risk of leaving me with his jacket. He must’ve known I’d be tempted to hand it over to the police, but then his warning rings in my head, those dark words he’d pressed to my lips with a kiss.

Shaking off the disturbing thought, I head for the bathroom. I need to wash this night away. I need to let the warm water soothe me so I can think.

Just as I reach my bedroom, a loud knock falls on the door.

“Police. Open up.”

Chapter 5

Cas

The man on my doorstep has blond hair and green eyes. He’s well-built and on the tall side. The one behind him is willowy and dark.

“Detective Wolfe,” the one with the green eyes says, holding up his badge. “We had a report of a hijacking.” He scrutinizes me, taking in my hair, face, clothes, and bare feet. “I need you to come down to the station and answer a few questions.”

Shit. I break out in a cold sweat. “Of course. I just need to have a quick shower. I’ll come down straight after.”

A smile that looks a lot like a challenge flickers across Wolfe’s face. “Under the circumstances, I’d say a shower can wait.”

I grip the edge of the door, hysteria morphing into anger. “I’ve been held hostage all night. I’d say you’d want a shower too, if you’d been in my shoes.”

“A criminal is on the loose, Ms. Joubert.” His tone is condescending. “Every minute we waste is a minute our chances of catching him diminishes.” He drops his gaze to my feet. “I suggest you get some shoes. We’ll drive you.”

“We can just question you here,” the lanky man says, giving his colleague an uncertain look. “We know you’ve been through a lot.”

Detective Wolfe clenches his jaw. For a second, it looks as if he’s going to step inside. Double shit. Ian’s jacket lies in plain view on my sofa.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Just give me a minute.”

Not wanting them to follow me inside, I grab my sneakers from the coat closet and fit them without socks. Taking my bag from the table, I say, “I’m ready.”

They wait for me to lock up and escort me downstairs under Mrs. Steyn’s scrutiny, who nods as if she’s happy I’m being taken away by two detectives.

Detective Wolfe bundles me into the back of an unmarked car, a white Toyota. On the basic end of the scale, it says a lot about the government’s carpool budget.

“You all right back there?” the lanky one asks, turning in his seat to smile at me as Detective Wolfe takes the wheel.

I fold my arms around myself in an effort to dispel the chill I feel all the way to my bones. “Yes, thanks.”

My breathing is shallow and my heart racing, making my palms sweat, but I keep a straight face and pretend to look through the window as the detective stares at me in the rearview mirror.

Thankfully, the drive to the station is short. Rustenburg is a small town. We enter the redbrick building with Detective Wolfe clutching my elbow as if I’m going to run away.

The reception area only has four chairs, all of them occupied. A man pressing a paper towel to his bleeding cheek sits in one. A woman with a toddler in her lap sits next to him, leaning as far away as she can without falling from the chair. On the opposite side, an old woman sobs while the young man next to her is trying to console her.