“Yeah, yeah.” I smiled at her and then scowled as red and blue lights started flashing behind me.
Son of a bitch.
“What the hell?” Heather said, turning in her seat as I pulled to the side of the road.
“Turn around,” I ordered, grabbing my wallet and registration. “Don’t say shit.”
“What do you think I’m going to—”
“Not a fuckin’ word, Heather,” I warned as I rolled down my window.
She may have been pulled over before. Hell, knowing her, she may have even been picked up before. But she’d never been pulled over in a car that an Ace was driving.
“License and registration,” the cop said, standing a little bit behind me at the window.
I handed it out with a nod, then set my hands back on the steering wheel as the cop walked back to his car. I didn’t move. Any shift in my position could make the guy nervous, and I sure as shit didn’t want to make him nervous with Heather sitting next to me. I watched him in the rearview mirror, and the minute he stepped back out of his car I fucking knew.
“Take the Nova straight to the clubhouse,” I told Heather as the cop walked back toward us. “And don’t say a motherfuckin’ word to this cop.”
“What?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“Sir, can you step out of the car?” the cop asked.
I took a deep breath and nodded, reaching out the window to open the door from the outside. Jesus Christ, they were picking me up the day after my wedding.
A few minutes later when I was face down on the hood, my hands being cuffed behind me, I was thanking God they’d picked me up the day after my wedding. I wasn’t carrying for the first time in years. Even if they tore the Nova apart they wouldn’t find anything. Everything was squeaky clean.
“Hey, man. Can my wife take the car home?” I asked quietly, staring at Heather through the windshield.
She was crying, one hand over her mouth as she watched the cop help me stand back up.
“Yeah,” the cop answered. He was looking at her, too.
She was still in her wedding dress.
I winked at her as the cop walked me back to his patrol car, and after her initial shock I was surprised when she didn’t jump through the window to throttle me. But that was good. I wanted her mad. She couldn’t sit there on the side of the road crying her eyes out. I needed her to get back to the club and let them know I’d been picked up.
Apparently early that morning a warrant had been put out for my arrest for the murder of Mark Phillips.
I was banking on the fact that, without a body, their case was bullshit.
Chapter 13
Heather
“Let me the fuck inside,” I ordered through my teeth as I rolled up to the gate. “I don’t have time to pop the fucking trunk.”
“You know the rules,” the little jackass on the gate shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.
I looked around for some sort of lever but I had no idea if cars that old even had a trunk-popper thingie. I’d had a hard enough time driving with the fucking manual transmission. I knew how, but it had been years since I’d driven one. Oddly enough, I was pretty sure the last time I’d driven a stick I’d been in the Nova. Mick and I had stolen it and moved it down the street at a party so Tommy couldn’t find it when he wanted to leave. We’d gotten to stay an extra hour that night.
“Fine,” I bitched, climbing out of the Nova and stomping around to the back. I unlocked the trunk and threw it open, gesturing like a game show host and making the jackass roll his eyes.
“You’re good,” he announced with a nod, slamming the trunk closed again.
“I told you that,” I growled, climbing back into the car. “Now open the fucking gate.”
The Nova kicked up gravel as I made my way to the clubhouse, but I was too rattled to slow down. I’d heard the policeman reading Tommy his rights. Somehow they’d gotten enough evidence that they were able to arrest him for murdering Mark Phillips.
When Tommy had told me they’d never find the body, I’d believed him. He’d seemed sure. But I was terrified they’d found something else, some security footage or a fingerprint or a journal or something that would tie the two of them together. I had no idea what had even happened, so I couldn’t speculate on what they might have found. Not knowing was terrifying.
“You okay?” the old guy Poet asked as I pulled to a stop and jumped out of the car. He was sitting on one of the picnic tables, but as soon as he saw the look on my face he pushed slowly to his feet. “Girl, you need help?”