Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
I looked across the bustling space and saw Mace in an intense conversation with that man who wore a more-official-than-the-normal-official uniform.
Then, after I got over the shock of them all standing together (seriously, it was like staring at the sun), I also saw Liam, Brady, Knox, Gabe and Roam hanging. They were chatting like they were discussing how they thought the Cardinals would do tomorrow, and not like they were in proximity to a house that was ablaze, firemen working to contain it, nearly a dozen cop cars with the cops from those cars hustling around, and (cripes!) paramedics rushing an occupied stretcher to the ambulance.
Gabe had some blood on his Henley, but it was clearly not his.
Time to stop looking at the guys.
I turned back to my guy.
“Copy that,” I said to Eric.
“I’ll go check and see how that’s progressing,” Eric said. “Stay right here. I’ll be back.”
I nodded.
Harlow and Luna got close to me. Raye wandered over when Cap was called to talk to a uniform. We stood together, with me glancing often to Homer and the others to see if I could take their temperature (I couldn’t).
Though, they were openly tweaked and restless, but who wouldn’t be?
I felt something funny and looked the other way.
Titus was leaning against the fender of his Jag, arms crossed on his wide chest.
When he caught my eyes, he dipped his head down and to the side in what I understood was a unique salute.
He pushed away from his car, went to the door, folded in, reversed out.
And he was gone.
A couple of not-so-fun things happen when you spring a bunch of abductees from unpaid, forced labor in a Fentanyl, heroin, cocaine operation.
Yes, it was confirmed that was why they took Homer and the rest of those people.
Allow me to explain…
The first not-so-fun thing was watching your man, who prided himself on keeping his cool, lose his ever-lovin’ mind, at the same time you watched your friend’s man do the same, when the dude with the more-official-than-the-normal-official uniform told a couple of cops to round the four of us Angels up, put us in police cars and take us to the station.
I shared a car with Harlow, and before we were whisked away, I watched Eric being very in the face of the big kahuna cop. Cap, his entire body so tight, it was a visible ticking time bomb, was right at his back.
The rest of the guys were fanned around them, and I couldn’t tell from body language, should the situation escalate, if the Hottie Squad would pull Eric and Cap off or join in.
Though, it seemed like they were veering toward the joining-in scenario.
That was scary, and after all we’d just been through, I didn’t want Eric to get arrested for assaulting a police officer, but it was also all kinds of sweet (not to mention sexy AF).
As we drove away and lost sight of them, I took stock of my girls’ and my current situation.
On the good side, we hadn’t been handcuffed.
On the bad, we were in the back of cop cars, somewhere I’d never been, and I couldn’t say much for the experience.
And after I asked what this was about, and the cop who was driving said, “Chief wants you, that’s all I know, so don’t ask any more questions,” I was no closer to knowing why I, as well as all my besties, were in cop cars on a mandatory trip to the station.
More on the good side, when we got there, we weren’t printed, nor did we have our mugshots taken, which was fair, I thought, seeing as we hadn’t committed a crime (that I knew of).
Instead, all four of us were taken to an interrogation room, we were given cups of really bad coffee and told to sit our asses down and wait.
And wait we did.
For two hours.
(Okay, maybe it was more like half an hour, my sense of time was skewed seeing as I would rather have been procuring plastic bags and whatever the others needed to feel safe going back to their spaces.)
Eventually, fancy uniform guy walked in.
We were seated, two on one side of the table (me and Harlow), two at each end (Raye and Luna).
He took the only open chair on the other side of the table from Harlow and me.
“I’m Jorge Alvarez. Phoenix Chief of Police.”
He didn’t offer his hand, so none of us did either.
“Now, my guess is, you girls know about the Rock Chicks,” he went on.
Okay.
I could call myself a girl. And my girls could call me a girl. And other girls could call me a girl. And Eric could call me his girl.
But I was a thirty-three-year-old woman.
To this dude, I was not a girl.
My eyes narrowed.
He didn’t miss it.
“Shit. Women,” he muttered his correction.
Better.
I kept my eyes narrowed.