Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(77)

Her focus stayed on the task at hand but she flicked her head at the street. “There’s a laundry up that hill. I saw it in a movie once. With this kind of old car, you can pop the lock right up.”

An ache was starting in his temples. He threw a look up and down the street. “It’s a friend’s car. We can’t damage it.”

“I won’t damage anything.” There wasn’t a whit of doubt in her voice. He tried not to think about how much repairing a Porsche might cost. Well, if she damaged it, she was bloody well paying for it. “Seriously, relax.”

It must be nice to be her. To live in a world where you felt this invincible. He glanced up and down the street again. A man on a bicycle was riding downhill and a woman was running uphill. She threw DJ a suspicious look as she sped by and reached for her phone.

Oblivious to the world around her, Trisha continued to twist away at the metal with remarkable strength and deftness. It was obvious that she was good at using her hands.

“Ow!” A squeak emitted from her. She grabbed one hand with the other without letting the hanger go. “Damn it, I cut myself!” The sharp end of the wire had nicked her skin.

Bloody hell. So much for being good at using her hands. He pushed off the car and walked to her.

There was a small cut at the center of her palm.

“It’s nothing,” she said. But it was bleeding and tiny dots of blood were sprinkled on the cuffs of her white shirt. He reached into his bag, extracted some tissues, and held them out. At least they could stop this nonsense now.

“Thanks,” she said as she tried to pull the wire out. “Shit, it’s stuck.” She let the wire go but it stayed there jammed in the window.

He pressed the tissue to her palm as she watched him.

“It’s just a surface cut.” She pulled away and went back to trying to pry it out. But the thing wouldn’t budge. She was going to wreck Betsy’s car.

He moved her out of the way and took the end of the wire from her and started working it to wiggle it free. But it was well and truly jammed in place. He put all his strength into the next pull and heard the lock pop open.

Just as he felt the touch of a baton on his shoulder.

Her gasp reached him from a distance. Everything slowed to a stop. He closed his eyes, breathing through the hard clench of panic in his belly.

“Put your hands up and turn around.”

He did as he was told and turned around to face the cop, another lanky white man who looked uncannily like Mr. Mantis. His hand was on his holster.

“My hands are in the air, mate, you don’t have to reach for your gun.” To one side of him he heard a movement. God, please don’t let her do something stupid.

“Please don’t tell me how to do my job, sir.”

He said nothing more. Head down. Mouth shut. The blast of terror that had sparked in his belly for a moment, gone. Everything numb, cold. The flash of anger that had erupted as though it had a right to, dead. He focused his energy on not reliving the shit from years ago, on not feeling the cop’s hand on his head as he pushed him into the squad car, on not seeing the metal grid separating him from the driver’s seat as it blurred through tears.

Trisha walked up behind the cop. “Officer, you are making a mistake. We were just trying to get into the car because I left the keys inside. It was my fault.”

The cop reached for his gun again. “You need to step back, miss.”

“She’s unarmed. I’m unarmed. It’s cool, Officer. We’re cool.” There was a thread of something in his voice, something he refused to name, something that was a thousand times worse because she was here.

“It’s not cool,” she snapped, her voice raised and entirely fearless. “Are you actually going to draw a gun on me before you find out what is going on? His hands are on his head, for shit’s sake. And mine are up in the air too; look.”

“Dr. Raje, please,” DJ said. “Let the officer do his job.” He tried to meet the cop’s eyes—just his eyes, because he wasn’t about to make any sudden movements.

“Is this your car, sir?”

“No, it’s a friend’s car.”

The cop stiffened, took his gun out of his holster, and called for backup. “I need to see your license and registration, please.”

“Sure.” DJ forced himself to relax. Breathe. “My license is in my wallet in my back pocket. The registration is in the car.”

“Turn around, please, and keep your hands up where I can see them.”

He turned around and the cop patted his bottom and pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” Trisha said behind him.

“Miss, what are you doing?”

“I’m recording this.”

DJ couldn’t see her but he imagined her pointing her camera at the cop and his temper rose so hard and fast he could barely breathe.

“Ma’am, please put your phone away. I’m just doing my job,” the cop said, a trace of panic entering his voice.

“Dr. Raje, stop it,” DJ said, every instance of phone cameras making cops panic flashing in his head along with Emma lying alone in a hospital bed.

“Your job is to draw a gun at a man trying to retrieve his keys from his car?” Trisha said, her voice dead calm yet laced with rage.