Keep Her Safe(84)

Opening my window, I rest my hands visibly on the top of my steering wheel and watch the side-view mirror as the officer climbs out of the driver’s seat.

“Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Gracie glances over her shoulder to spy through the rear window. Her eyes widen. “Is that—”

“Yeah.” We didn’t have to track down Mantis, after all.

He found us.

“This can’t be a coincidence.” What the hell is the head of Internal Affairs doing, pulling us over?

“Coincidence or not, I finally get to meet this piece of shit in person.” I hear the challenge in her voice.

“Gracie . . .”

“He killed my father!” she hisses.

“Which would make him capable of murder. Besides, we don’t have proof. You need to play it cool. Don’t let on about what we know. And don’t aggravate him,” I add in a low whisper, as Mantis slows and stoops on approach, trying to see inside. My windows are tinted, though.

“Hello, sir.” I force a smile when he stops a foot away from my door.

“Please remove your sunglasses.” The deep, grating voice I remember from the night my mother died sounds wooden now.

“Yes, sir.” I slide them to my head and squint against the bright sun as I peer up at his hard face. Growing up around cops and having a high-ranking one for a mother, I have a healthy respect for police, but I’m also comfortable around them.

Mantis, though, made me uneasy even when I didn’t know anything about him. Now . . . every muscle in my body feels tense.

He stoops to settle a shrewd gaze on Gracie and I catch a whiff of cheap cologne.

“What have I been pulled over for, Officer?”

“Is this your vehicle?”

“Yes, sir. Do you want to see the paperwork?”

“Just your license for now.”

I fish my license out of my wallet and hand it to him.

“What are you up to today, Noah Marshall?” Is he playing dumb too? There’s no way he hasn’t made the connection between my name and the late chief. He saw me on the front porch less than two weeks ago, my hands covered in blood, for fuck’s sake.

“Errands.”

A ghost of a smirk touches his thin lips. “This your friend?” He nods toward Gracie.

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your name, miss?”

“Grace.”

“How old are you?”

A frown flickers over her brow. “Twenty. Why?”

“Let me see some ID.”

After a glance my way, she reaches into her purse.

“Slowly!” he barks.

At first she freezes altogether, and then she moves cautiously, sliding her license out of her wallet and handing it to me, to pass along. I hear her teeth crack against each other, and I can’t tell if it’s because she’s pissed or scared. Maybe both.

His beady eyes drift over the console to the envelope, holding the SIU report that sits on her lap, to the backseat. “You don’t mind if I have a look in your car, do you?”

He asks it so smoothly. It’s the oldest trick in the book, according to my mom—getting permission to search a car when you don’t have cause. What is he up to?

His brows lift, waiting for my answer.

“I do mind. I’m not consenting to that.”

“Do you have something to hide?”

“No, sir. I’m just not consenting to you searching my car.”

By the stare he’s leveling me with, I won’t be winning any prizes from him today. “Do you have weapons?”

“I have a handgun locked in a safety box under the seat. I have a permit for it.” Is the switchblade in Gracie’s purse five or six inches? Because six is illegal in Texas. Shit.

He glances around himself, and then backs away. “Step out of the vehicle. Both of you.”

Fuck. “What is this about?”

“Now!”

“Do what he says; don’t give him cause,” I softly warn Gracie, before easing myself out. That may be what he’s looking for. Though, if what we suspect of him is true, he’s perfectly capable of making up shit to haul us in.

“Stand over there.” He points to the curb and I promptly listen, finding my place next to Gracie, my fingertips trailing lightly against her thigh. A reminder that I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to her.

Mantis eyes Gracie before shifting his attention back to me, studying our licenses for several long moments, allowing me to study him, in his dress pants and a button-down shirt. His gun is strapped to his body by a holster.

“Miss Richards, what are you doing in Texas?”

“Visiting my friend.”

“He’s your friend?”

“Yes.”

His gaze slides down Gracie’s body in a way that makes my fists clench. “How long will you be in Texas?”

“Depends.” Her jaw tenses.

“On?” He watches her intently and I see it as a dare.

Please don’t do it, Gracie.

Another beat passes and then she plasters on the widest—fakest—smile I’ve ever seen touch her face. “On how long it takes for Noah to admit he has feelings for me. I mean, I keep dropping these major hints, but he hasn’t picked up on them yet. Are guys normally this thick-skulled or did I just pick an especially dumb one to chase after?”