Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)

Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)

Abigail Graham




Author's Note:

This Special Edition of Broken Wings includes three complete, standalone bonus novels:

Blackbird

Mockingbird

Hawk

Plus previews of

Paradise Falls

Bad Boy Next Door




Jack

Time to crash a wedding.

I don’t have an invitation. Good luck to the guy trying to keep me out. Feels like I’ve been awake for a week, I badly need a cigarette, it’s dark, and I’m wearing sunglasses. I tighten my grip on the wheel.

After almost eight years it feels like driving on another planet, but eerily familiar at the same time. Interstate 95 snakes along the river on my right, Philly on my left as I head north. It’s freezing outside but I roll down the window anyway and let the chill wake me up. It’s like a punch in the face.

The chill and the smell. It smells like shit, but, baby, that’s home. Horns honk in the distance, poking out of the constant background groan of the city. I take the exit and roll from red light to red light on Market Street, the temptation to burn some rubber catching in my throat like a scream when one of Philly’s finest pulls up next to me.

He looks over and types on his computer one handed. Probably running my plate. He glances back, makes himself comfortable in his seat, and thumbs his radio mike. When the light changes I very lightly accelerate to a gentle thirty-two miles an hour.

Of course the cop starts dogging me.

The cruiser swings behind my bumper, so close I can’t see his headlamps. I drive like the devil is behind me, my Camaro’s big motor rumbling in defiance. I put on my blinker, wait two seconds, and swing over to the right lane. Officer Friendly does the same, keeping it so tight it’s a wonder the bull bumper on his cruiser doesn’t scrape my ass end. He’s still chatting up somebody on the other side of the radio.

The next light turns yellow just as I cross into the intersection. The cop follows me and trips his lights, gives me a woop woop, and with a haggard sigh I pull off and double park.

I keep my hands on the wheel and watch him closely. He stands with ponderous intensity, adjusts his belt, and unsnaps his holster. When I see him pop the retention snap off his piece, I tense. Completely unnecessarily he draws the bulky flashlight from his belt and flicks it on, holding it in the ready position to bring the long, heavy barrel down on my head.

He stops a good foot back from the door, aiming the flashlight at my hands.

“Step out of the car. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Not going to give him an excuse. I reach over the door and pop the handle from the outside, nudge it open with my leg and stand up, keeping my hands in clear view, alongside my head.

His badge says Taylor.

Taylor shines the flashlight in my face and I wince but don’t turn away. A purple circle flashes in my vision even when I close my eyes.

“License and registration. Slow.”

I keep the car’s papers in a pocket on the door. I’m extra slow pulling them out, and even slower when I lift my wallet daintily from my coat pocket, opening it wide so he can see there’s nothing underneath.

“Nice tux. Where’d you come from?”

“The airport.”

“Planes are black tie now?”

“I changed.”

“Have anything to drink on the plane? Something to make the flight go a little easier?”

“Nope. Fuckin’ Coke is four dollars, officer.”

“Language. Have you had anything to drink today?”

“No.”

“I’m going to give you a field sobriety test.”

I glance at my watch. “I’m kind of in a hurry, officer. I’m on my way to a wedding.”

“Should have caught an earlier flight. Say the alphabet backward.”

“What? Nobody can really do that.”

“I can take you into the station to blow a Breathalyzer.”

“Fine,” I sigh, and slowly rattle off the letters. I should have f*cking memorized it. I should have known.

He makes me go through a whole routine, touching my nose and walking in a straight line. Since I’m as sober as I’m ever going to get, it’s just a tedious waste of time. When it’s over I look at him, silently saying, What now?

Taylor swings his light around inside my car.

“Carrying any contraband? Weapons, drugs, anything you’re not supposed to have?”

“No.”

“Mind if I have a look?”

“I’m in a hurry.”

He stands up to his full height and flashes the light at me. “It’ll be easier if you just let me have a look. Otherwise I’ll have to call a K-9 unit out.”

“Is that how it is?”

“That’s how it is.”

“I’m asserting my fourth-amendment rights and refuse to consent to any search.”

He makes an exasperated sound.

“Call the goddamn dogs, there’s nothing here. We both know why you’re doing this.”

“Face the car and put your hands behind your back. Slowly.”

As the cuffs close on my wrists, I sigh.

Well, I can probably still make the reception.

Once I’m cuffed, he picks through my pockets. Nothing in there but a cell phone and my wallet, which he lays on the roof of the car before dragging me over to sit on the curb. He talks into the mike on his shoulder and stands there in silence for a good minute with his hand on his piece before a second roller shows up, lights on.