Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(46)

He stopped at the porch, not attempting to go inside. I found this odd but I stopped with him.

“You want coffee?” I asked.

“I’m not stayin’ that long.”

I blinked at him, confused.

Then it hit me.

His eyes were al wrong. They weren’t sexy-lazy or alert.

They were distant and disinterested.

I felt my breath start to come faster, like I’d run a race before I’d run the race. And, the fact was, I wanted to run, run as fast as I could, as far away as I could get.

“What’s up?” I tried to act like I didn’t feel like I wanted to curl up and die.

“You’ve been dodgin’ Eddie,” he said.

I blinked, confused again, but he went on.

“You can’t protect Flynn, Roxanne. I’ve already filed. He broke into my house and trashed it.”

“Protect?” I said, unable to form a ful sentence.

“Eddie’s comin’ by this morning to take you to the station so you can give your statement, file charges if you want, or not. Your choice. But even if you go home, I’m stil fol owing through. And since we found out Flynn is wanted in Boston, Pensacola and Charleston, once we find him and deal with him here, he’s gonna be a busy guy.”

I couldn’t speak.

I wasn’t surprised that Bil y was wanted in three different cities, four counting Denver, even though it was news to me.

No, the reason I couldn’t speak was because Hank thought I was protecting Bil y.

“Hank –”

He interrupted me.

“I found your scarf at my house, Indy’s got it.” Automatical y (and inanely) I said, “It’s Tod’s.”

“Indy has it,” he repeated, looking away and watched the crane settle back into position, my car in the flat bed. Then he looked at me, eyes blank, like Eddie’s were the first time he saw me.

“Gotta get back to work,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

At his dismissing words, I moved suddenly. It was involuntary but I jerked back, just at the middle, like he punched me in the stomach.

Immediately, his hand came out to grab my arm and his brows drew together. “Are you okay?” he asked.

I stared at him then nodded my head. “Fine,” I lied.

He watched me a beat, then two. It was my time to say something but I couldn’t think of what to say.

“Talk to Eddie,” he said.

I just stared at him and didn’t say a word.

Then I watched as his eyes grew hard and he let go of my arm.

“Suit yourself.”

Then he walked away.

I watched him go, watched the flatbed truck go and watched the street for a good long while before I turned and walked into the house.

I set my cup on the coffee table and stood in the living room.

Petunia, the ginger and white cat, rubbed my legs.

I sat down on the floor, the better position to pet her.

Then I curled up on the floor, on my side, my knees to my chest. Petunia walked on top of me and sat on my hip. Then she cleaned her foot.

This is how Eddie found me when he opened the door.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

I rol ed to my back and Petunia scampered.

I stayed flat on the floor and looked up at Eddie.

“Hi,” I greeted him.

“You okay?”

No.

No, I was not okay. I was anything but okay. I was so far away from okay that okay was in another dimension.

“Peachy,” I said.

“Why are you lyin’ on the floor?” he asked.

Because the best guy I’d ever met thought I was some stupid, idiot woman who would protect an outlaw even after he’d beaten me and kidnapped me and dragged me through three states. Because that same guy was about goodness and justice and wanted nothing to do with a woman like me. Because that fact broke my heart and pissed me off and I wasn’t sure which one I felt more. I thought.

“I felt like having a rest,” I answered.

Eddie took a second to process this, then he said, “Did you talk to Hank?”

I nodded my head.

“I’m here to take you down to the station to file charges against Flynn.”

“Okeydoke,” I replied, rol ed over and careful y got up, holding my ribs.

When I was up and looked at him, he was staring at me with undisguised surprise.

“Sorry?” he asked.

“I said ‘okeydoke’. Can you hang on while I get ready?” He kept staring at me, then, slowly, he nodded.

“It takes awhile for me to get ready. Maybe you want to come back.”

His eyes went guarded.

“I’l wait.”

“That’s cool. Coffee’s in the kitchen,” I told him and then went to the shower.

* * * * *

I’d never pressed charges against anyone. I’d never even been to a police station except on a field trip in sixth grade. I wasn’t sure what the dress code was. I took a shower. I blow dried then parted my hair deep on the side and smoothed it into a severe ponytail secured at the nape of my neck. I caked on the makeup to try and hide the bruising (this, for your information, didn’t work). I wore a skintight, camel-colored, pencil skirt that came down to just below the knee and had a slit up the back, topped with a red, jersey t-shirt and, on my feet, sexy, red, spike-heeled sling backs. Final y, I tied a jaunty scarf around my neck.