Part 13 (1/2)

The police officer called Paul read his expression correctly. ”When a police officer says stop, you stop. If you don't, you're breaking the law. I'm taking you in.”

Ben managed a sound that conveyed his dismay. It wasn't quite a no no or a or a please please, but it was close.

To his surprise, the bald cop was on his side. ”Come on, Paul, the cuffs aren't necessary. There's no need to-”

”I gotta bring him in,” Paul said. ”You know the rules, Jake. I discharged a weapon. There's procedure and protocol. Besides, aren't you supposed to be in school?”

That last question was aimed at Ben, as the uniformed officer hauled him to feet that didn't work right, and dragged him over to the police car.

”He says he's home-schooled,” the bald cop reported, following.

”We'll see,” Paul said as he opened up the back door and pushed Ben inside, where he fell over onto the seat, his cheek against the plastic.

He heard the door slam behind him, and the sound of voices as the two men continued to talk. He couldn't make out the words over the roar of the a/c and the squawk of a police radio that cut in and out.

But then the front door opened and he heard and felt it slam as Paul got into the car. He felt the transmission being put into gear and then they were rolling.

They were heading downtown, to the station, where eventually they'd figure out who Ben was and where he lived. They'd also find out that he wasn't home-schooled. He was cutting. As for Neesha, who'd run away from home because she was mentally ill? It didn't matter how long they held him. He couldn't answer their questions, because he didn't know where she was. And when they finally figured that out? They'd bring him back home and deliver him to Greg-who would beat the s.h.i.+t out of him.

Or at least try.

Only, this time, the creep would be ready for Ben to fight back.

This time, Ben was going to get flattened. And there was nothing in the world he could do to keep it from happening.

Unless...

He tried his vocal cords again, and this time they worked. ”Do I get to make a phone call?” he asked through a throat that felt raw after the way he'd screamed like a girl from the Taser-induced pain.

”Depends,” Paul answered him, ”if you're under arrest. And that depends if you've got any priors.”

”I don't.”

”We'll see.”

”What happens if I'm not not under arrest?” Ben asked. under arrest?” Ben asked.

”You call Mommy and Daddy to come pick you up, they bring you home and ground you for two years.”

”I live with my sister,” Ben said, which wasn't quite a lie.

”Then you get to interrupt her her busy day, and busy day, and she she comes to the station to pick you up and bring you home and ground you for two years.” comes to the station to pick you up and bring you home and ground you for two years.”

Okay. Good. That was good.

Or at least as good as it could get with his arms twisted behind his back and his face pressed against a vinyl seat that smelled like sweat and p.i.s.s.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Eden's s.h.i.+ft was over after the bulk of the afternoon rush, and for once she didn't push to get a chance to dance for another few hours. She just put on her clothes and took a deep breath, bracing herself as she pushed open the door that led out to the club's parking lot.

But there was no one out there besides the valet attendant, who was sitting, bored and steaming, in the shade from a wilting umbrella.

Of course, if she were Izzy, waiting to talk to her, she'd be in her car with the engine running and the air conditioner blasting instead of standing in the hot Nevada sun.

Still, as she shouldered her bag and walked swiftly toward the bus stop, there was no movement from the lot. No tall, obnoxiously attractive Navy SEALs jumping out of their cars and shouting, ”Hey, Eden, wait...”

And that was definitely relief she was feeling, not disappointment, as her feet took her farther from the club-although she really didn't completely believe it until she hit the bus stop and looked around.

Nope. No Izzy. He hadn't stuck around to talk to her.

She had no idea how he'd found her here-although Danny certainly knew she was back in Las Vegas. Plus she'd given her father her address and phone number when she'd called to ask if he knew if her brother was okay. He'd no doubt given that information to Danny, who used it to call her...

Still, to have Izzy show up like that, at work?

She was mortified.

It was one thing to dance for strangers with their empty, hungry eyes, another entirely to know Izzy was in the house.

Lord, he'd looked good. His face was tan and his dark hair was longer than he usually wore it, but he'd neatly combed it back. He was dressed in a pair of khaki dress pants-and that was crazy weird because Eden couldn't remember ever seeing him in pants even remotely like those. He usually wore cargo shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt. Or his white dress uniform. He'd worn that, with rows of ribbons on his chest, when they'd gotten married.

But the s.h.i.+rt he had on today had a collar and b.u.t.tons up the front. He wore the sleeves rolled to his elbows to fight the day's heat.

It was crazy-as if he'd gotten dressed up because he knew he was going to see her but didn't want to go the full-dress-uniform route.

Maybe she no longer rated.

But it didn't make sense-for him to track her down to give her a handful of cash, take her figurative pulse, and then walk away...?

Unless his message had been visual. Take a good long look at what you threw away, sweetheart... Take a good long look at what you threw away, sweetheart...

He'd certainly taken a good long look at her-which had been so strange. Mostly because, in the past, he'd rarely looked at her without smiling. This morning he'd been grim and unamused. And yeah, he'd faked a smile at one point, but it hadn't touched his eyes.

She'd always loved the way that the warmth of Izzy's smile had echoed in his eyes.

But those days were gone.

Eden shouldn't have cared. She didn't want to care.

Yet still, even though Izzy had left the floor level of the club, she'd been self-conscious all morning long, and had tried to compensate for it-and succeeded, apparently. That success was reflected in her larger-than-usual tips.

Not counting that small pile of cash that Izzy had deposited on the stage. The pile that she'd fully expected to have the opportunity to give back to him after her s.h.i.+ft was through.

As she waited for the bus, she dug for her cell phone to turn it back on, and saw she had both a missed call and voice message from the same local Las Vegas phone number.

It wasn't either of her workplaces, and it wasn't her new landlord...