Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“I deliver groceries,” I repeated. “That’s all. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”
“You ran a stop sign back there,” Reeves said suddenly, changing tactics. “At the intersection of Warehouse Row and River Street.”
I hadn’t run any stop signs. There wasn’t even a stop sign at that intersection. “I thought I swerved, sir.” Inwardly I winced. Not the time for snark. Not the time at all.
His expression hardened. “Are you calling me a liar, Ms. English?”
“No, I --”
“Step out of the vehicle, please.” It wasn’t really a request.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not yet,” he said, the threat unmistakable. “But we need to search your vehicle. Detective Mercer, would you assist Ms. English while I take a look?”
“You don’t have a warrant,” I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.
“Probable cause,” Reeves replied smoothly. “I believe you might be transporting contraband for your gang friends.”
My fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached. I knew my rights, but I also knew that arguing with cops rarely ended well for people like me. Slowly, I released the wheel with one hand and opened my door. The last thing I wanted to do was give this guy an excuse to manhandle me. Or worse.
Detective Mercer stepped forward, maintaining a polite distance. “Just stand over here, please,” she said, gesturing to a spot by the gas pump.
Rain misted down on my already damp clothes as I watched Reeves begin his search. He started with the passenger seat, picking up the potted sage plant.
“What’s this?” he asked, turning it in his hands.
“It’s sage,” I replied. “An herb. For cooking.”
“Where’d you get it?”
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. The truth would only reinforce his suspicions about my connection to Marcus. A lie might be worse if he somehow knew the answer already. “It was a gift,” I finally said.
“From who?” He set the plant down carelessly, almost tipping it over.
“A friend.”
“A friend at the Kiss of Death compound?” He didn’t wait for my answer before moving to the back seat and then the trunk.
Detective Mercer remained beside me, her expression unreadable. “You’ve been making regular deliveries there,” she stated. Not a question.
“Yes.” I watched Reeves toss delivery receipts onto the wet pavement. My stomach twisted. “Pretty sure I already said as much.”
Reeves eventually returned, empty-handed but clearly disappointed by his lack of findings. “Nothing today,” he said to his partner. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be something tomorrow.” The threat in his words was clear. He turned back to me. “You know what kind of people you’re dealing with, Ms. English? Murderers. Traffickers. Men who think they’re above the law.”
My mind flashed to Marcus in his garden, gently pruning herbs. To Hannah’s laughter. To the women at the compound who had welcomed me with open arms. I thought of Detective Reeves searching my vehicle without cause, threatening me without evidence. “I don’t deal with anyone, detective.” This was getting old and that bad vibe singing in my head was getting worse. “I get paid to do a job. That job involves delivering goods through a legitimate company to anyone who places an order through their app.”
Reeves stepped closer, invading my space. “We’ll be keeping an eye on you, Ms. English. The kind of people who run with that crowd tend to end up in one of two places. Prison or the morgue. You seem like a smart girl. Make better choices.” I lowered my gaze, hoping he took it as submissiveness, but said nothing. “You can go,” he finally said, stepping back. “Drive carefully. Wouldn’t want you running any more stop signs.”
I climbed back into my car. The sage plant had been knocked over, soil spilling onto the passenger seat. The bastard had likely done it on purpose to look for drugs or something. I righted the pot gently, brushing the dirt back into the pot.
In my rearview, I watched the two detectives return to their cruiser. They didn’t leave immediately. Instead, they sat there, headlights still on, watching me. I started the engine and pulled back onto the road, my heart still racing.
Only when I’d driven several blocks did their headlights finally disappear from my mirror. My breath came in shallow gasps, and I realized I’d been holding it. I wiped at my face, surprised to find it wet not just with rain but with tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed.
The interaction had left me feeling dirty somehow, violated in a way that had nothing to do with the physical search of my vehicle. My mind raced with questions. Why were they watching me? What did they want with the club? And what would happen if they decided to “find” something next time? For the first time since I’d started delivering to the compound, I wondered if I should have stayed away.