“How’s that?”
“I’m missing an interview with the South Bend Tribune’s sports writer. A radio program and television interview, as well. Interviews translate to tickets sold to the race. These things are important to me.”
“You shoulda thought of that earlier.”
“I was thinking...” His voice trailed off. “Oh, what do you care?”
She rose from her chair. “Until your bail is posted, I have to take you to a cell.”
“A jail cell? I can’t just stay here? Harry said it won’t take long to post bail.”
She cocked her head to the right, indicating a heavy metal door with a small wired-glass window. “Through there.”
“I don’t believe this. Sure you don’t want to put leg irons on me?”
“I can do that if you wish,” she bit out.
Josh remembered what Harry had said about being polite. “No. You’ve gone to enough trouble for me, Officer Hawks.”
They went to the hall that led to four jail cells. Officer Hawks spoke to the young officer just inside the hall. “Cell three has been assigned to...”
“Josh Stevens! Officer Trey McLaughlin. Glad to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand to Josh. “I’ve seen or heard nearly every race. How’s it lining up for the Indianapolis race?”
Josh shook his hand exuberantly. “You follow the races?”
“I do. I’m a huge fan.”
“Thanks, man.” Josh felt his grin grow. Two minutes ago he’d felt dirty. Now he felt whole again thanks to his fan. He would go back to his world, and his life would return to normal. It would. It had to. “Trey, I promise you, it’s looking great.”
Officer Hawks took Josh’s arm. “In here,” she barked.
Josh entered the cell, turned and put his hands on the bars. He was in jail. He’d fought all his young years to make the right choices, even when others lobbied with very persuasive skills for him to go down another road. The quick road. The road of drug deals and stunning amounts of cash. Hot cars. Expensive clothes. Tropical resorts where women would flock to him.
But Josh’s parents had taught him that his integrity was what mattered. With integrity and honesty, he would win the respect of even his critics.
Right now he had to remember that.
As he looked through the iron bars at the startlingly and surprisingly compassionate green eyes of his captor, he couldn’t help wondering what it would take to win her respect.
With his gaze locked on hers, Josh said humbly, “Thank you, Officer Hawks.”
“DO YOU KNOW what a Bugatti Chiron costs?” Trent Davis asked as he paced his office while Violet stood near his desk. Many times in the past she’d felt like running from confrontation, but this time wasn’t one of them. Deep in her belly, as much as Chief Williams and Detective Davis believed she’d bungled this assignment, she knew she was right. Josh Stevens might be a celebrity—he had fame, fortune and influence—and she was barely more than a traffic cop, but Josh had questioned her authority. She’d clocked him speeding. Anything over a hundred miles an hour was considered “reckless driving.” She was in the right, and she would stand her ground.
“A lot, I presume.”
“It’s so expensive, Officer Hawks, that I had a difficult time finding the price.”
“Sir?”
Frustrated, he said, “I don’t care about the car or its cost. My point is that you left your post at the stakeout farmhouse.”
“Sir, I was told that Miguel Garcia was known to drive a very expensive sports car. The Bugatti fits that bill. I thought I was chasing Garcia.”
“That’s your first mistake, Officer. You assumed before you had the facts. Sal was working the database and had found that Garcia drives a Maserati 2016. If you had checked in with him, you would have known that.”
Violet remembered how fast the Bugatti had streamed past her. She knew what a Maserati looked like. But she’d never seen a Bugatti Chiron. They were both fast cars. It was an understandable mistake.
She promised herself that over the weekend she’d comb the internet for images of every expensive car made. She’d log them into her brain and the next time a Bugatti sailed past her, she’d know what she was looking at.
Trent was still pacing.
“What color is the Maserati, sir?”
Trent halted, lifted his head and cleared his throat. “Blue.”
Violet’s eyebrow cranked up in surprise, and she quickly corrected her expression. Blue. Well, she had that one right.
“The bottom line is that I’m disappointed in your work. The next time I give you an assignment, you carry it out.”
“Sir. Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Violet turned sharply and left the office. She went straight to her desk, avoiding Sal’s and Trey’s eyes. Trey was getting coffee, which was odd, because he didn’t drink coffee.
Violet halted like someone kicked her in the back. It was probably for Josh.
She couldn’t forget the look in his eyes when she’d put him in the cell.
Josh was her first lockup. Her first arrest.
As she’d ushered him into the cell, she’d felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Two steps inside the cell, his broad shoulders had slumped and his face had gone ashen.
Shockingly, he’d thanked her.
Why?
What kind of man thanked an officer for showing him his limitations? His vulnerability?
The unique kind.
When he’d looked at her, his blue eyes weren’t malicious. They actually held gratitude.
Every assessment she’d made about Josh Stevens from the second of his arrest was shattered in that moment.
Suddenly, she wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t know why. He was her prisoner. He was in the wrong.
Yet she’d nearly reached for the bars to touch his hand, to reassure him.
A jangling phone on Sal’s desk broke through her thoughts. “Paluzzi here,” he answered, then checked his watch. His eyes meandered over to her, checking to see if she was working.
