Chapter 3
The man’s dead serious when he says, “You mean the event you’re not attending?”
Talk about one-two punches. My entire body jolts. It takes me a second to recover, then I’m in full battle mode.
“You can't just insert yourself into my life and tell me what I’m doing!”
He doesn’t even blink, just looks at me like…
I don’t even know what that look is.
“I just did,” he says, his baritone vibrating between us, filling the cab of his truck with even more of him when that seems freaking impossible.
I’ve never felt like I’m drowning inside a truck. But with Diesel, there’s not enough room to escape his overpowering forcefield.
“Don’t bother coming into the station,” I snarl, reaching for the door handle, but he clicks the freaking child lock.
“Let’s get this straight,” he says, leaning in, too close.
I’m facing the window, looking away from him, but his heat is all over the left side of my neck. “You don’t open doors. I do.”
“Christ, what century do you come from?” I half-growl.
“The one where your security drives every action.”
His heat disappears, his door opens and I watch out of the corner of my eye as he swaggers around to my door. Only it’s not really a swagger, but I don’t have the vocabulary for a man like him.
It’s a confident, alert walk of a man that knows he’s big and in charge.
Freaking-A.
What am I going to do? My only hope is that the Sheriff will see. Or maybe I can slip him a note.
Diesel, once satisfied with his assessment of the parking area, opens my door. He offers a hand which I ignore which elicits a dark chuckle from him.
“You and I are gonna have a talk,” he murmurs. “Soon as we’re done here, the rules will be in full effect.”
I give him a tart look as I breeze in through the door he opens for me.
The Sheriff is waiting, worry etching a face that looks like it’s seen plenty of hard things in his fifty years, which doesn’t make the knot in my stomach any better.
“This way, Ma’am.”
Diesel’s crowding me as we cross the bullpen or whatever you call the room where the officers work, and I realize he’s doing it to keep people from seeing me.
Or is that look on his face a threat?
We all move into the corner office at the back of the building. It’s crammed with filing cabinets and a couple of plants that need water. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in a police station, and I’m surprised how accurate TV was… if you’re into The Andy Griffith Show.
Where are the computers?
“Can I get you some water?” the officer asks.
“Please. My throat is rough from the fire… and yelling at him.” I throw a glare toward Diesel, who has somehow appointed himself in charge of closing all the window blinds for the corner office windows.
“You want any, Drake?” he asks, as if Diesel’s last name is familiar to him.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
When we’re alone, Diesel moves to the spot beside the door, taking up a stance I’ve seen my brother use. It’s a military thing.
“Are you going to sit?”
“That’s not how this works. I’m not here to get comfortable.”
Apparently he isn't here to make me comfortable either. I blow out a breath, pinch the bridge of my nose and wait.
He stands behind me and breathes.
It’s not loud or unusual breathing, but I seem to be hardwired to every micro-gust of wind. Because my entire body is goosebumps. The cogs in my head are whirring at a dangerous pace, and the office feels smaller by the second.
My foggy mind starts to clear when the officer walks back into the room and plops a paper cup of water in front of me.
He takes a seat in his office chair, pulls out a notepad and makes no effort to hide his curiosity.
“Ms. Allison? Is it okay if I call you that?”
“No. Give her an alias,” Diesel orders from behind me, making my hairs stand on end.
An alias?
I swivel my head to look at him, but he and the Sheriff are having some kind of mind-meld interaction across the room.
“Okay, Ms. Smith,” the cop says, “Can you tell me about the truck fire?”
I’m more confused than ever when I turn back around in my seat. Before I can speak, I pick up the cup and down the whole cupful in one gulp.
God help me, I need some hydration for my brain because this giant asshole behind me is determined to break it.
“Well,” I say, realizing my voice has a smoky rasp to it thanks to the fire. “I was driving, and my truck seemed to have a drop in power. You know, you’re pressing the pedal and it’s not really going as fast as you expect.”
He nods, makes a note.
“Anyway, that’s when I saw the first flames. No…wait. I think I saw smoke first. Or maybe it was the smell. I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me. A LOT has happened.” I swivel to throw another glare Diesel’s way.
“Did you have any valuables in your truck?”
Stomach sinking, I slump a bit before I force my spine straight. “Actually, I have a big performance coming up this weekend. My clothing, special items that were all custom made for the event, were in the back seat.”
“I’m aware of the Valentine’s day show,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his beard.
Diesel makes a sound a lot like a growl. “Privacy concerns related to that line of questioning.”
“Right. Well… when did you last have your truck serviced?”
“About a month ago, an oil change.”
Diesel adds, “It’s a new truck. Purchased five months ago.”
A shiver crawls up my spine. How does he know that?
“Was anyone following you today?”
I’m quick to reply, “Not that I know of, but Mr. Drake arrived soon after the fire started.”
His gaze flicks to Diesel and he sets his pen next to the notepad that’s got one line of text written on it. Truck fire, unknown cause.
“And how long have you been working with Ms. Smith?” the sheriff asks Diesel.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Okay if that’s not another red flag, I don’t know what is.
“Understood.”
No. Not understood. I don’t understand anything. But with these two, I can tell I’m stuck in nowhere-ville.
Sadly, I realize at this moment that with Diesel standing behind me, I won’t be able to pass a note that I’m being… kidnapped? Bossed?
Whatever this is, it is going to be impossible to tell the law officer unless I just blurt it out.
I get a weird tickle in my sixth sense with this thought, a warning. Like I would be causing trouble I can’t handle.
And that’s saying a lot. When you ride horses, you handle trouble. But Diesel’s not nearly as predictable.
Like why is he leaning over me right now?
His closer proximity makes my nerves fray like dry rotted rope.
A bear-sized hand comes to rest on my shoulder.
“Have anything else to add, Ms. Smith?” he rumbles close enough to have his breath wash over the crown of my head.
The squeeze he gives me isn’t hard but it’s a warning, clear as day.
I try to dislodge the burrs in my throat but can’t seem to with him touching me.
“That’s really all I know about the fire. After that, Mr. Drake here showed up, claiming he saved the day by keeping me from getting blown up. Then you arrived on the scene.”
The sheriff is staring right at me in the most unnerving way when he says, “You’ve got the best protection money can buy, ma’am.”
I go very still, and hear myself ask, “Excuse me? I didn’t buy any protection.”
Diesel squeezes again, but this time his other hand wraps around my elbow, tugging me to my feet. “We’ll be going now, Sheriff Baker. I’m sure you understand why I need to keep this stop brief.”
I’m out of the office before I can even blink. The whole scene feels like a weird Quenten Tarantino movie. And I’m an unwilling participant who woke up and found herself in the middle of something dark and deadly.
We pass the ladies room, and I pull out of Diesel’s grip. “I need the facilities. You’re not coming inside.”
He’s not happy, but is probably smart enough to know the alternative. His truck seat or the side of the road somewhere.
The muscles at the corners of his square jaw tick as he moves to stand against the wall across from the restroom. “Make it quick.”