CHAPTER TWO
I mean, I already knew that, given the fact that they were talking about wiring money. But I need to be careful. I weigh my options.
Should I bring a gun? Oh wait… I don’t have one. A knife, then? I heard somewhere you’re safer without one because somebody could disarm you. But maybe it’s better than nothing? Forget it. All I need are my wits anyways.
I glance at the clothes I laid out for myself hours earlier. All black. I look like a burglar. I chuckle.
Then doubt races through me. Black is good if I’m hiding outside, but what about once I’m inside? What if the hair salon is all white or pink? Then I’ll stand out.
Although, if I have to go inside, it’s not like I’m going to be able to hide anyway.
I glance at my phone. 1:47. I can’t be dawdling. I throw on the black clothes and go.
I lace up my black boots and open my door quietly.
I glance up and down the hall. Nothing. I’m about to step out of my room when I hear something a few doors down.
I quickly close my door. I hold my breath as the sound of footsteps grows louder and then quieter.
Then I hear something rattle and then a loud slam.
30 seconds later, I hear the sound of an engine revving.
I peek out the window, and—sure enough—Hunter’s car is lit up in the driveway.
I wait 30 seconds or so and then I peek outside. I called an Uber 10 minutes ago and it’s been waiting for a few minutes. Luckily, I had the foresight to put in an address that was a few doors down so Hunter wouldn’t get suspicious.
I wedge a ballet flat between the front door and the door frame so that I can get back in. Luckily, Hunter hasn’t armed the alarm.
I guess he’s not planning on being gone for long, I think to myself. Still, I’ll need to make sure I get back before he does, or the ballet flat will be a dead giveaway.
After securing the front door, I sprint out the house and into my Uber. I slide onto the leathery back seat of the car. “Sorry,” I say to the driver, I’m out of breath, having practically sprinted out of the house. He nods silently and starts the car.
I glance down at my phone nervously. What the hell am I doing? My heart beats faster as I watch the destination get closer on the app. Maybe I should ask the driver to turn around, I think to myself.
“This it?” the driver asks.
I glance up from my phone and peer outside. It’s pitch black, as expected, except for a small storefront that’s illuminated. Maria’s. The interior is so bright, I can make out the chairs and combs and hair dryers. It’s empty, though.
It’s now or never.
I nod at the driver, thanking him before slipping out the door. I get outside and crouch to the ground. I paused for a few seconds like that, crouched as if I’m at the starting blocks at the Olympics. I take stock of myself and chuckle before straightening up.
Act natural, I tell myself, as I try to walk casually.
I approach the salon from the side and hide behind a tree. I pause, gathering my thoughts and trying to come up with a plan. I hadn’t really thought this far in advance, but that’s kind of because I had no idea what I’d be walking into.
I glance down at my phone. 2:07 a.m. Where is everybody?
I glance around me and spot Hunter’s car. I glance back inside the store. Still empty. I’ll give it five more minutes, I think to myself. I click off my phone screen and wait.
A second or so later, a man I’ve never seen before enters into the hair salon from inside it. He walks around and into a bathroom. I peer at the open door the man came from—I hadn’t even noticed it before—and make out stairs.
Aha, I think to myself. They’re all inside, but they’re downstairs.
I wait a few more minutes and then watch as Hunter emerges through the same door.
He waits for 30 seconds or so until the first man exits the bathroom.
I watch Hunter carefully as the two men talk.
I notice a vein bulge in his forehead and his jaw harden.
He’s angry, I realize. But not with the other man.
Both of the men are angry, but not with each other. What’s going on? I wonder.
Hunter shakes his head and taps his watch. The other man nods his head, and in unison, they exit. The lights shut off. I watch them walk across the street and into Hunter’s car. They jump in, and as soon as the car starts moving, I call an Uber to return to Hunter’s house.
Shit, shit, shit, I think to myself, remembering the ballet flat propping the front door open. If Hunter makes it back before I do, I’m toast.
I consider my options. The drive to Hunter’s isn’t long, but if I wait for an Uber, there’s no way in hell I’ll make it back before he does since he’s in a car too.
I notice an unlocked bike lying on a front lawn and get an idea.
I’m not totally sure if this will even be faster, but at least it’ll give me a fighting chance.
I can cut across yards, go through back alleys, and take some shortcuts that cars can’t.
A twinge of guilt hits me as I approach the bike, but I try to rationalize it. I’ll return it tomorrow, I think to myself. They won’t even notice it’s gone.
I feel bad as I jump on the bike, but I don’t have time to think of a better plan. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it back before Hunter, but I’ve got to try. I jump on the bike and start pedaling like a mad woman.
I’m two minutes into my ride when I hear sirens blaring behind me. I glance back. Surely those can’t be for me, I think. I look around me, though, and realize I’m the only person on the deserted road.
Fuck, I think to myself as I start gradually slowing down.
The cop car slows down too, and an officer jumps out.
The man has chestnut brown hair and looks to be in his late 30s. He’s handsome, with broad shoulders and smooth skin. His hazel eyes are framed by thick eyebrows that furrow as he approaches me. Once he’s a few feet away, the first thing I notice is the look of anger on his face.
This isn’t going to be good, I think to myself as I paste on my sweetest smile.
I guess that’s it then, I think to myself.
Even if the cop lets me go in the next few minutes, there’s no way I’ll be able to make it back before Hunter.
I have to make sure that the cop lets me go, though.
The absolute worst case scenario here would be getting booked in county jail.
If I get back late, I still might be able to come up with some sort of plausible excuse.
Like…maybe I can tell Hunter my stomach hurt and I needed to get some medicine in the middle of the night. Lame and unbelievable? Probably. But it’s still better than Hunter picking me up from jail. If that happens, my cover will be 100% blown.
“Anything I can do to help you, sir?” I ask, using my sweetest voice.
He doesn’t soften at all.
“I got a report of a stolen bike and a woman biking through front yards.”
I open my eyes and feign surprise. “Oh, really?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” the officer says. “I know it was you.”
He looks at me, eyeing my outfit.
“Out for a late-night stroll?” he asks me.
Fuck, I think to myself. I look like a burglar and I’m on a stolen bike and I’m biking through front yards. This doesn’t look good.
“Listen,” I start, but before I can finish my sentence, he holds his hand in the air.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he says. “Put down the bike and get in the back.”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
His eyes narrow. “You heard me, young lady. Get in the back,” he says, gesturing towards his car.
“But I was just biking—” I start.
“Enough,” the cop says sharply. “You may be used to coasting on your looks, but that’s not going to work with me.”
I swallow. This guy’s a hardass, I realize. I have the worst luck.
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind, officer?” I ask, trying one more time.
If anything, this just makes him angrier. A vein bulges in his neck.
“You think I’m one of those corrupt cops who takes bribes?” He laughs. “Think again, sweetheart,” he says, smiling wickedly. “In fact, I’m going to take tremendous pleasure in locking an entitled, spoiled brat like yourself up. I’m so sick of women getting away without any consequences.”
My cheeks turn red, but I get an idea when he says the word brat.
“You know what, officer?” I ask, pausing and tapping a finger against my chin. “You’re so right. I was spoiled growing up. And I do act entitled sometimes. I really do need to learn a lesson. You’re actually so right.” I say, nodding my chin emphatically to emphasize my agreement.
His brows furrow. He looks confused. I can tell I’ve thrown him off guard. Stay focused, I tell myself.
“You know what?” I ask, pausing. “I’m so glad you were the officer who stopped me,” I say, lightly tapping his chest.
“Why’s that?” he asks.
I’ve got him, I think to myself.
“Because all the other officers probably would have just let me go when I batted my eyelashes at them,” I say to him. “But not you. You’re a man of the law. You don’t let mistakes go unpunished,” I say. “Am I wrong?”
My finger is still on his chest and neither of us have moved an inch. I hold my breath and wait for his answer.
He exhales. “You’re not wrong,” he says.
“That’s what I thought,” I smile. I start to lightly trace my finger down his chest, and he doesn’t move. “And that’s exactly what I need,” I say, when my finger reaches his belt buckle. I tap my finger right on the buckle, as I say the word exactly, and I feel his posture change.
I curl my index finger around his buckle and step closer.
Now I’m the one holding my breath. Moment of truth.
I have to test and get a gauge on whether he’s willing to play ball with me here.
I haven’t said anything too scandalous yet, but this will be the marker of whether or not I can get him to go along.