The Set Up (56 page)

OIL CHANGE

Jasper

THE GUARD OUTSIDE
the shower stall looks like Santa Claus with a shave. His more than ample stomach strains the buttons of his Detroit Police Department issued blue uniform. His brass nametag is worn and I can’t read it from here.

Both of his chins jerk up, signaling me to get a move on it.

With a hurried step, I reach the faucet and turn on the water. Quickly, I step under the spray before it even has a chance to warm. All I want to do is wash the blood off of my skin. If death were an object, it would be cold, sharp, shapeless, and black. Seeing it twice in a lifetime gives me permission to try to define it.

Things come in threes.

I hope in my case the superstition remains just that—a superstition.

I’ve had enough.

The water starts to warm but never gets hot. It doesn’t matter. I let it sluice down my body anyway. The bar of soap is small and obviously used but I rub it all over myself until my bones ache and my skin feels raw. For the past six hours, I’ve been sitting in a holding room and waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what, I still don’t know. All I know is someone finally asked me if I’d like to take a shower.

“Speed it up, Storm,” Santa Claus hollers over the running water.

Ducking my head one more time, I reluctantly turn the faucet off. Hot or cold, it’s been days since I’ve been allowed to shower, and after everything that’s happened over the past weeks, I’m not sure I can ever feel clean enough.

In fast strides, I walk over to the half wall and grab the towel set on the ledge and wrap it around my waist. The guard seems annoyed with his job, or maybe just annoyed with life. I’m not feeling much different right now.

With a shake of his head, he tosses me a pair of prison-issued white underwear. I want to tell him to fuck off—that I’d rather go commando—but I know it won’t get me anywhere, so I drop my towel and punch my legs into the holes.

The guard then opens a bag I’d assumed contained a freshly laundered prison jumpsuit, but instead he pulls out the same clothes I was wearing when I was booked Friday night.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Get dressed. Your attorney is here and he’ll explain everything.”

“Has the lockdown been lifted?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“Do you want to ask questions or do you want to go meet with your attorney?”

Without wasting another second, I slip my shirt over my head and tug up my jeans. Then I shove my feet into my boots without socks and don’t bother to tie them because time is of the essence. “I’m ready,” I tell Santa Claus, whose name is actually Clyde Gardner. “Am I being transported somewhere?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“What about the bail hearing I was on my way to this morning?”

He shrugs again. “Look, like I said, I don’t know anything. I was told to bring you upstairs showered and dressed. Now, follow me, so I can do my job,” he says and starts walking to the exit.

No cuffs.

No shackles.

What’s going on?

Not a word as we walk down the hallway or ride in the elevator. Nothing until we reach the same room I was in Friday night. “Stop here,” he says and opens the door. When he does, I look inside, and just like on Friday night, Todd is inside waiting for me. I take one deep breath; my heartbeat speeds and my blood feels icy in my veins. Without formality, Santa Claus walks away.

Confused, I step inside. “What’s going on?”

Todd grins at me. “You’re free to go. All charges have been dropped.”

My palms hurt and I look down to see my nails pressing into them. I rub my hands together with disbelief etched on my face. “But how? Why?”

With a slap on my shoulder, Todd pulls a chair out. “Sit down and I’ll explain everything while your paperwork for release is being completed.”

Blinking in confusion, I stare at the chair. “Do I have to?”

He laughs. “No, you can stand there while we wait if you prefer.”

Running a hand through my wet hair, I’m at a loss for words. “I don’t understand.”

His teeth are practically gleaming. “Just before Tom Worth climbed those steps and was shot to death, he confessed to killing both Eve Hepburn and his daughter. Along with his written confession, investigators also have reason to believe it was Tom who broke into Charlotte’s hotel room the night of the vote. They found Eve’s computer in a motel room he was shacked up in, along with what they think is a copy of a key to Charlotte’s apartment. The computer had been wiped clean, but it definitely belonged to her.”

I’m still at the beginning. “He confessed?”

Todd nods. “That’s what I said.”

I’ve never been much of a romantic. Speed and adrenaline are what keeps me going. And yet as those two words register, only one thought comes to mind—Charlotte. If my name is cleared, there is nothing holding me back. I can be with her. Really be with her. And I don’t want to take things slow anymore.

Sweet, sexy Charlotte. Innocent and pure. She’s mine, because for some reason she wants me. Anything but innocent and definitely not pure.

“What about the lockdown?”

“The mayor made an exception.”

“Fucking Alex,” I mutter. Now I have to thank him.

Before allowing myself to change mental gears, I have to clarify. “You mean I’m free, as in free to leave here? Cleared of all charges?”

“Yes, you’re a free man, Jasper Storm.”

I’m free.

SHARP TURN AHEAD

Charlotte

THE SMELL OF
fresh garlic and tomatoes wafts through the air.

Mrs. Storm is cooking spaghetti sauce for dinner. Whitney is helping her. I’ve been ordered to sit on the couch and do nothing. Will has been upstairs on the phone with Todd for the past fifteen minutes. And Drew and Jake are sitting with me in the living room watching a replay of last night’s baseball game.

Staring out the window, I anxiously wait to hear what is going on with Jasper. The lockdown has yet to be lifted. It’s already five in the afternoon, so even if it were removed tonight, Whitney told me there is no way I’m going to be able to see Jasper until the morning.

This saddens me.

Suddenly, my ears perk up.

Footsteps. Out in the hallway. Heavy and fast.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart rate spikes.

Not the police again.

Somehow, I manage to tune out the noise that surrounds me and I swear I can hear laces hitting the floor.

I must be imagining it.

I listen harder. Now I hear the jingle of keys. A rasp of metal teeth engaging the lock. And then the door flings open.

My insides melt and I gasp in sweet surprise.

Just over six feet and one hundred and eighty pounds of long, lean muscle stands in the entryway with a grin on his face so wide, it brings tears to my eyes. “What’s for dinner?” he asks as his eyes sweep the loft, stopping on his mother at the stove, before continuing to take in the room, and then landing on me.

Our eyes meet and the connection I feel to Jasper is stronger than ever.

Mrs. Storm runs over to her son and throws her arms around him. She’s crying and he takes a few moments to try to calm her down. She says something to him that I can’t hear, but can only imagine they are words meant to re-establish her role as his mother. Will is downstairs now talking to Whitney with a grin as wide as Jasper’s on his face. He must have known Jasper was on his way home. Drew and Jake look as shocked as me, but recover quickly and go to join Jasper and his mother.

Standing on shaky legs, my heart is still beating so fast at the sight of him. His brown, brown eyes look darker, tired, his brown hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it more than a couple of times, but everything about him causes my breathing to pick up.

He’s trying to break through the crowd.

I brace myself for what I know he’s going to see when he looks at me.

A hand on my back distracts me from the sexy sight. I look up to see Will standing beside me. “I didn’t tell him about the attack. I knew you wanted to,” he whispers.

I give him a nod. “Thank you.”

He gives me a return nod before retreating back to where Whitney is standing. Will has obviously already talked to Jasper and is clearing the way for everyone else to say their hellos.

When I look back over at Jasper, he’s just breaking through the crowd, and those tears I’ve tried to suppress start to fall. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop them from sliding down my face. And it’s okay because these are happy tears, not sad ones.

He’s back.

Jasper’s back.

I don’t know how. Or why. Or for how long. But I don’t care, because he’s come back to me.

Less than a minute passes before he’s finally free of everyone’s reach. His eyes land on mine in an instant and I can feel his stare like a gentle caress. The emotion that passes between us is too much, and I find myself leaning against the couch just to keep standing. He takes one step, two, three, and four. Confident. Slow. Steady. The sun is shining brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me, leaving me cast in shadow, hiding my bruises and cast.

The moment Jasper sees me, really sees me, his smile fades, his stride becomes hurried, and his body stiffens. His eyes begin to search me frantically, sweeping me from head to toe, stopping at my cast before settling on my face once again. “Charlotte, what . . .” he gasps, unable to finish his sentence.

“I’m okay,” I reassure him, reaching out my hand for him.

Jasper is in front of me in a flash and with wild eyes, he places his palms on my shoulders and exams me further. There are so many emotions flashing in his eyes.

Guilt.

Sorrow.

Empathy.

Once he’s completed looking me over, he searches the room for answers only I want to give him. “What happened to her?” he shouts.

Everyone is silent.

“Jasper, can we please go into your room to talk?” I whisper.

Unfocused, uncertain, and maybe even a little scared, he doesn’t respond to my question. “What happened to her?” he yells, this time looking directly at Jake for the answer.

Jake’s face is crestfallen.