SIX
The wise young fairy came from behind the curtain and said: “Your daughter shall not die. I cannot undo what my elder sister has done; the princess shall indeed prick her finger with the spindle, but she shall not die. She shall fall into sleep that will last a hundred years. At the end of that time, a prince will find her and awaken her.”
Jessica
Finn. That’s his name.
He stands back from the door and gestures me inside. I would want to sit next to Ky no matter what, so it shouldn’t feel like I’m under arrest. Probably I would be handcuffed if that were happening. But I can’t quite step inside. The glass divider and handle-less doors might be the straw that breaks my emotional state’s back.
I’d be trapped back here, unable to leave until he let me out.
“Wait,” I say, my throat thick with fear. It doesn’t have that much to do with him. It’s about me, and the all the ways I’ve been trapped before. “What if you’re not a cop at all? What if you’re a serial killer and this is some sort of death contraption you’re using to lure me in?”
I follow his gaze inside the police car, where condensation hugs a large Styrofoam cup and an array of crackling equipment crowds like barnacles to the dashboard. If this is a kidnapping, it’s a pretty elaborate one. And if he planned to kill me he could have done so on this deserted road without anyone seeing a thing.
So I feel a little silly, as the blatant accusation hands in the air between us, until I see his face. For the first time, his reserved expression cracks. I bask in the approval that shines there, like I’m seeing the sun for the first time. No one else has protected me.
No one else even wanted me to be safe.
He nods toward the baby bag slung over her shoulder. “Do you have a cell phone? Call 911 and they’ll confirm my identity.”
“911? That seems a little… excessive.” Not to mention, a pretty good way to alert Stefano about their location. That call would definitely be recorded.
“Your safety qualifies as an emergency, Ms. Beck,” he said, and I believe he’s law enforcement officer for sure. He has the voice, sort of gruff and condescending at the same time.
It makes me wonder uses that tone in the bedroom, if he ever lectures on the perils of sexual dissatisfaction. Your need to climax qualifies as an emergency, Ms. Beck.
And it did qualify as an emergency. Suddenly. Shockingly.
How could I have given birth without having one?
I don’t doubt him in this moment, but I already started this. He watches me expectantly, so I make a show of getting out my phone. “Give me the number for your precinct,” I say.
His eyebrows raise, but he gives it to me in that low, authoritative voice.
I press each number carefully as he says it, feeling something tight in my stomach that has nothing to do with fear or pain. Something about him giving me commands and me following them. Something primal.
My forefinger hovers over the Send button.
His eyes become hooded, a challenge and a command all at once.
It’s a game of chicken between his lids and my finger—which one would drop first.
Well, he asked for it. I press the button and wait while it rings.
“Provence PD. Bridget speaking.”
“Hi… Bridget. This might sound silly, but do you happen to know if Sheriff—”
And here I realize I don’t even know how name. I was about to get in the car with him, without knowing his name. I checked out his ass, without knowing his name.
“Locke. Sheriff Finnegan Locke,” he says, and inexplicably the sound of his name, spoken with a husky twang made my insides melt. He sounds like a man in the middle of sex, a man close to climax, and oh god why am imagining how his face would look, all taut and pained, arrested with the sweetest agony?
I’ve never thought a man looked sexy that way, rutting and sweating and grunting. I’ve only ever seen Stefano that way, but it’s something I never want to see again.
It would be different with Finn. I know that as surely as I know that he won’t hurt me.
“Yes, he’s Sheriff Finnegan Locke. Can you confirm that he’s on patrol?”
A snort over the line. “Finn? Yeah, he’s around here somewhere. Causing trouble, I suppose.” And then, rather shockingly, she shouts over the phone. “Finn, you sonuvabitch. Why are you bothering this nice girl?”
I jerk the phone away from her ear, wincing a little.
Then cautiously pull it back. “Um,” I say, “I’m not sure he heard you.”
Finn’s eyes dance with laughter, which means he knows my ear is ringing and why. I like him better this way, his brown eyes bright with laughter. It softens up his whole face, makes him look even more handsome, which I do need to be thinking about at all.
“Well, you tell that man to get his ass back here,” Bridget says. “His burger was delivered two hours ago. Nothing more disgusting than cold fries. Tell him that for me, will you?”
I close my eyes, trying to hold in a laugh. And that’s the greatest accomplishment of all, that I could find anything amusing on this night. “Bridget says dinner’s waiting.”
Finn shrugs, his lips twitching. “Had a protein bar on the road. Besides, the fries are probably cold.”
“Right,” I say into the phone. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Don’t let him give you any trouble. He’s a good man, but you know, ever since the accident, he’s had a stick is so far up his—”
“Great, thanks, bye.” The words come out in a rush as I end the call. I run my eyes over his body, as if checking for injuries. “You were in an accident?”
A shadow passes over his face, wiping away any trace of softness. “No.”
Message received. We won’t talk about his past.
Does that agreement extend to my past?
I grant him a regal nod. “Okay, Sheriff. Take me to jail.”