Scarlett reaches for her shirt and the police officer bangs the window again. “Put your hands on the dashboard now!”
She turns ghost white, and that causes my blood to boil. Two teenagers making out in a truck doesn’t equate to his pissed-off reaction. He’s scaring Scarlett, and that doesn’t sit well with me.
“Roll down the window or I’ll break it.”
He does and I’ll have Marshall sue his ass. Scarlett looks over at me and her entire body quakes. “You should open the window.”
“Put your shirt on first,” I say in as even a tone as I can. “I’m not going to have some jerk cop checking you out.”
In a rush, Scarlett slips on her shirt as the cop bangs at the window. I place my hands on the steering wheel and when Scarlett has her hands on the dashboard, I look over at the cop. The windows are fogged, but I can see him glaring at me. He gestures to my window, where there stands another cop.
“Window down,” I shout, “or door open?”
“Unlock the door, window open.”
I do what he asks and the cool fall air races in and bites at my skin. “What can I do for you, Officer?” Not a bit of that sounds sincere.
“License and registration. License first.”
I slowly go for my wallet, hand him my license and as I do, the cop says, “Give me your license, ma’am.”
“I don’t have one,” Scarlett says. “Or any ID.”
The cop’s eyes flicker over my license. “You’re a Lachlin?”
Super. My family’s name proceeds me. “Yes.”
“What’s your name, miss?” the cop asks.
“Scarlett Copeland.”
The cop’s head snaps up and he flicks his chin toward Scarlett in some sort of nonverbal to the other police officer. “What did you say your name is?”
“Scarlett Copeland.”
The situation changes, quick, too quick. The police officer reaches for his sidearm. “Sir, we’re going to need you to step out of the car.”
“What for?” I ask.
“Do what you’re told.”
The passenger side door opens, and the other police officer grabs Scarlett’s arm. Pure fear overwhelms her expression and I’m consumed with adrenaline. “Let her go!”
“Step out of the car!” the police officer shouts at me, but I don’t. Scarlett’s being dragged out. She reaches for me, I snatch her hand, but her fingers slip from my grip.
“Jesse!” Scarlett screams.
I’m being yanked then, and I go with it because I need to get to Scarlett. I need to protect her. The police officer hauls Scarlett toward his car, and a million scenarios run through my mind. Are they some sort of sick perverts? Are they even cops? “What’s going on?”
“Put your hands on the car!” the cop yells in my ear.
“What the hell are you doing with Scarlett?”
“Jesse!” she shouts again, and as I go to step in her direction, the cop shoves me against the car, my head hitting the door. Hurts like hell, but I don’t care. I round to go for Scarlett again, but as I turn the cop snatches my arm. He attempts to twist it behind my back, and when I hear her shout again, I push him away and he stumbles.
Curses from the man, shouts from other places as headlights flash over us. I’m rammed into the car again, but as I struggle I realize there are multiple arms pinning me. My own arms are pulled back, one after another, and handcuffs are being placed on my wrists.
“What’s going on?” I shout.
“You’re under arrest for kidnapping Scarlett Copeland.”