Chapter 11

Desperately, I looked toward Jake. From the driver's seat, he reached a hand, palm-up, toward the back seat. "Shirt," he said.

From the back seat, Trey went through the same motions as before, pulling a shirt from who-knows-where and snipping off the tags. But this time, when Trey dropped the shirt into Jake's hand¸ Jake handed the shirt out toward me.

I looked at it. "What's that?" I asked.

"A new shirt." He glanced down at my blouse. "Go ahead. Put it on. Then pull yours off underneath."

"Here?" I glanced around. "In the car?"

"Don't worry," Jake said. "We won't look." His voice took on a note of warning. "Right, Trey?"

"I guess not," Trey muttered.

I glanced at the shirt Jake was wearing. It was tattered, bloody, and maybe a little bit soggy. Probably from the wipers. "What about you?" I asked. "Wait. Lemme guess. You've got a dozen more shirts in the back? Am I right?"

From behind me, Trey said, "Nope. That's the last one. Funny too, because two's normally enough."

"Normally?" I said.

Jake thrust the shirt in my direction. "Just take it," he said.

Reluctantly, I took the shirt. I glanced out the car window. The crowd was still there. So were their phones. The last thing I wanted was to become famous for a wardrobe malfunction on a public street. As if reading my thoughts, Jake cranked the engine and hit the accelerator. We roared away, circling back to the main thoroughfare.

As Jake navigated the city traffic, I struggled into the shirt. It wasn't quite as easy as Jake made it sound, but it wasn't half as difficult as I anticipated. On my own smaller body, his shirt was huge, giving me lots of room to tug off my blouse and drop it onto the floor-mat beside my feet.

I heard movement in the back seat and turned to see Trey pull out that same notebook computer. He flipped it open and reached for that same set of headphones.

I returned my gaze to the road and tried not to think about the mess I was in.

Soon, I heard a chuckle from the rear of the car.

Beside me, Jake spoke over his shoulder. "How is it?" he asked.

"You're gonna love it," Trey said.

I turned around. "What is it?"

"I'll show you when it's done," Trey said.

I turned to Jake. "Does this have anything to do with what just happened?"

Jake grinned. "Maybe."

"I don't get it." I squinted over at him. "And why did that officer want your autograph?"

From the back seat, Trey said, "Oh come on. Like you don't know."

I whirled around. "I don't know."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Seriously?"

"Do I look like I’m joking?" I said.

He gave my face a good, long look. Then he turned to Jake. "She's messing with me, right?"

Jake, navigating the city streets, didn't turn around. A smile played across his amused face. "Yup."

"I am not!" I said.

Trey returned his gaze to the keyboard. "Yeah, right."

I sank down in my seat. "I give up," I said.

Out my car window, I watched as our surroundings changed with virtually every block, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better. Soon, we were travelling the outskirts of downtown Detroit.

"Don't tell me we're going to Detroit," I said.

"Yup," Jake said.

"Why there?" I asked.

"Because," he said, "it's where I live."

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. From what I'd seen with my own eyes, some parts of the city were on a definite upswing. Others, not so much. Since graduating from college, I'd been mostly living in the suburbs, sometimes one city, sometimes another, but never right downtown.

The nice areas were way too pricey, and the not-so-nice areas made Maddie's apartment look like a slice of heaven.

Before I knew it, we were pulling up to a stately building, maybe twenty stories high. I glanced around. Surprisingly, the area looked pretty nice. Too nice.

"Why are we stopping?" I asked.

"Because this," Jake said, flicking his head toward the nearby building, "is home."

"Really?"

His voice was deadpan. "Don't look so surprised."

We were parked in a circular turnaround near a pair of double-glass doors. In front of those doors stood a uniformed doorman.

Jake pushed open the driver's side door. "Come on," he said.

I glanced at his shirt, still a bloody, torn mess. Sometime during the drive, the blood stains had changed from a vivid red to a dull brown. Was it an improvement? I wasn't sure.

I glanced down at my own clothes. They were clean, but I still looked ridiculous. The shirt was huge, my skirt was tiny, and I was still wearing those stupid high heels. Reluctantly, I pushed open my door and stepped out, shivering in the cool morning air.

Trey climbed out of the back and into the driver's seat.

"Aren't you coming with us?" I asked.

Trey glanced at Jake.

"Nope," Jake said. "He's gonna park the car, and then he's gonna head to the office. Right?"

Trey nodded. "Right."

A moment later, Trey drove off, leaving me and Jake standing alone, except for the doorman, who said, "Welcome home, Mister Bishop."

I turned to Jake. "Mister Bishop?"

"I've been called worse," Jake said.

I heard myself laugh. It was true. He had been called worse. Recently, in fact.

As the doormen held the door, Jake and I walked past him, entering an ornate lobby with high ceilings and clusters of expensive-looking furniture, artfully arranged into semi-private seating areas.

"What is this place?' I asked.

"I already told you. It's home." He flicked his gaze toward the elevator. "Now come on."

Inside the elevator, Jake pressed the uppermost button and leaned back against the back wall. With growing confusion, I watched the floor-numbers change on the lit display. "We're not really going to the penthouse?" I said.

He glanced down. "We're not? Damn." He looked down at his bloodied shirt. "Because I could really use a shower."

So much for a straight answer. Even though we were alone in the elevator, something made me lower my voice. "Tell me the truth," I said, "weren't you surprised he didn't say anything?"

"Who?" he asked.

"The doorman," I said. "I mean, look at us. I'm kind of surprised he'd let us in at all."

In fact, not only had he let us in, he'd been surprisingly oblivious to our appearance. Or at least he sure seemed oblivious.

"Hell," Jake said. "I've looked a lot worse than this." His gaze slid to me. "As for you, there's nothing to complain about there."

I glanced down. I was still wearing Jake's shirt. It fell nearly to my knees, covering my skirt entirely. I could only imagine how I looked – like some hoochie in high heels, wearing her lover's shirt and nothing else.

Just great. The doorman probably thought I was a damn hooker.

With a ding, the elevator doors slid open, revealing a marble entryway leading to a single set of double doors.

"Come on," Jake said.

I didn't move. I couldn’t. This was getting way too strange. I gave Jake a dubious look.

"Or," Jake said, "you could stay in the elevator. Ride it up and down a while. Your choice."

When I still didn't move, he claimed my hand and tugged me out of the elevator. At the double doors, he reached into his pants pockets and pulled out a wallet. He removed a key card and slid it into a control pad to the right.

But it wasn't until he pushed open those double doors that I heard myself speak. It was one word, and it was all I had.

"Wow."