Valentine's Day Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 19) Page 4

  She scoffed, refusing to relinquish her dark mood. “I bet you don’t even have a girlfriend.”

  Officer Martinez laughed at that. “Ouch. She may have you pegged.”

  Officer Hansen tapped his fingers against the door handle. “I don’t have a girlfriend because I’m busy.” He said this as though it was something he’d discussed with his partner before. “And because the last girlfriend I had made me realize that there are some things worse than being single. Like being with her.”

  “But all that will change tonight,” Officer Martinez said, “because you’ve got a hot date.”

  Officer Hansen made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat that indicated he was less than thrilled about his date.

  Officer Martinez shot Bethany a quick glance over his shoulder and whispered. “It’s a blind date. You know what those are like.”

  Apparently, she wouldn’t tonight. But now she understood why he had let her go after she’d run the red light. He’d sympathized with her blind date plight.

  “Hope that works out for you,” she said.

  Chapter Four

  Over the next hour, Bethany learned many things about the justice system. For example, despite the fact that Officer Hansen kept insisting she was going to a holding cell, not jail— yeah, she was pretty much in jail.

  Any room with bars locking you in— that was jail. Four other women were there already. A sink and toilet sat in one corner of the room. No walls, no privacy around the toilet. And no way was Bethany going to use that in front of a bunch of other people.

  The mugshot had been another scarring event. But Bethany had decided to make the best of it. She’d fluffed up her hair and pouted for the camera. If her mugshot ever showed up somewhere online, at least she could claim she’d been arrested with flair.

  She also learned that despite what the movies claimed, the police let you make more than one phone call. They told her she could make as many calls as she wanted. Which would have been helpful if she could remember anyone’s phone number. But she couldn’t. She was so used to her phone storing her contacts that she only had Hannah’s number memorized. And Hannah was off on a couples’ cruise with all the rest of the fortunate people who had someone special in their lives.

  Bethany could have called her parents collect but didn’t. They were five hours away in Lewiston, Idaho, and it would only worry them to know she was at the police station. If she told her parents about this at all, it would be in the past tense. Such as, “Hey, did I ever tell you about that really horrible night ten years ago…”

  She should have been able to call someone else, some friend who would be willing to help her. But her only friends were those handful of women on a cruise ship. So instead of making any phone calls at all, she waited numbly, sitting on the holding cell floor. There wasn’t much to do except for contemplate where her life had gone wrong. As the minutes progressed, a few tears might have slid down her cheeks.

  It wasn’t the fact that she was here that made her cry. She knew she would get out. Eventually the police would get a hold of the Duponts, and her story would be verified. The thing that hurt was the realization that no one was worried about her right now. No one had even noticed she was gone. Truth be told, most of the people she knew were more of acquaintances than real friends. She hadn’t put in the time to make them anything else. She was too busy with her career. Hannah was her only close friend, and now that Hannah was married, she was busy with Greg most of the time. So how long would it be until Bethany lost her, too?

  This wasn’t how her life was supposed to be.

  She had planned on having a boyfriend and eventually settling down and raising kids in some charming cottage in a sleepy rural town. She’d already planned the murals she would paint in their bedrooms— forest landscapes with fairies, knights, and friendly dragons peeking between the trees. In that imagined life, she would chat with neighbors at the park, join a book club, and form playgroups for her children.

  But none of those goals were getting any closer to being reality. She didn’t meet many single, eligible guys while decorating other people’s houses.

  One of the other women in the cell noticed her crying and came over to talk to her. She was a thirty-year-old bleached blonde in a tight miniskirt and fishnet stockings. She eyed Bethany, taking in her red bra straps that stuck out of the police blanket. “They got you for hooking, didn’t they?”

  Bethany nearly said, “No, for trespassing,” but then she would have had to explain why she was trespassing in her underwear. And the story would only sound like a convoluted attempt to deny prostitution charges.

  She shrugged miserably instead.

  “Don’t take it so hard,” the other woman said and sat down next to her. “They’ll only hassle you a little and let you go.”

  The woman then went on to give Bethany tips about avoiding the police in the future. She might have continued in this vein for quite some time, but a female officer came by holding a plastic bag. “Elisabeth Daniels?” she called, and then her gaze fell on Bethany. “I’m guessing that’s you.”

  Bethany nodded. “How could you tell?”

  “Your wardrobe gave you away.” She held the sack through the bars. “Compliments of Officer Hansen.”

  Forms of some sort? Did those come in bags? Bethany took the offering. The woman didn’t stick around for a response, just turned around and left.

  Bethany opened the bag and found a note on top of some clothes.

  I asked my sister to bring these to the station for you. I think you’re about the same size. P.S. On the bright side, this experience will pretty much ensure that all your future Valentine’s Days are better.

  A nice gesture, especially since she hadn’t given him many reasons to be kind to her. Now she regretted that comment she’d made about him not understanding women. And hopefully what he said about this experience was true. Because if there were any Valentine’s Days in the future that were going to be worse than sitting in jail getting advice from a hooker, she didn’t want to know about them.

  Bethany pulled the clothes from the bag. Black yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Putting on the clothes made her feel more respectable, although she wished she had shoes. Or even socks. The floor was cold cement. She folded up the blanket and sat on it.

  About an hour after she’d arrived in the holding cell, the same female officer returned to release her.

  As the woman walked her down the hall, she said, “Mr. Dupont corroborated your story, and the Swansons aren’t pressing charges after all. So you’re free to go. Mr. Dupont said to tell you their housekeeper will be available on Monday morning to let you in to retrieve your belongings.”

  Monday? Bethany tucked the blanket underneath her arm. “My keys, wallet, and phone are in their house. What am I supposed to do until then?”

  The woman spoke with an, It’s your problem not mine, tone. “You’re free to call the homeowner and work out other arrangements. However, the call will be collect, and I’ll tell you right now that Mr. Dupont wasn’t all that happy the first time around, to be woken up in the middle of the night to talk to us.”

  Bethany was stuck then. Carless, moneyless, phoneless. It felt like the last straw. “I don’t have a way to get to their house on Monday. I don’t even have a way to get home tonight.”

  “Most people call a family member or a friend to come get them. But if you don’t have any of those, you can always call a cab.”

  Bethany couldn’t pay a cab because her wallet was locked up. She didn’t point this out; she didn’t want to let the woman know she had no friends who could help her. So she didn’t even bother trying to call someone for a ride. She’d already mentally reviewed the list of people she knew. And even if she could look up their numbers, who could she ask to drop their Valentine’s Day plans to pick her up at the police station? One of her artist friends, whom she saw occasionally at gallery openings? The neighbor she exchanged pleasantries with at the mailbox? A
past client? An ex-boyfriend?

  She didn’t want any of those people to know she’d been to the police station, let alone beg them to come get her.

  She strode outside, barefoot, and made her way down the sidewalk. She wanted to get away from this place. She’d walk home if she had to. Or at least she’d walk until her frustration died down, and she could think of a better plan. The street signs read Pine and 12th Avenue. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was, but she knew her condo was miles away. Did cabs take PayPal? Was there a bus route around here? Maybe she could beg for some bus fare. That would be a fitting way to end this day— begging barefoot on some dark street corner.

  The light changed and she made her way across the intersection, eyeing a liquor store on the other corner. She probably wasn’t in the best part of town. Didn’t matter. She kept marching along. The evening was cold, and she didn’t have a jacket. Just this tacky yellow blanket. Well, she’d lost all her dignity already. She wrapped it snugger around her shoulders.

  A couple of guys stood by some parked cars smoking. They gave her the once over as she went by. She picked up her pace.

  When she came to another cross street, she stopped on the corner, wondering whether it was better to keep heading straight or to turn. Maybe she should go into a store somewhere and stay there until she figured out a solution. Asking someone to pick her up at a store wasn’t quite as bad as asking someone to pick her up at the police station.

  While she stood there debating which of her acquaintances was least likely to be busy on Valentine’s Day, a white truck pulled up to her.

  Her first thought was, Please let this be someone I know, and not some stranger who thinks I’m standing on this corner because I’m a hooker.

  She looked at the driver and saw it was indeed someone she knew. Officer Hansen. He wore a jacket over his uniform so that only the dark blue collar of his shirt peeked through, but it was definitely him. Blue eyes, blond hair. Mr. October himself.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “Isn’t someone picking you up?”

  She shrugged, not wanting to explain. “I’m walking home. Oh, and thanks for the clothes. I really appreciate them. I’ll drop them off at the station on Monday after I get my car.”

  “You can’t walk home,” he said. “You don’t have any shoes on, and Pinehurst is nearly ten miles away.”

  She cocked her head at him. “How do you know where I live?”

  “It was on your license.”

  Oh. Right. “You remember those details about the people you pull over?”

  He fought a smile. “Well, you’re more memorable than most of my cases.” His gaze went to her feet. “Really, you can’t walk that far. Don’t you have someone who can come get you?”

  “All of my friends’ numbers are on my phone, which is locked up. I can’t pay a cab, because my wallet is also locked up.”

  He kept staring at her, perplexed. “If you need help with phone numbers, the receptionist at the police station can look people up for you. Do you want a ride there?”

  “No. I never want to go back there again.” She held up her hands to stop further suggestions of that sort. “Do you know how I spent my time in the holding cell? A hooker gave me advice on how to evade police in the future.”

  “Hmm. It’s not working so far.”

  He could afford to find this funny. He wasn’t the one with the yellow blanket of shame draped over his shoulders. She folded her arms. “Shouldn’t you be working or something?”

  “I’m done with my shift.” He checked over his shoulder, then turned back to her. “Look, I’m not supposed to have contact with people I’ve brought in, but I can’t let you walk home barefoot. You’ll end up going through a rough part of town, and you have ‘easy mark’ written all over you.” He unlocked his doors. “Get in and I’ll drive you home.”

  She hesitated, then figured if she was going to accept a ride from a near stranger, a policeman was probably a safe bet. She opened the passenger side door and climbed inside. “Thanks.” As she put on her seatbelt, she said, “So is it the paint splatters in my hair or the yoga pants that make me look like an easy mark?”

  He pulled into traffic. “It’s your bare feet. You can’t outrun anyone.”

  “Oh. For a moment, I thought I was going to have to get rid of all my yoga pants.”

  He grinned. “Nope. You can keep them.”

  She stole a glance at his profile as he drove. He looked like a different guy without his uniform. Less imposing, but just as hot. His blond hair had a little bit of a wave to it. She hadn’t noticed that before.

  “Thanks again for the ride,” she said.

  “Just being a public servant.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at him. “That would seem more noble, if you weren’t the one who’d dragged me off to the police station in the first place.”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” he said. “But if it’s any consolation, I believed all along that you were innocent.”

  She made a tsking noise. “Actually, that makes it worse. I’d feel more forgiving if you’d thought I might be a criminal mastermind. As it is, you were only making things harder for someone who was already having a miserable day.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Well, the possibility of you being a criminal mastermind did cross my mind.”

  She fluttered her hand to erase his words. “Don’t try to make things better now. You probably say that to all the women you meet.”

  He laughed, showing a set of perfectly white teeth. “Right. It’s one of my best pickup lines.”

  Guys as good-looking as Officer Handsome didn’t need pickup lines. They just walked into a room and let the women flock to them. “Yeah, go ahead and try that line on your blind date tonight.”

  He winced. “Crap, I forgot about that.” He checked the time on the dashboard. Six ten. “I’m going to be late.”

  “You don’t have to take me home.” It was bad enough she was going to stand up her date tonight. She shouldn’t ruin his evening, too. “Just drop me off someplace where the muggers look slow.”

  “I’m taking you home. I can’t make things harder for someone who’s already had a miserable day.”

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure we established that you can.”

  His chin dipped down. “I think what we established is that I got you away from angry homeowners who were waving around a gun and threatening to shoot you. Then I talked to them and convinced them to drop the trespassing charges.”

  When he put it like that, it was hard to hold a grudge. “Okay, fine. Thank you. Again. And trust me, I wouldn’t usually say that to a guy who’d put me in handcuffs.”

  He glanced at her as though about to comment, then pressed his lips together and looked back at the road.

  She realized how her words had sounded. “Not that I’ve ever… I mean…”

  “Hey, I wasn’t judging you. Or jumping to conclusions. Or trying not to form interesting visual images.”

  She ran her hand through her hair. “Every time I think this day can’t get more embarrassing, it does anyway.”

  He sent her a sympathetic smile. “I’m just teasing. I know what you meant.”

  She put her hands back in her lap. “I suppose I shouldn’t care what you think of me. After tonight, I’m never going to see you again.”

  “I don’t know about that. With the way you drive, you might.” His eyes slid to hers. “Still teasing. Well, mostly.”

  She didn’t like the thought of never seeing him again, but wouldn’t let herself dwell on that fact. Instead, she watched the buildings passing by outside. “Speaking of embarrassing moments, I’ll probably run into the Swansons on Monday when I get my stuff from the Duponts. I bet they’ll be watching for me.”

  “Shouldn’t bother you. They know you’re innocent now.”

  Maybe it shouldn’t, but it would. How did you gracefully face people who’d seen you in your underwear? Although she was facing Officer Hansen
now, and he’d gotten a good view of her in her unmentionables.

  She let her gaze rest on him. Being with him wasn’t so bad somehow. Her eyes stayed on him, and she couldn’t help but admire his profile. From an artistic point of view, he had good lines, a square jaw, and perfectly symmetrical features. And from a woman’s point of view, well, he was just nice to look at.

  “If you want to wait while I change at my condo,” she said, “I can give you your sister’s clothes back.”

  He nodded. “Do you have someone at home?”

  She didn’t understand the question. Maybe because she’d gotten caught up in staring at him again. His broad shoulders were also artistically pleasing. “What?”

  “A roommate. Someone who’ll let you in. You don’t have your keys.”

  “Oh, that. I’ll be able to get in.”

  He shot her a questioning look. “Are you about to tell me that you don’t lock your doors?”

  “I lock my doors,” she said. “But I have a spare key hidden under the welcome mat.”

  He let out a patient sigh. “Okay, that’s only slightly better than leaving your doors unlocked. The welcome mat is the first place an intruder would look for a key.”

  “Well, I never claimed to be a criminal mastermind— no matter how many other people might have wondered.”

  He tapped a finger against his steering wheel. “Just promise me you won’t put the key back there. Otherwise I’m going to worry that you won’t make it through the night.” He took his gaze from the road long enough to consider her. “How have you survived for twenty-five years?”

  The question took her by surprise. “You know how old I am?”

  “It’s on your driver’s license, too.”

  “You either have an amazing memory, or I should start worrying that you’re a stalker.”

  “At least you’ll worry about something. That’s a start.”

  “I’m an artist,” she said. “I worry so much about where my next job is coming from, I’m immune to all other worries.”

  He turned onto I-5, heading north toward Pinehurst, her neighborhood. “Have you always been an artist?”