Walking fast with my head down, I reach the front of her building in less than a minute. Of course, tonight I won’t be so lucky to catch someone leaving the building so I can enter quickly. I try the door just in case, finding it locked. I call Chiara again and get the same thing, voice mail.
My teeth start to chatter as I look for her name on the intercom system. I have to squint to read the small letters. Finally, I locate the damn button with her name next to it. I press the buzzer several times without an answer.
Shit. Chiara isn’t home.
Where the hell could she be?
“Can I help you?” a guy asks.
I turn, getting hit by a bright light on my face. I have to raise my arm to protect my eyes.
“Yeah, can you lower your goddamn flashlight?”
The light stays in place, but the voice gets harder. “Are you a resident at Brandywine Hall?”
Fuck me. I forgot this area was patrolled by a private security company paid in part by DuBose. There have been some break-ins lately, so they’ve been more vigilant about strangers in the area.
“No, I’m a teacher at DuBose High School. Just lower your light, please. You’re going to blind me.” I take a step in his direction.
“Don’t move.”
This is fucking ridiculous. I don’t have time for this bullshit. “I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere until I see some identification.”
I ignore the guy and keep walking. The last thing I expect is for him to grab the sleeve of my hoodie and yank. Caught by surprise, I lose my balance and fall backward, the middle of my spine hitting the edge of the concrete step. Sharp pain shoots up my back.
“Fuck!”
“I told you not to move, punk!” He jams his knee into my chest, still holding that ridiculous flashlight over my face.
I shove him off me with ease, and he lands on his knees with the grace of a giraffe on stilts. I manage to get back on my feet before he comes at me again, ramming his body against mine. He tries to knock me down, but I’ve been practicing martial arts for years; he doesn’t stand a chance.
The sound of a police siren in the distance distracts me, leaving me wide open to receive a punch to my jaw. My head snaps back with the impact, and blood fills my mouth.
The next several minutes happen in a blur. Cops are yelling, the security guy is yelling, and suddenly I’m shoved against the pavement with my head pressed against the cold ground while my hands are cuffed behind my back.
A sense of déjà vu hits me hard. Forrester was there to bail me out the first time I got arrested. Is he going to do the same this time?
36
Alistair
I’m lucky to get a cell to myself tonight. A stark difference from the first time I was arrested for reckless driving when I was younger. Back then, they stuck me in a cell with ten other guys, thugs who wanted to murder me on sight. If I hadn’t been recognized by a fan, one of the biggest guys in there, I would have had my ass kicked.
Resting my elbows on my knees, I keep my head down as I replay tonight’s events. If Nadine gets a whiff of this, she’ll have a field day. I can’t believe I let her get to me like that. I’m such a moron. The fact that I couldn’t talk with Chiara makes me even more frustrated.
I must have been locked up for about an hour when the sound of a metal door opening snaps me to attention. Enzo walks into the detention area, followed by Forrester.
Fuck. Why did he call him?
I level my lawyer with a glare as I clench my jaw.
“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t call your boss,” Enzo says.
“I was notified by the security company,” Forrester explains. “What in the world were you doing trying to break into student housing, Alistair?”
“I…. Nothing.”
Forrester narrows his eyes, knowing I’m lying. Shit, I should know better. Before he became the principal at DuBose, he was a renowned therapist—my therapist. The guy knows me better than my parents do.
“No one is pressing charges, and we’re brushing this off as a misunderstanding,” Forrester continues.
“Thank you.” I lower my gaze, shame making me unable to look my friend in the eye.
A police officer unlocks my cell and then leads me to a different part of the building where I can collect my personal belongings. Forrester stays behind, but Enzo tags along. It doesn’t take long for him to speak his mind.
“What kind of stupid bullshit was that?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine. Don’t. But don’t come crying when Nadine wipes your bank account clean and Forrester fires your ass.”
I scoff. “I’m not in the mood for Italian dramatics, Enzo.”
“What were you doing in front of you-know-who’s building? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
Ignoring Enzo, I check that all my belongings are accounted for before signing the paperwork the clerk presented me.
“Nadine set me up. She had paparazzi waiting for us outside the restaurant. She kissed me in front of them.”
“That’s ridiculous. What is she trying to accomplish by doing that?”
“She’s trying to score a contract for a reality TV show, and she needs drama.”
Enzo makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. “Let me guess. She won’t sign the divorce papers now because of that.”
“You got it. That’s why I was where I was. I needed to talk to Chiara, to explain to her that those images aren’t what they seem. But her phone was switched off.”
We walk to the front of the police station. Forrester is waiting for me there, so any criticism Enzo might still have about my behavior dies in his throat. My boss rises from his seat, his hard gaze transporting me back to when I was younger. Shit. It feels like I’m about to receive a tongue-lashing.
“Since all is well, I’m heading out. I’ll call you tomorrow, Alistair.” Enzo walks out of the precinct before I can stop him.
I was hoping to score a ride with him back to my truck.
Forrester must have read my mind, because he says, “Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”
Resigned that I won’t escape getting stuck with him in a moving vehicle, I follow him outside. The rain has mercifully stopped, but my clothes are still damp from before. I bring the lapels of my jacket closer together, but it does nothing against the chill seeping through my clothes.
