Page 48 of Shattered Veil

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Page 48 of Shattered Veil

“Thanks for the warning.” He struts past me.

“I’m calling for service,” I shout out to him.

“Don’t got a spare?” he says over his shoulder. “Or are your nice hands too good to change a flat?”

“My nice hands earn me a nice living. So yes, sir.”

That answer turns him around and he just stares at me. It rattles me because I can’t download his brain to figure out what he’s thinking.

His head swivels toward my rear window briefly. “Did you know tinted windows are technically illegal?”

“Then I would suggest your detectives go after car dealers. It’s an option I paid good money for.” I block his view of the rear door. “My assistant is in the back seat.”

“Is she carrying, too?”

“No.”

“You got an assistant, a bodyguard, and a two-hundred-thousand-dollar SUV. Who the hell are you?”

“Someone important, officer.”

When he steps around me to speak to Trace, I take out my phone and call Shane.

“It’s me. I’m on the highway. Find my car and tell me where the hell I am. I have a flat. We had 5-0 on our ass.Trace heard a pop, then a tire blew out.”

“On it,” Shane says and then informs me of the town we’re in.

“Something is off here, Shane.”

“I’ll call a tow truck,” the officer says, handing Trace back his license and carry permit, but no ticket.

Thank fuck.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Just offering assistance. That’s what we’re here for. To help. Protect and serve,” he annunciates.

I don’t know if I’m wired because I have Ella and everything is firing inside me to protect her, or if this guy is fucking with me.

“Yes, officer,” I grind out and watch him walk back to his cruiser. “Did that sound off to you, Shane?” I murmur into my phone.

“What’s his plate number?” he asks and I read it to him. “Okay, his station house is a few miles away.”

“I don’t want some random service truck touching my fucking car.”

“Trace will fix the tire. He’s not delicate, trust me. He’s a warrior. He and Rhys make us look like spoiled brats.”

“Aye. See you soon.” I end the call, but a wicked chill cuts through me.

Tiny flakes fall on my home screen and blot into pinpricks of water. I look up and mutter, “Aw, fuck.”

The snowstorm.

TRACE CHANGES THE TIRE, but minutes later, the trooper is back, advising me the highway is closing and I need to get off at the next exit.

Now we’re stuck in the beginning of a monster blizzard.

I won’t risk the ride downstate, and I can’t ask my brother’s helicopter pilot to pick us up in a violent snowsquall that’s expected to quickly blanket the whole county.




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