Page 54 of Who I Really Am
Resigned, I turn my back to him. Steel cuffs click around my wrists.
“Officer, I can explain. This is all a big mistake. I—” And just like that, I’ve become every perp I’ve ever cuffed myself.
“Save it, big guy,” the officer says with way more snark than is warranted. “We’ll sort it out at the station.”
And then, because this is the day that just keeps on giving, he reads me my rights.
Fan. Stinkin’. Tastic.
CHAPTER 15
Marco
If I smell as bad as the holding cell where I passed most of the night, I am not fit for human company. No wonder the boys in blue cut me loose at the first sign of dawn.
Well, nearly. According to my dash clock, the time is a little shy of eight a.m. Last night’s rain is gone, yet the overcast remains, and the very air is dripping. I’m not a fish. I can’t breathe water. The desert is sounding better and better all the time.
I turn the key in the ignition, then wave at the departing officer who was kind enough to drive me to the impound lot where my truck spent the night. All in all, things could have gone worse. Eventually, the local cops determined I was not driving while intoxicated, I am indeed lawfully licensed to carry, and the Chevy pickup in question is, in fact, mine. I’m not sure who spoke to whom, but the officers were surprisingly helpful once my identity as a fellow LEO was established. The sheriff commiserated and told me I was getting a raw deal up in Dallas. He ordered one of his men to bring me a breakfast burrito and a large coffee, and a junior officer personally delivered me to my vehicle.
My billfold is tucked in my pocket, again thanks to the officers who, in the course of their investigation, reclaimed it from the five-star diner where I had dinner.
So, while I am a free man again—for now—my dilemma has returned. Homesickness had me by the throat yesterday, and it has not abated. But Mom works long hours, and her life is hard enough as it is. I mean, sure, I’m her son and I know she’s always there for me, but the way I see it, my very presence could easily upset the delicate balance of her life. Me with my giant bag of issues.
I’m making excuses again. I’m the one who’s ashamed to drag my failure of a behind home, tail between my legs.
I take in another long drag of coffee as if it can supernaturally deliver the answers I need. Nothing magic in the brew, but as I set the cup back in the cupholder, the phone on the center console vibrates. I still at the number on the screen. What on earth?
Should I answer?
Of course, I should. That’s about the only no-brainer in my life right now.
“Marco?” Her voice sounds weak. “It’s me. Annalise?”
As if I don’t know.
I picture her chewing her lip. “I’m sorry to bother you, Marco, but…I really need a favor.”
Annalise
“Took you long enough,” I snap as Marco Gonzalez breezes through the parting lobby doors, dodging a pair of doctors on their way to lunch.
He skids to a stop when he sees me seated in the center of a row of chairs with my purse and overnight bag gathered to me like chicks under mama’s wings. I squirm under his assessment because I know I look like death.
Why worry about his opinion? Him with his greasy hair, stained shirt, and days’ worth of beard. He has no room to talk.
He scruffs his palm across the facial hair, and I hear that scratchy sound that I’ve always loved on a guy. “Sorry. I was a ways south last night.”
“You could have mentioned that.”
His lips wobble, humor sparking in his eyes. “Could have.”
I fight my own amusement, which isn’t all that hard a battle. I’m barely holding it together at the moment, not that he needs to know, so I’m glad he’s not going all serious on me. I look him over from head to toe. “You look awful.”
“And I smell worse.” He lifts his palms. “Fair warning before you get in a truck with me.”
“What, is the plumbing out at the house or something?” Not a serious question, but I’ll do anything not to talk about myself.
“Or something.”